The House Party

by Rita Cameron

Genres: Women's Fiction

Synopsis

When a house party goes terribly wrong, a suburban town fractures, exposing disturbing truths about the community—perfect for fans of Little Fires Everywhere and Ask Again, Yes.

“The House Party will keep readers on the edge of their seats.”—PopSugar

It’s the party of the year. Afterward, nothing will ever be the same.

Maja Jensen is smart, stylish, and careful, the type of woman who considers every detail when building her dream home in the suburbs of Philadelphia. The perfect house that would compensate for her failure to have a child, the house that was going to save her marriage. But when a group of reckless teenagers trash the newly built home just weeks before she moves in, her plans are shattered.

Those teenagers, two months away from graduating high school, are the “good kids”—the ones on track to go to college and move on to the next stage of their privileged lives. They have grown up in a protected bubble and are accustomed to getting by with just a slap on the wrist. Did they think they could just destroy property without facing punishment? Or was there something deeper, darker, at play that night? As the police close in on a list of suspects, the tight-knit community begins to fray as families attempt to protect themselves.

What should have been the party of the year will have repercussions that will put Maja’s marriage to the ultimate test, jeopardize the futures of those “good kids,” and divide the town over questions of privilege and responsibility.

An absorbing novel told through shifting perspectives, The House Party explores how easily friendships, careers, communities, and marriages can upend when differences in wealth and power are forced to the surface.

Release date: September 13, 2022

Publisher: HarperCollins

Print pages: 320

Sample

1

The texts started going out at noon on Friday: There’s a party at the house going up by the river. Can you get beer? Make it a keg. Just our crew, no kids. Are you holding? You up for a Philly run? Park on the road—no cars by the house.

A backpack hummed against a chair leg, the phone inside set to vibrate. Will O’Connor sat in the back row of his calculus classroom. He slipped his hand into his bag, glanced down at the screen, and then flicked his eyes back to the board.

Plans were made and the slouching students stirred, their eyes drifting to the windows. It was April, but it was warm, and graduation for New Falls High was only six weeks away. Final projects were just about in, and these last weeks of classes didn’t really matter for the seniors. The students knew it, and the teachers knew it. The lessons were

halfhearted and geared toward showing movies whenever possible. In any case, the kids who were going to college already had their acceptances, and their places in the class of 2012 were secured with Daddy’s check. And the kids who weren’t going to college never worried about it too much anyway.

Will watched through the window as a few of his friends slipped out of the cafeteria doors and hopped into a car that would head down I-95 to a neighborhood in North Philadelphia, about an hour away. They knew a block there where they could buy coke just by rolling down the car window, like picking up fries at the McDonald’s drive-thru. Booze was even easier—they could just get a keg at Mason’s in town, where Mr. Mason barely looked at their fake ID’s before handing them a tap.

The bell rang. Only two more periods to go. Will slung his backpack over his shoulder and walked down the hall to his AP history class.

 

At five o’clock there were already a few cars parked near the house on River Road. It was a mix of the pricey and the practical, just like the town itself: a late model BMW, a handful of beat-up Civics and station wagons, and an open-top Jeep.

New Falls sat on the outskirts of the Philadelphia suburbs, nestled into the rolling hills of Hart County. The town, originally an old ferry crossing, was inseparable from the river that bordered it, and over the years it had tried on and shed a few different personalities: artists’ colony, tourist attraction, and suburban outpost. In the hills around town, sprawling horse estates sat side by side with tree farms.

More recently, clusters of affordable townhomes and high-end housing developments had begun to encroach on the open fields. The houses’ reclaimed wood floors and wrap-around porches mimicked the old farmhouses they replaced, and the neighborhood names, like Deerfield and Quail Ridge, evoked the local wildlife even as they drove it away. In theory, New Falls was within commuting distance of both Philadelphia and New York City, but the closest highways were nearly thirty minutes away, making the town feel either pleasantly secluded or isolated, depending on your perspective. The families that had been there for generations were spoiled by its peace and beauty, and the highly ranked public school provided a good education to the children of doctors and landscapers alike.

