He moves my hand away from his face.
“You’ll get wrinkles,” I laugh.
“She’s swaying, man,” Kaito says to Noah.
“I’m dancing,” I correct. I am swaying a bit, but it’s controlled swaying.
“Is this the girlfriend Declan was telling me about?” A stranger asks.
“We’re not dating,” I say. I punch Noah in the arm. “I don’t know why I did that.”
“Eve, I think you should slow down,” Noah says.
“Let her live, she’s having fun,” someone says.
“Is this your first time drinking?” Noah asks.
“Definitely not,” I answer. “I’ve had … wine … with my Mum … at a restaurant … once …”
“Alright, you’re going to have a rest. And drink some water.”
“I’m not inebriated,” I say. “Inebriation means being drunk, by the way—”
“I know what it means,” Noah says. I can’t read his expression. Maybe it’s from the darkness. I don’t know. I do know that now I’m on the path towards the house. Noah has his arms around me as he leads me into the living room.
We pass clumps of people, but they don’t look over — they’re too busy talking with messed up hair or lopsided smiles. Many people dance on the lawn.
The living room is quiet. There’s a couple on the couch, but they disappear as soon as Noah makes me sit down on the one nearby the coffee table. “Okay,” he says. “I’m going to get you water. And I’m going to take this.” He pries the bottle out of my hand.
“Okey-dokey,” I say, leaning back on the couch. It’s not as soft as mine, or Noah’s. In fact, I can feel the springs digging into my back.
Noah returns with a water bottle. “Drink this,” he says, sitting down beside me. “We should have discussed alcohol more in our socialising lessons.”
I swallow a gulp. “Yeah. You should have told me that drinking would make me super gregarious. I knew that, butwow. If socialising lessons were a class, I would have aced it tonight.”
“That’s good to hear,” Noah says.
I look into his eyes and try to figure out his level of intoxication, but he looks pretty sober to me. Maybe he’s better at handling it. According to science, guys usually need more alcohol to get drunk, and not to mention that Noah would have experience drinking from going to several parties over the years.
“You don’t have to look after me,” I say. “You’re going to ruin your own party experience.”
“It’s fine. Where’s Ruby?”
I shrug. “The last time I saw her was at the bathroom.”
“And she left you?”
I’m suddenly defensive. “She didn’t. She’s a good friend. I might have run away … I don’t know. I’m sorry you have to babysit me.”
“It’s nothing,” Noah says.
“You know you are one of my few friends, right?” I ask. His smile disappears and I hurry on to continue. “I mean, I have like two other friends anyway — if we count Oliver — so it’s not like you’re super special.”
“Thanks.”
“But you are pretty cool. Better than alright, ‘kay?”
Noah looks like he wants to say something, a flash of emotions running over his face. Before I can ask what is it, his eyes catch on something in front of us.
