Living Past the Party

A deafening Eminem rap is ricocheting off the walls of the John Marshall High School gym packed with 850 partying teenagers in Hawaiian garb--girls in coconut bras and low-slung sarongs; guys in pink and yellow hibiscus-popping shirts and leis. For Marshall students, this is the party of the season--the Aloha Dance--a farewell fete for seniors making the jump into the real world.

Whether it’s college or moving out of the house or nailing down a job--or in many cases, all three--the class of 2002 is outta here June 27, graduation day. But right now, on a recent late Friday night, all that matters is get-your-freak-on dancing ‘til midnight.

For many soon-to-be grads, the annual dance is a much-anticipated get-together--affordable at $10 a pop and free of the stress associated with last month’s prom at the Millennium Biltmore Hotel. Prom night easily costs a couple more than $500 for the right look, limousine, dinner tickets and after-party fun.

A little more than two weeks after Marshall’s May 4 prom, an 18-year-old Tustin high school senior named Cathy Isford died after taking Ecstasy for what she told her sister would be the last time and mixing it with alcohol at a prom after-party. The tragedy struck fear in the hearts of parents and educators, but, perhaps predictably, didn’t seem to hit home with as much force among the prom-going public.

At Marshall, which straddles Silver Lake and Los Feliz, news of Isford’s death “just kind of flew by,” said 18-year-old student body president Sherllene Aquino. “Things like that seem to be so common nowadays. It’s sad that we accept it just as it is. But people make choices.”

Here, at the Aloha Dance, where at least two armed campus police officers are on duty, soda and fountain water are as good as it gets. But no one is complaining. Ten administrators and staff have their radar on, always moving, dropping into cliques of kids, scanning the crowd for anything suspicious or anyone who shouldn’t be there--like the kid who jumped the fence and had to leave when he couldn’t produce ID.

Once inside the darkened gym, students are packed shoulder to shoulder at a close-encounters dance-athon fueled by deejays spinning everything from techno to salsa under a spinning strobe light that hovers in a corner like a UFO. Eau de high school spirit--that funky, dance sweat smell--fills the space.

At about 10 p.m., the house lights come up. It’s time for the evening’s main attraction, the coronation of the Aloha King and Queen. Students shout for their favorites and go wild--jumping, shoving, clapping, hugging each other--when Jeff Maniego and Idalia Hernandez are crowned the royal duo. Away from the crush, they both agree their idea of a good time is dancing and being drug-free.

“Ecstasy? I would never do it. Never,” 17-year-old Maniego says as he adjusts a newly placed straw hat on his head as the crowd’s favorite. Maniego plans to study criminal justice at Cal State Northridge and hopes to become an FBI agent. “I’m the wussiest person in the world. I will not drink. I will not smoke,” he says. “Sure, the pressure is there to do all that, but none of that interests me. I would never let my parents down.”

Neither would Hernandez, also 17, and set on a career in the music industry. “There’s definitely a lot of people who want to bring you down, but you have to be strong on the inside,” she says. “If you’re not strong enough, then you only have yourself to blame for going down that destructive road.”

Other seniors agree. But, hey, this is a full-throttle dance--and seriously, not the right time or place to talk seriously. Not when you want to act silly and find friends and hug them and gossip and pose for photos and then get lost in the music that is making your socks fall to your ankles.

On the day of the dance, half a dozen seniors--who like 80% of their 700 classmates are college-bound--gathered to talk about the pressures they have faced as high schoolers. The Cliffs Notes version? Growing up is hard (although their language is much crasser), but you can get through it if you lead, not if you follow. Be yourself. Don’t show off, don’t procrastinate, make friends with your teachers. Have fun, but act responsibly. Know your limits and the consequences when it comes to drinking and drugs. And even though they get frustrated with their nosy parents, a lot of them credit the adults in their lives with keeping them out of trouble.

“I’m pretty much a clean teenager. I don’t drink, don’t smoke,” says Geri Sadek, 17, who plans to study broadcasting at Cal State Northridge. Sadek says she’s been around friends that “have drank too much and say offensive things when I try to be a good friend and help to keep them out of harm. But what does that do to you? You’re being a mother. But if you go to a party and find out that your friend has gotten drunk--or worse--you naturally want to try to take care of them.”

“It’s not worth it,” she says about drinking and taking drugs. “What’s so great about showing off to your friends and then dying because you drank or did drugs? Big deal.”