It was a town where everyone, if asked, claimed to be middle class, whether they had a Mercedes in the garage or a tractor they could barely afford to keep running. This attitude was evidence of the town’s Pennsylvania Quaker roots: a belief in the importance of equality and humility, even where it didn’t actually exist. New Falls prided itself on retaining its character, and it was true that if you squinted, the town looked much as it had a hundred years ago. But the house going up on River Road was new, and different—a sign not of suburban sprawl, but of money and style, trickling down from New York.

The sleek contemporary sat just north of town, shielded from its neighbors by several acres of wooded waterfront on either side. It was long and angular, with walls of glass along the back and a wide deck that wrapped around to a firepit. It resembled a series of boxes, each opened like a gift toward the river. Inside, the rooms were light and airy, with expanses of white walls and a pristine, almost featureless white kitchen. A black metal staircase seemed to float unsupported up to the second floor. In the back, the deck dropped off and the carpet of grass ran right to the river’s edge, where it met stone steps that descended straight into the water.

There were a few girls sitting there now, their bare feet dangling in the water. Halfway between the house and the river was a pool, the concrete poured but not yet filled with water. Two boys were using it as a half-pipe, the wheels of their skateboards hissing up and down the curved walls. The local skaters could sniff out newly built pools as if they had a divining rod for waterless ponds. Or maybe one of the kids’ uncles worked for the concrete company.

The work on the house was almost finished. The floors and walls were in, and most of the kitchen appliances. There was only detail work left: wires protruded where lighting fixtures would go, and an empty space in the cabinetry, like a missing tooth, waited for the refrigerator. Expecting to start work again on Monday, the contractors had left some of their tools behind—drills, floodlights, a sander.

Will and his brother Trip passed the line of cars along the road and pulled down the driveway, the gravel crunching under the tires of Will’s pickup truck.

“I might head home early,” Will told Trip as they got out. He hadn’t been planning on coming at all. He had track practice early the next morning and AP exams coming up in two weeks.

“I got you,” Trip said, pushing back the hair that hung over his eyes and giving Will his signature lazy smile. “We’ll just have a few drinks and then head home.”

“Sure,” Will said, rolling his eyes. His brother wasn’t exactly known for taking it easy on Friday nights. Or on any other night that offered itself up for a good time.

The girls sitting by the river stood and walked up to the house, carefully drying their feet in the grass before stepping inside. They’d been best friends since elementary school: June Jeffries, Maddie Martin, and Rosie Mendoza. All three wore short shorts and tank tops and had long hair hanging down their backs.

June had always been the ringleader of the group; even she thought of herself without irony as the queen bee. She was tall, with black hair and lips that seemed to be permanently pursed. Her confidence had carried over into her academics: she made straight A’s, led half the clubs at school, and was headed to the honors college at Penn State in the fall. Maddie was pale and delicate, a blonde with translucent skin and faded blue eyes. She was quieter than her friends, constantly drawing in her notebook and occasionally showing her work at the art collective in town. And Rosie had a quick smile, a cascade of sun-streaked brown hair, and big eyes with thick black lashes. She tended to follow June around, when she wasn’t working at her father’s restaurant, and she’d be joining her at Penn State in the fall. They were all pretty, regularly and effortlessly devastating the boys at school with their long limbs and clear skin, no need to try too hard.

Rosie began mixing drinks, dumping out half a jug of cranberry juice and topping it back up with vodka. She tightened the lid, shook it, and started pouring into plastic cups. Trip walked up behind her and squeezed her waist, causing her to squeal.

“How about one of those for me?” he asked. She made a face, but poured him a drink. Trip took the cup and pulled himself up to sit next to Maddie on the kitchen counter. He casually draped an arm over her shoulders, and she let him. They hung out with Trip mainly because he was Will’s brother, and because he held a sort of elder-statesman position among the high school crew. But at twenty-one, his act was getting less cute, and a string of arrests for drunk driving and pot possession meant that he wasn’t going to be working anywhere but his parents’ farm anytime soon. The girls put up with him, but they weren’t going to date him.

The door opened again and Hunter Finch walked in. June slid off the counter and kissed him, while Trip clapped and whistled. Rosie blushed and looked away. Hunter and June had been going out for almost a year, although Hunter didn’t attend the local high school like the rest of them. His father, a real estate developer, had serious money and sent Hunter to Collegiate Prep, a private school in New Jersey. If high schoolers could be a power couple, then they were it: she was smart and he was rich, and they seemed to make sense, even if they didn’t get to see each other all that often.

