“But if it sucks, we’re leaving,” Dominique says quickly, teasing out her hair. “Designated driver’s prerogative.”
“At least walk through the front door before deciding the party’s beneath you,” LuAnn says with a laugh as we clamber out of the car.
Kayla falls back beside me as we follow a path through the dim trees. “Do you think my outfit is OK for a college party?” she whispers. She’s wearing jeans and a plain blue T-shirt under a zip-up hoodie. “I’m not really dressed up.”
“We’re in the woods in western Massachusetts,” I tell her. “There is no underdressed out here. If anything, I’m the one OTT.”
“No way,” she reassures me. “You look the cutest in that dress.”
I hope so. I’m wearing the vintage red outfit I bought in the city, since Kayla nixed every other option of mine as too “Old Sadie.” We told our parents we were going to a party at LuAnn’s and that we’d be home by midnight, no problem. I hope the Gods of Completely Necessary Partying are on my side. It’s the first time I’ve ever had to lie to my mom about my whereabouts, but I figure it’s for a good cause. After all, she should be happy I’ve made it to all of seventeen years old without sneaking off to illicit parties with my friends. She should be happy I have friends at all.
My cell phone buzzes in my pocket, and I startle, wondering if Mom can somehow sense my sneaking around. But instead, it’s just Garrett. Again.
Last call for pizza. I ordered veggie, just for you.
“I don’t get it. That’s the fifth time he’s texted tonight.” I sigh, tapping out a quick response. “I know he’s been away, but how come he’s being so . . . I don’t know, full-on?”
Kayla smirks. “Of course he’s being full-on. You don’t need him anymore. Guys can sense that,” she adds, as we head deeper through the woods. “It’s like they have a radar for it. TJ dumped Lexie last year by text, and then the minute she moved on, he started hanging around again, wanting to get back together. They always want what they can’t have.”
I shake my head. “Garrett’s not like that. And anyway, we were never together.”
“But you were always around whenever he called,” Kayla points out. “Now you’re busy. His tiny man-brain can’t process it.”
Before I have time to wonder if Kayla could be right, we round a corner and finally emerge into a clearing by the house.
“Awesome.” Kayla grins, taking in the bright lights and mass of older, infinitely cool people clutching plastic cups and beers; talking, dancing, and most definitely not moping around over boys.
“Classy.” Dominique sighs, deadpan.
“What were you expecting?” LuAnn asks with a grin, leading the way up the front steps. “Wine and cheese?”
I follow, taking in the scene. The house is a log cabin, the kind Thoreau would have hidden away in to write his odes to the joy of nature. But tonight, the only odes will be to the joys of alcohol and loud music. Lights blaze into the dim woods, and people have spilled out onto the porch. There’s something in the air — and not just the waft of smoke that might not be entirely nicotine based. No, this is more. Possibility. Adventure. Or, at the very least, some excellent people watching.
I turn to Kayla, excited. “See? Way better than sitting at home, waiting for Blake to call.”
“OK,” she agrees, looking more cheerful than when she slumped through the doors of the café this afternoon. “You were right. This is pretty great.”
LuAnn drifts off to say hi to some people, and Dominique promptly disappears, so Kayla and I wander through the house, trying not to look like gawky high-school kids. We find some sodas and a couple of Popsicles from the freezer and set up station on the edge of the living room, midway between the “hang out and talk” zone on the back porch and the designated dance area inside. A hipster-looking kid in neon shades is iPod-DJing, sitting cross-legged on the coffee table, while kids shuffle and shimmy and even full-on dance in the crammed living room. There are couples everywhere — no real PDAs, but normal party fun: guys and girls talking, laughing, having fun. Together.
I watch them as if they’re a foreign tribe.
“Do you think . . . ?” I start to ask, then stop, embarrassed. “Never mind.”
“What?” Kayla turns to me.
“I just . . . You know how in the plan, you guys talked about me needing to find some other guy — just for fun?” I add quickly, seeking refuge in my Popsicle. “Well . . . maybe I’m ready for that.”
Kayla lets out a little shriek of excitement. “Really? You think? Because I wanted to say something, but I didn’t want to be pushy or anything.”
“Since when has that ever stopped you?” I tease.
“I can be cool!” she protests, laughing. “But you want to? Find a guy, I mean.”
“Maybe.” I shrug. “Not for an actual relationship or anything, but maybe to try and . . . I don’t know, flirt. Not that I’d even know how,” I add quickly. “See, this is the problem! I’ve spent so much time loving Garrett, it’s like I missed these crucial training years, when everyone else learns how to hang out and flirt and hook up.”
“And now we get to make up for lost time!” Kayla squeezes me with a hug, “I’m so proud of you!”
I laugh, blushing. Admitting my complete inexperience when it comes to dating is kind of humiliating, but Kayla doesn’t seem fazed. In fact, she’s practically bouncing with excitement.
“So, what kind of guys do you like?” she demands, then immediately answers herself: “Wait, we know that already. Tall, intellectual, pretentious. OK, so for tonight, I think we need the complete opposite. The anti-Garrett.”
“A short, dumb jock?” I say, dubious. She shakes her head.
“No, we can do better than that. . . .” Kayla scopes out the party, eyes narrowed with concentration.
“You know, you look like one of those sharks on the Discovery Channel,” I tell her, amused. “Hunting for prey.”
“Your prey,” she corrects me as a guy with cropped blond hair and stubble passes by. He’s twenty, maybe, wearing this faded red T-shirt that hugs his back. I pause, watching the muscles ripple as he reaches to hand his friend a beer.
“And we have a winner,” Kayla murmurs beside me.