“Ihavetried it.” Eve is on her bed, leaning back on her hands. She’s wearing loose shorts and a shirt with Hercule Poirot printed on it. We both changed out of our school uniforms before meeting at her place to discuss socialising at the party. “I danced at school socials and formals, and I felt … weird.”
“Oh. Well, dancing is easier when you’re surrounded by drunk people.”
“And people are sober at school events?”
I grin, then my brows raise. “Hey. Do you know what’s happening at the end of the semester? The summer social.”
Eve straightens up. “Oh, yeah.”
“You’ll have to dance at that, so better to practice now.”
“I won’thaveto dance then. Besides, who says I’m going?”
“Come on. It would be a perfect opportunity for the Jealousy Pact,” I say.
“You think the pact will be ongoing by then?”
The summer social is weeks away, the Friday of the second last week of term. “I don’t know,” I answer. “We should plan for it in case. Even if the pact has finished, we can still go. We’d go together!”
I expect Eve to argue, but her eyes are bright. “We should …”
“See? I’m full of great ideas. You’ve got a dreamy look on your face.”
“I’m thinking about the dress I’ll buy.” After a moment, Eve shakes her head and straightens up. “Okay, but first things first: Craig’s party. Dancing.”
I nod. “Try dancing there. If you do, you’ll look like you’re having fun. People are attracted to that. And if you hate it, avoid a grumpy expression at all costs.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Eve leans over to grab her computer and searches through her playlists.
The party is a couple of days away and while we’re both busy this week, we found a free afternoon where I could give Eve a crash course on socialising. The whole idea is strange to me — Eve’s nice if she gets to know someone, and besides, a party isn’t a big deal. But she reminded me I’ve been to heaps, and I’m likeable.
Sometimes I’ll catch Eve’s face going pale, and I realise that she’s not freaking over the party the way she can sometimes be dramatic. She’s afraid.
I’m trying to help her as much as I can. I’ve never thought about the technicalities of socialising, but as I speak, I realise there’s a lot I know intuitively. “Like I said before, if you’re having the worst time ever,” I continue, “you have to pretend you’re having fun. Smile at everyone. Pretend that you’re friends with everyone. No one wants to be a downer.”
“That sounds difficult,” Eve says with a grimace. “Okay, judge this dancing. Be as harsh as possible.” She clicks on a song, stands in the middle of her room, and starts dancing.
I make it fifteen seconds before slamming a hand over my mouth to muffle my laughter. Eve’s standing before me, limbs waving around in jerky circles, butt thrusting about, while her expression is the kind you’d see when she answers a challenging question in Maths class.
“Noah!” She stops and pauses the song. “What’s wrong with it?”
“Nothing,” I say, wiping my eyes. “Sorry. Ignore me.”
“Now I feel terrible! Is it that bad?”
“No, I swear it isn’t. It’s just weird, seeing you dance like this. On the night it’ll be fine because it will be natural.”
Despite me saying that it’s unnecessary, Eve insists on practising dancing some more to get used to it. She asks me a hundred questions about what goes on at parties, and if it’s like the movies. I tell her it’s a lot more boring unless you drink alcohol. If you drink alcohol, nothing’s more entertaining.
We talk about everyone else that is going, and Eve makes me pull out my phone and show her the event page on Facebook.
She whistles at the number of people invited.
“Wait,” Eve says moments later, grabbing my arm so I stop scrolling. “Is that Oliver?”
I squint at the profile picture. “Yeah, he’s going.”
“He mentioned it,” Eve says, before tapping onto his profile. There’s not much on it. Some people post their whole lives online, but Oliver’s the opposite. Eve clicks on his pictures and zooms in.