Will O’Connor slapped Hunter on the back. The Finch estate shared a property line with Will’s family’s farm, and the boys had grown up together, playing in the fields between their homes. They’d stayed friends despite going to different schools, and that fall they would be together again—at Princeton. Will had worked hard for it, and he had a merit scholarship from a local foundation that would pay the tuition his family was expected to cover, even with the generous financial aid. He could still hardly believe it was happening. Hunter was a shoo-in, despite his shaky academic record. His father was an alumnus and a generous donor.

“How’s the other half living, man?” Will teased.

“They’re doing it right,” Hunter replied, pulling from his pocket a ziplock bag filled with a dozen white pills. “Should we get this party started?”

“Hell yes.” June stuck out her tongue, and Hunter put a tab of ecstasy on it. Rosie followed suit, and Hunter popped two.

Maddie met Will’s eye. They were going out, although they hadn’t put a label on it. Will smiled and shrugged. “I’m cool,” he said. “Early practice tomorrow.” Maddie hesitated for a moment, and then shook her head. “No thanks,” she said.

“C’mon, Maddie,” Hunter said. “I thought you wanted to try it.” He held the pill out to her. “Just because Will doesn’t know how to have a good time doesn’t mean you can’t.”

“Don’t let me stop you,” Will said, holding up his hands.

Maddie stared at the baggie. “Maybe I’ll just try half,” she said, then stuck out her tongue like June had. Hunter placed the whole pill on her tongue.

“Hey!” she said, but she’d already swallowed. Hunter just laughed.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ll take good care of you. You’re going to love it.”

Will headed for the door. “C’mon, man,” he said to Hunter. “Let’s go throw the ball around before you’re too stoned to do anything but roll around in the grass.”

They tapped the keg and filled their cups. Someone plugged in an iPod and speakers, and a few kids set up a table using sawhorses and plywood from the garage. Soon a beer pong game was going strong, with Trip O’Connor landing his balls without fail. Kids were hanging out in the kitchen and on the deck. Will came back inside just in time to see his brother arc a perfect shot into his opponent’s last cup. Trip’s opponent, who looked like he was about fourteen, gamely tossed back the beer, and then stumbled away from the table. “Lucky shit,” the kid slurred. “I mean, lucky shot. I’ll get you next time.”

Trip laughed. “Drink some water!” he advised the kid’s retreating back.

Will looked into Trip’s cups. He’d only had to drink half of his beers, but he already seemed a little toasted. Will checked the time on his phone—they’d only been there for an hour.

“Had enough?” Will asked Trip, already knowing the answer. His brother lived for this kind of thing.

“Are you kidding?” Trip asked. “I can’t quit while I’m ahead. Come on. I need a partner.”

Will watched as Trip arranged the cups and poured fresh beers. Some kids from school wandered over and began to do the same on the other side of the table. “I have track practice in the morning,” Will reminded his brother. But even as he said it, Will was already bouncing the ping-pong ball off the table, testing out its spring. He loved any kind of competition, and beer pong was the sport of drinking.

“Consider this carb-loading,” Trip replied.

Will grinned, giving in. It was almost the end of senior year. How many more nights like this would there be? He watched his brother make his first shot, and then he closed one eye, focused, and sank his own ball. Trip slapped him on the back. “Team O’Connor!” he roared, and Will echoed him: “Team O’Connor!”

Will and Trip kept playing, showing off for the girls who were watching. Some kids from New Jersey arrived with more beer. The music got louder. The kids who’d gone to Philly for coke finally got there, looking wired, and set up shop in the upstairs bathroom. Word went around that you could get two lines for five dollars. Will slipped upstairs and did a quick line—just one, never more—to keep himself sharp.

On his way back down, he could hear Kanye’s Graduation album blasting as all the seniors cheered, feeling like the music was made just for them. Kids were dancing now, stealing glances at their reflections in the sliding glass doors. And yes barely passed, any and every class, they chanted, laughing. Will looked around for Maddie, but she must have been outside. A girl he recognized from school started pulling on his hand, leading him toward the group of dancing kids. He followed her and she smiled at him and then began to dance, her body rolling with the music. Will automatically put his hands on her waist, but he was relieved when the beat picked up and she turned to bounce between him and some of her friends. He wasn’t quite drunk enough not to feel self-conscious.Welcome to the good life, the kids sang along, and Will slipped away, feeling good, feeling like he wanted another drink.