She says her parents grilled her about her prom night, both before and after. “Parents tell you they trust you, but they also have doubts,” Sadek says, adding that her mom, especially, “keeps me on check. I have a cell phone, and I get, like, four messages every, what, 45 minutes? I’ve been brought up under so many strict rules at home that I can’t imagine staying out after 11:30 p.m., even if I try. Honestly.”

On prom night, Sadek says, she and eight girlfriends made the evening memorable by wearing garters and flashing the elasticized ruffle every now and then. “You don’t have to get drunk, take drugs or do anything like Ecstasy which will screw you over beyond belief, to have fun. Why would anyone want to mess up when you have the opportunity to go to college? I now have the chance to make something of myself.”

She’s also looking forward to sharing an apartment with her classmate, Aquino, the student body president, who also will attend Northridge. “I hardly go out and party,” Aquino says. “My parents trust me. They ask me where I’m going and what time I’m gonna be home, but they don’t really factor in drugs and alcohol and all that because they know me. I don’t do that kind of stuff.”

She says her friends “talk about certain things you shouldn’t try just to have fun. There are other ways of having fun without having to go straight to drugs or alcohol. Sometimes they listen. Most of the time they don’t,” she says, adding that no matter “how close you are to your friends, there’s just this wall there when it comes to stuff like that.”

Kory Daldalyan, 17, will attend Cal State Los Angeles and major in biology and music. He plays piano and for the last three years was a linebacker for the Marshall football team. This year, he was voted prom king.

“There has to be a balance in everything, including partying,” he says. “If you’re with a group of friends and you’re all sober and having a good time with each other, you’re strong. But, like, if you’re alone, you’re the target.”

He says his experience with some friends who drink and do drugs has taught him that “a lot of teenagers don’t know their limits. They drink to have a good time because it gives them a buzz” and makes them “party harder.”

On occasion, he’s been able to discourage a few friends not to go overboard. If they pay attention, they’re real friends, he says. “But if they’re like, ‘Ah, forget that, leave me alone’ and curse you out and threaten to fight you, then they’re not your friend anymore.”

Charles-Jordan Manigo, 17, an athlete, agrees. “I don’t know why people do it. Maybe because everybody else is doing it,” says Manigo, who wants to study kinesiology at College of the Canyons in Santa Clarita and hopes to own sports rehabilitation centers one day. “I don’t find that fun because you don’t remember anything afterwards. When I feel that my close friends are about to go overboard, that’s when I’m like, ‘OK, c’mon, let’s go. I’ll drive you home or you can sleep at my house.’ I’m not their parent, but I tell them I don’t like drugs. I don’t like the way people look when they are intoxicated or when they are on drugs or how they act.”

Manigo credits his mother, Carol, for keeping him straight. “I know she would kill me” if he ever succumbed to drinking and using drugs. He says he would disappoint her, his grandmother and embarrass his family.

Common sense tells him, “If you have any doubt before you’re gonna do something, then you know that you shouldn’t be doing it.” Besides, he adds, with a completely straight face: “I’m scared of my mom.”

Melissa Flores, 17, has been accepted at UC Riverside, where she’ll study psychology. Her senior prom exceeded her expectations. “My dad is an LAPD officer. He didn’t let me go to the prom in my ninth-, 10th- and 11th-grade years, so when it came to my 12th-grade year, I was ready for it.”

And her friends were ready for a warehouse after-party she hosted, complete with laser lights, a fog machine, a deejay and plenty of security, including her father, Joel Flores.

She’s appreciative that her parents agreed to the party, where punch was served and guests “acted responsibly.” They know many of her friends and cared enough to be present to make sure “everything was fine. I wouldn’t be the person I am today without my parents,” she says.

Nydine Campana, 17, says she’s cool with her parents wanting to know what she’s up to. “I want my parents to have the whole discipline issue going on with me, to let me know what’s right and wrong, teach me morals and all that,” she says. Campana wants to study business and journalism at either Cal State Northridge or Santa Monica College.

“I know a lot of my friends who do drugs, who drink, who are having sex and their parents don’t know. Parents are so not aware what their kids are doing. I think parents should be more involved with their kids and ask questions,” she says.

Like others, she worries about friends, especially “if they are under the influence” of alcohol or drugs. “If you see that they are going over their limit, you sit there, talk to them, try to get their mind off of it. It’s my job as a friend to be understanding and help.”

But at the Aloha Dance, there’s no need for that. Campana is here to dance. “That’s my thing, my natural high.” She’s also here to say goodbye. “That’s what aloha means, right?” she asks, and just as quickly corrects herself. “It also means hello, you know, like the next phase of our lives that waits for us.”