probably do you for a while. I wanna play darts, come play with me!”
She grabbed me by the hand and dragged me through the party, and up onto the stage that is her life.
CHAPTER THREE
THE SUN HAD ALREADY set completely, the promised snow had come and accumulated into inches and most everyone was well on their way to blacking out. You know, your typical “eight at night.”
I had given in to the atmosphere and had a couple drinks. Which for me was enough. I was starting to remember that being drunk and a girl at a party wasn’t half-bad. For one thing, it was much easier to talk to people. I was joking and chatting without overthinking everything, or worrying about what everyone thought of me. I was pretty much only ever this comfortable with Brooke, Aiden and my dad. At one point I took an objective look at the scene I was living out and realized I was sitting with five guys, all of whom, I knew, would be happy to get in my pants.
It was never going to happen with any of them, but it still felt good.
At this particular moment, Brooke wasn’t in the room, and I was still holding up okay on my own. We had made our way to the basement, and she was outside with a group of people. How she was managing it I didn’t know, since it was about two degrees out there. Inside, though, was sweltering. I excused myself and went to the bathroom to splash my face with cool water. I looked good, I decided upon seeing my reflection and the makeup I had allowed Brooke to apply. I looked like a normal teenage girl. Right now—maybe it was the vodka, maybe the high of attention—I felt like one of them. Something I didn’t usually feel.
I hadn’t locked the door, and Alexa burst through crying.
“Oh, sorry,” she said, and started to back out.
“No, no, Alexa, come in.” I opened the door and motioned for her to join me.
She sniffed and came back. “Thanks.”
I put the lid down on the toilet and shut the door. “What’s going on?”
Alexa took a shuddering breath, the kind you have only after crying deeply. “It’s so stupid. The guy I’ve been kind of talking to was supposed to come over, but now he’s not, and I hate being so upset about it, but I can’t help it!”
“And this was...Reed’s friend Sam, right? The guy who had the New Year’s party?” Again, obsessive detail-remembering.
She nodded. “Uh-huh. I had met him before, and I thought it mattered when he invited me and Brooke—” she looked at me “—and you...you were supposed to come, too.”
I started to give an excuse for not going, but saw that she didn’t care right now, so I shut my mouth again and listened.
“Right, well, anyway, I thought it mattered, but then Brooke talked to Reed, and it turned out he invited us, not Sam, even though it was Sam’s party. And I was flirting some with Sam that night, and he seemed into me, and then I left when Brooke wanted to leave, thinking that it was good to play a little hard to get, you know? And we have texted some, and he said he might come tonight, but now he isn’t, and I feel like shit! I even went and got a Brazilian done and everything, because I thought I might...you know.”
So much for hard to get.
“Look, Alexa, he’s just some dumb guy. Guys are always talking about you and how pretty you are. I know that doesn’t make you feel better right now since you don’t want them, you want this guy Sam. But you’ll move past it, I promise. And I bet it won’t take that long. You’re going to be fine, and someone else will come along and actually get the fact that you’re awesome. I mean, who is this Sam guy to think he can treat you like any old nothing-girl?”
I talked to her like I would have talked to Brooke. And apparently it worked. Her expression relaxed, and she said, “Yeah! Really. I am not some dumb bitch.”
“No, definitely not. And just think, when he looks back on this, after you don’t talk to him anymore, he’ll remember that you left on New Year’s, anyway. So you totally didn’t even seem into him.”
“Exactly!” She smiled. “Okay. How bad is my makeup?” She stood and looked in the mirror. “Oh, God, I’ve totally ruined it!”
“No, you’re fine, come here.”
She turned and looked up to the ceiling, allowing me to touch up the eye makeup with a Q-tip I had found in the medicine cabinet. Again, this was an activity usually reserved for Brooke’s breakdowns.
“That’s so much better,” she said, looking at her reflection, and then to me. “You want to go get mani-pedis sometime this week? I’ve got about three hundred dollars in credit for Red Door Spa from birthday gift cards.”
She shook her head like this was actually a problem.
“Sure, that would be fun.”
“Okay, do you still have the same number?”
“Yep, same old one.”
She exhaled and looked cheerfully at me. “All right, let’s kill these drinks.”
She held up hers, and I copied. Clearly we were both going to finish our drinks right now. I knew it was stupid. I had already had a lot. But this was the bonding kind of drinking that was hard to say no to without coming off like a complete bore.
“All right, here’s to not taking shit from asshole guys!” she said.
“Cheers to that.”
We chugged, and then she put her cup up in the air. “Whoo! Oh, Natalie, I’m so glad you’re hanging out again. This is going to be awesome. We’ve all missed you.”
She pulled open the door, and we rejoined the party.
“Oops, sorry, Eric.” Alexa pushed past Eric Hornby, who was rounding the corner toward us. He was one of the most sought-after guys, the Brad Pitt of our school. It didn’t hurt that he looked like an Abercrombie & Fitch model, and he was as rich as you could get. The guy who everyone had a crush on. It was a given.
“Sorry,” I said, too, giving him a brief smile and making to move past him.
“Your drink is empty. I have some in the fridge down here if you want one. It’s better than the crap they’ve got upstairs.” He gave one of his half smiles that made all girls’ legs turn to jelly. I was no particular exception.
“Oh, sure, what’ve you got?” I would rather hold a full drink than keep being offered more.
I followed him into the next room, which was unfurnished and held storage boxes and the laundry area. He opened a refrigerator, a normal white one that looked like mine at home, unlike the expensive one upstairs. That one had a screen and Wi-Fi. God knows what for.
“I’ve got some Goose Island beer. What kind of beer do you like, do you know?”
I made a face. “Basically...no beer.”
He nodded. “Okay, so probably not an IPA, then.”
“I