He pushed past the crowd, which had somehow doubled over the past hours, and grabbed a Solo cup and a bottle of Jack Daniel’s from the kitchen. Through the window, he spotted Hunter on the deck and went out to join him. Hunter lit a cigarette and handed one to Will, who knew there was no more telling himself that he was going home early. There was nowhere else he wanted to be right now. He’d worked so hard all year, loading up on APs and making National Honor Society and captain of the track team, while pulling fifteen hours a week at his family’s farm. He’d even volunteered as an umpire for Little League. He had everything under control. This was clearly going to be the party of the year. He didn’t want to miss it.

Will stood on the deck smoking with Hunter as the sun slipped behind the hills and the river at the edge of the lawn turned a deep, glassy blue. A few kids plugged in the contractor’s floodlights and went into the woods to look for kindling for the firepit. From the house they heard the synthetic throb of a Katy Perry anthem as the shadows of the dancing kids flickered across the deck. The girls were rolling hard now, wrapping their arms around anyone and everyone, shouting to them that they loved them.

Will took a last long drag on the cigarette, an American Spirit. It was too strong for someone who didn’t usually smoke, and he coughed, feeling lightheaded. Hunter laughed at him, and when Will smiled, his face felt numb from the booze and the coke that was still racing through his system. “Do you think we’ll miss this?” he asked Hunter.

“No way,” Hunter said. “Next year is going to be epic. Thank god you’re going to be there, Will. I wouldn’t want to go without you.”

“You’re getting sappy, man,” Will said, laughing. “I think the ecstasy must have hit.”

But Hunter grabbed Will’s arm, shaking his head. “No, seriously,” he said. “I couldn’t have cared less about going to Princeton until I found out you were going too. Princeton has always been my dad’s thing. I was kind of dreading it, to be honest. It’s going to full of rich pricks—you’ll see. But it’ll be cool, because we’ll be there together.”

“You’re a rich prick,” Will said.

Hunter smirked. “I need you to keep me humble.”

They tapped plastic cups and Hunter stood up. “I’m getting a refill,” he said as he started toward the door. “You?”

“I’m good,” Will said. He turned to watch the scene around him. Someone had lit a fire in a trash can near the pool, and a tall skinny kid had set two ends of a tree branch on fire and was dancing, whipping the flames through the darkness as he spun. A speaker on the deck was playing nineties rock, an incongruous mash-up with the techno beat coming from the kitchen. Will saw June and Rosie playing on the steps by the river. He frowned. They were in up to their knees, and he knew the water couldn’t be more than sixty degrees this time of year. He walked down to the river, thinking that they were so fucked up that they’d have hypothermia before they even noticed it was cold.

Will called to the girls, but they were laughing and splashing each other, oblivious to his voice. He sighed as he kicked off his shoes and waded in to pull them out. Back on the lawn, he dropped down onto the grass beside them. “Where’s Maddie?” he asked, looking around.

Rosie and June just giggled as they laid on the grass. “Seriously,” Will said, sitting up. “Was she with you? Did she go in the water?” He pulled June up and tried to get her to look at him, but her eyes were unfocused.

“She’s your girlfriend,” June slurred. “You should know where she is.” June made a kissing face and then slumped against him.

“For Christ’s sake, June. You only took one pill,” Will said, helping her to her feet. “Okay, you and Rosie go up to the house. See if you can find Hunter. It’s time to go home. I’ll look for Maddie.”

Will scanned the water, but he didn’t see any sign of her. His heart was beating hard. Had she been in the water? He walked up and down the edge of the river, calling her name and trying not to sound as panicked as he felt. He knew that he was drunk, and he couldn’t tell if that was making him more or less worried than he should be. He jogged over to the pool, where a bunch of kids were taking turns dropping in on their skateboards.

“Yo, has anyone seen Maddie?” he asked.

A couple of the kids laughed. “Oh yeah, man, I saw her,” said a boy that Will didn’t recognize. “Whoever moves in here is gonna need curtains.”

