Saturday: View From the Top

Once in a while, there’s an idiot who decides that Mommy and Daddy’s condo at the nearby ski resort is the perfect spot to increase their social standing. He or she chooses a weekend when all of us are stuck on campus and sets up an elaborate scene for a party: and by elaborate, I mean plastic cups and cheap food from the gas station.  

All the day students sign out the boarders for a ‘weekend’ at their house. Friends pretend they are spending time together outside of campus, and the administration complies. Personally, I don’t know if the administration is truly clueless enough to think we are all actually in different places, or if they are aware of the fact that the minute we leave campus we are well on our way to someone’s condo. Either way, we’re escorted off campus and go about two miles to the largest Ski Resort in New England. We sip cheap alcohol out of store-brand Dixie cups and listen to dirty dubstep music, laughing at how polar our lifestyles can be. It usually goes along fine, and even though the neighbors are disturbed by our loud music, we go home satisfied at the end of the night.  

But that doesn’t always happen.  

It was a humid night in early May when one of our most popular seniors decided he would have the largest off campus party in the history of our school. I was a junior at the time, and I went off campus with some of the boys. Hannah Humphries, who also took along her two best friends, Mariah and Catherine who also invited half of our class, including Eloise Sinclair, Talia Herrera, Khloe Tennyson, Ian Davis, Jessica Clarkson, and Helen Killington, a close friend of Jessica.  

As I heard from Anne, who stayed behind, campus was like a ghost town.  

We all made our way to a condo, which was nestled in the woods near the edge of the resort. I walked in the front door, and stale beer hit me smack in the face. I was surprised by how many kids were there; I could barely move without bumping into someone, despite the house being a duplex. I suddenly had an ominous feeling.   The noise tripled with all of us there. The people were talking loud, so the kids turned up the music louder, which then caused people to talk even louder. And so on, so forth. I was trying not to laugh at how funny Eloise Sinclair looked when she danced when I noticed the lights began to shake and brake free from their sockets. Everything was shaking, to be honest, and I couldn’t even enjoy my cheap cup of the local Canadian vodka.  

Then, in a haze of smelly, sweaty boys and giggling girls, I heard it. A siren outside the front door.  

We later learned that a neighbor must have called them. I mean, who wouldn’t? Over 60 kids yelling and screaming and playing thumping music. I’m surprised it lasted as long as it did. But when it ended, it came to a crashing halt.  

Talia, surprisingly, was the first to move. I guess her experience in the Sauna taught her well. Ian followed. When we heard the thump of the officer’s fist on the front door, everyone else sprang into action. There were bodies crawling over each other, scurrying to exits all over the building. The senior that invited us all began to sniffle, and readied himself to open the door.  

I moved as fast as I could toward the balcony. As I was weaving between people, I bumped into Eloise, who was vomiting in the corner and Helen holding her hair. An Asian girl named Ilyssa and her boyfriend Howie jumped into the guest bathroom. I grabbed Khloe Tennyson by the hand and we followed other juniors out to the terrace. Even though it was over a 14-foot drop, we all hurled ourselves over the banister onto the lush garden.   I had hurt my ankle, bad. Sprawled on the ground, I saw the juniors boys book it for the surrounding woods. In the distance, I saw Talia and Ian motioning Khloe to follow them. And Khloe looked at me, sprawled on the ground, moaning in pain, and mouthed ‘sorry’.  

I lay there, breathing hard, listening to the commotion upstairs. I had enough sense to roll myself deep into the bush beneath the balcony. There was two state troopers, from what I could hear, and they were in a hurry. I could only hear cries and murmurs, but I laid in that bush for the next four hours. When I heard the cars pull off, I pushed myself up and into the woods. We all met up, and took our sorry asses home.  

As I heard it from Eloise, who narrowly avoided expulsion, the cops were in no mood to play. They swept through the building like a SWAT team, picking kids up and placing them in one corner. They found Ilyssa, the girl from Japan, in the bathtub, where she promptly began speaking Japanese and put on an elaborate cry. They didn’t care to look behind the shower curtain, however, because two of her friends sat there, petrified. The senior who organized the party was put in cuffs, but apparently, as Eloise said, “those fat fucks were too busy to actually book him.” They all received citations, and while he had them all in his sight, a State Trooper placed a call to our very own principal.  

There hasn’t been a party at the River since. Yet, I never truly healed my ankle, and Ilyssa refused to speak English for a week.  

Always Watching, 


Twitter: @nymoves
Instagram: @nymovesmagazine


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s