“I can’t wait.”
She lights up like a Christmas tree and loops her arm through Hannah’s so we’re all linked together, like a drunken daisy chain.
“Me too,” she says.
“Me three,” Hannah agrees.
“I’m going to miss you guys next year,” Molly says, and maybe it’s just the alcohol that’s got us feeling all sentimental, because I barely know Molly Moye. Well, that’s not true. I know all of the facts about Molly: she’s dating Edwin Chang, she’s played field hockey since fifth grade, she’s going to Dartmouth in the fall. But knowing these details about Molly’s life doesn’t mean I know what’s going on inside her. And yet, when she says she’s going to miss me, I understand what she means. Because I’m going to miss Molly too. She’s part of my ecosystem. I’m used to her life orbiting mine, like she’s always just on the edge of my vision. And I know after we graduate—after summer is over, when I go off to California, and Hannah leaves for New York, and Molly for New Hampshire, I’ll probably never see Molly Moye again.
I wander around the house feeling slightly lost in the crowd of people, the sweaty mass of bodies. I’m already on my second margarita and the tequila is blurring them together, morphing them into strangers.
In the kitchen I find Danielle and Ava. I guess Danielle must have peeled herself off Andrew’s lap. Where has he gone?
There’s a cookie sheet on the counter and they’ve sprinkled tortilla chips and cheese on it, their fingers greasy. Because these are Danielle nachos, there are other ingredients too: black olives, jalapeños, sliced onions, and tomatoes. I can picture her cutting vegetables up before the party started, putting them in little bowls like my mom does.
“Collins!” Ava shouts when she sees me. “Come eat the last supper with us! We’re making a feast.” Ava operating an oven is probably a bad idea, but I’m happy she’s moved from kaleories to nachos. Hopefully Danielle will keep her from burning the house down.
“Where’s Andrew?” I ask, grabbing a chip off the tray and biting into it.
“Wait!” Ava shrieks. “They’re not ready yet!”
“Let’s make guacamole.” Danielle grabs some avocados from the basket of fruit on the counter and then picks up a big knife.
“Don’t!” Ava says. “You’ll cut your hand off. I read an article about it on BuzzFeed—like hundreds of people are going to the hospital with guacamole-related injuries.”
“Do you even know me at all.” Danielle slices expertly into the skin of the avocado, sticking the knife into the pit and throwing it into the compost. “If I ever wound myself on an avocado, please finish me off.”
“Have you guys seen Andrew?” I repeat.
“Not for a while.” Danielle puts the tray of nachos into the oven. “Just wait until these start cooking and then he’ll magically appear. Guys can’t resist melted cheese. It’s science.”
“I’m going to find him,” I say, and turn on my heel, leaving them to deal with the oven.
Jason Ryder and Susie Palmer are pressed up against the wall in the back hallway, practically eating each other. I step around them to walk the rest of the way down the hall and then I’m at a screen door, the one that leads out to the porch. The night air is warm, the hum of crickets loud even over the music from the party.
I start to go outside, but then I freeze when I see Andrew. Because he isn’t alone.
He’s with Cecilia.
I close the screen, hiding myself behind the wall so I can watch them. She’s sitting on the porch railing and Andrew is in front of her, standing so their faces are level. I think at first that they might kiss, but then I realize they’re speaking, their voices soft. I have to strain to hear them.
“So you’re just gonna pretend it didn’t happen?” Cecilia sets her beer down on the railing next to her and flicks the metal tab on the top of it back and forth. “You’ve barely even looked at me all night.”
He steps away and reaches a hand up to rub his neck. “I’m sorry. Danielle and I . . .”
“Yeah, I know,” she snaps. “You’re going to prom with her. So you’re just done with me forever?”
“I thought it didn’t mean anything,” he says. “You said that. I wouldn’t have—”
“I said that because I knew it’s what you wanted me to say. God, Andrew, you just don’t get it.”
“Why would you lie about that? I didn’t think it was—”
“I lied because I had to!” Her voice is raised now, sharp and strained. She runs a hand through her mass of blond curls, big and unruly from the humidity. “I knew you didn’t like me. I knew you just wanted to get with me because you could, and I wanted to date you, but that’s desperate, right? Feelings are such a turn-off.” She lets out a harsh laugh. “So I took the parts of you I could get. You never would have gone for me if you’d known I liked you. That ruins it. Everyone knows you’re a player.”
“I’m not a player,” Andrew says, and I want to shake him. She’s telling him what I’ve been trying to tell him all along. He raises his beer to take a sip, but then shakes his head and sets it down on the railing, running his hand over his face.
“Oh, come on, Andrew!” I wonder how much she’s had to drink, if she would have been brave enough to say these things to him sober. She picks her beer up off the railing and clutches it so hard between her fingers the can dents. Is she going to drink it or throw it in his face? “You think you’re such a good guy, but good guys don’t hook up with a girl and then move on the second they see someone better.”
“I’m sorry,” he says, his voice catching. “I just didn’t think . . . I mean, I thought we were on the same page. I wouldn’t have been so . . .” He trails off, struggling with his words. “I thought you knew.”
“It’s not my job to be the girl you hook up with while you’re waiting for the one. I’m not here to entertain you until you find someone else.”
“I’m sorry,” he says again. “Really. I didn’t think about it that way.”
“Yeah, whatever,” she says. “I should have listened to Susie. She kept telling me not to waste my time. But I thought maybe I could change you; that maybe I was special. Stupid, right?”
“Don’t call yourself stupid when I’m the asshole,” he says. The corner of her mouth twitches, like she’s trying not to smile.
“You’re a huge asshole,” she says. But she raises her beer toward him and he clinks his can with hers, and I know she’s forgiven him. Why is it so easy to forgive the people we have feelings for? I feel bad suddenly for the things I’ve said about Cecilia, the way I’ve joked about her with Andrew. I’m no better than she is.