Will looked up at the house. “What the fuck are you talking about?” he asked. But before the boy could reply, Will was already making his way back to the house, where he could see a group of boys on the second-floor deck.

Will pushed through the throng of kids in the kitchen, then took the stairs to the second floor, two at a time. He jogged down a corridor and found the door that led out to the deck. A few boys were standing in a huddle against a sliding glass door at its far end. They were laughing and whistling, and one was taking pictures with his phone.

Will shoved them aside. Through the glass he could see Maddie. She was lying on the floor, with her shirt pushed up and her jean shorts around her knees, her white lace bra and panties visible. A guy was on top of her, kissing her, his hand under her bra. Will felt himself grow hot, and then nauseous. “Who is that?” he asked, and the kids around him shrugged. He banged on the door, but neither Maddie nor the boy reacted. He couldn’t be sure, but it didn’t even look as if Maddie was awake. He tried the glass door, but it wouldn’t open.

“It’s locked, bro,” one of the boys said. “Else I’d be in there myself.” The other guys cracked up.

Will felt a rush of adrenaline, as if he was about to hit the kid. But he didn’t have time for that. He went back into the house, his heart pounding, and ran along the hallway. He tried the inside door, but it was locked as well.

Will raced back downstairs. He rummaged through the tools in the kitchen, looking for a screwdriver. He couldn’t find one, so he grabbed a hammer instead. He climbed the stairs again, and the boys standing by the window backed off, watching him and waiting to see what he was going to do.

Will looked at the hammer in his hand and then at the glass door. He had to get Maddie out of there.

Everything that followed seemed to happen very slowly, the night stretching out into the early morning, the music and the drugs coming in and out of focus, carrying them along. But later they would remember it happening too quickly to stop, like a pileup on the freeway. Nothing to do but brace yourself for impact.

Will took a deep breath, drew his arm back, and let the hammer fly. The glass door shattered into pebbles, cracks spreading from the point of impact and then shards falling quickly with a sound like rain.

For a moment the roar of the party stopped, and the only sound was the dissonant music, echoing from the bare walls and floors of the house. Then someone gave a loud whoop. The shrill explosion of a beer bottle breaking was greeted by cheers, and then there was more breaking glass as people began to rocket bottles from the upstairs windows and decks. Someone turned up the music, drunken conversations resumed, and the party lurched forward into the night.

2

The pounding was in his head, not on the door. No, scratch that, it was both. Hunter rolled over and pushed his palms against his eyes. “What is it?” he called out.

The door opened and his dad walked in. Dominic Finch was big: linebacker shoulders in an expensive suit. He leaned against the doorframe, filling the space, and checked his watch, also expensive. “Are you going to stay in bed all day?”

“Maybe.” Hunter yawned.

“It’s almost noon. And what about the two girls asleep on my sofa?”

Hunter closed his eyes, trying to conjure the memory of what he’d done last night. The nights tended to run together, even when he hadn’t drunk to the point of blackout, and at first he drew a worrying blank. Then he remembered the party, pushing his way through the dark and crowded house, music echoing against the bare walls and floors. And then, as he stepped outside for a cigarette, the sound of police sirens, distant but getting closer. The next thing he remembered was weaving home in the BMW, not quite able to see straight, with June and Rosie passed out in the back seat.

“Your mom is pretty upset,” his father was saying. “There’s a scratch all the way down the driver’s side door of her car. And there was mud in the back. How did that happen?”

Oh, fuck, the BMW. A brand-new six series, borrowed without permission, since he’d totaled his own car a few months before. Hunter winced. “Stepmother,” he muttered, stalling for time.

Dom Finch sighed. “That’s Lindsay’s new car. She said that she told you that you could borrow it, but she didn’t expect it to come back damaged inside and out.”

She’d covered for him, at least a bit. That surprised him. Hunter thought fast. “We, uh, went kayaking on the river after school. It turned into kind of a late night—there was a bonfire.” He sat up in bed, warming to his story. “I didn’t realize how muddy it was. Maybe I scratched it on a branch by the boat launch?”

“Kayaking?” It was clear that Dom didn’t buy it, but he was looking at his watch again. He seemed even more distracted than usual. “Look, Boy Scout, I have to go. I have meetings in New York all afternoon. Make it right. Drive June and her friend home, then take the car in and get the paint taken care of. It won’t kill you to take responsibility for something. And apologize to Lindsay. I really don’t need this shit right now. I have my hands full with work.”

“It’s Saturday,” Hunter said. He was surprised by how childish he sounded. Why did he care if his dad was working on the weekend? The man hadn’t built one of the most successful real estate businesses on the East Coast by sitting around the breakfast table with his kids on the weekend. Hunter cleared his throat. “Whatever. I’ll deal with the car.”

Dom sighed. “Hunter, I know I haven’t been around much lately. We’re having some hiccups with the financing for the new Brooklyn waterfront properties. It’s unusual enough that I feel like I should go up there and look everything over myself, take a few people out to dinner, try to feel out what’s going on.”

Hunter’s window began to rattle. The helicopter was coming in to land on the tennis courts behind the house.

Dom glanced out the window, then back at Hunter. He seemed to be assessing how much more time he should take talking to Hunter, and how late that would make him for his meeting. He blinked, the calculation complete. “I gotta go. I’ll be back late. Don’t forget about the car.”

“See ya.”

Hunter laid back in his bed, thinking. He suddenly remembered the sound of breaking glass and cheering. Fishing around in the tangled sheets for his phone, he scanned his texts, but there was nothing from Will. Had they all left together? He dialed Will, but the call went straight to voice mail. He put the phone on his nightstand and, as he rose, noticed his sneakers on the floor at the foot of the bed, wet enough that the balled-up socks inside them appeared to be soaked as well. What exactly had happened last night?

 

Hunter slipped down a set of back stairs that led to the kitchen, hoping to avoid his stepmother while he went to wake up June and Rosie. The house was old and full of odd passageways and funny turns. It had been pieced together over the last two centuries, each family adding on to the original stone structure until it became a rambling mansion, nestled between a pond and an overgrown orchard. It had character, his father liked to say. It was nothing like the gleaming house clones that Finch Properties built up and down the coast in mazes of cul-de-sacs. Those houses always made Hunter feel off-kilter, each one of them almost the same, but eerily different. A closet where you expected a bathroom, or the kitchen a mirror image of what it should have been.

Hunter shuddered, and then steadied himself. It was just the comedown from the ecstasy, he told himself. All of the dopamine drained from his brain.

He heard the little kids’ voices before he made it down to the kitchen, but it was too late to turn around. They would have already heard him on the creaky steps, and he didn’t want Lindsay to think that he was too scared to face her. Even if he was.

Jack and Grace, four-year-old twins, were eating lunch at the kitchen table, a portable DVD player open in front of them. Lindsay sat across from them, her hands wrapped around a mug of tea and her face a blotchy mess. When the kids heard Hunter come in they looked up at him quickly and then stared back at the screen so hard that Hunter was sure they weren’t paying the least bit of attention to it.

“Hey, uh, sorry about the car,” Hunter said sheepishly.

“I don’t care about the car,” Lindsay snapped, too quickly. She had clearly been going over this conversation in her mind all morning. She walked it back. “I mean, I do care about the car. But what I really care about is your father waking up to a bunch of girls sleeping on his sofa and the car parked halfway off the driveway, all scratched up. And of course I’m the one that he gets . . .” She was about to say “pissed at,” but she was always careful about her language in front of the kids. She steadied her voice before she spoke again: “I’m the one he gets upset with. It looks like I don’t know how to run my own house.”

It was right on the tip of his tongue: It’s not your house. But he felt bad for her, and for his half siblings, who were now staring down at their plates.

“Look, I’m sorry. It was a late night.” He gave Lindsay half a smile, inviting her into his circle: You’re young, you get me. This strategy had worked for a little while. When he woke up with his first real hangover, she rolled her eyes and made him a big breakfast. But at some point she had gotten older, or maybe his act had just gotten old. It didn’t help that Dom tended to blame anything that went wrong at home on her. The honeymoon was over, and it was clear that she was looking forward to Hunter going away to college in the fall with outright glee.

Hunter made a last-ditch attempt at peace. He gave both the kids a tickle and they giggled, their heads bobbing in unison. “Hey, guys, want to play hide-and-seek later?” he asked. “Now!” they both shouted, and Hunter laughed. “Later, later. Eat your lunch.” Out of the corner of his eye,