“WE HAVE TO GO!” Bodhi’s hands clutch his baseball-capped head in a panic. “We’ve worked so hard to get here, and I am not giving this up! And you aren’t either!”
“Okay, okay,” I say. “Calm down.” I nod at a guy across the street who’s glaring at us from his mailbox. He death-stares a secondlonger before grabbing his mail and walking up his driveway. “So we’ll drop off these kegs and go hang out somewhere else for a while. It’s all right. Everything’s totally all right.”
Bodhi takes a few deep breaths with his eyes closed before giving me a hug. “Thanks, man. This party really means a lot to me.”
“Yeah. I’m getting that.”
We work together to heave the kegs out of the trunk one at a time and roll them on their side into Shana’s backyard.
They’re incredibly heavy.
Maggie
“Come,” Shana says, pulling me by the arm, “we need to check on the snack table.”
“Do we, though?”
We’re an hour into the party, and the bass is bumping, and the beer is sloshing, and the rooms are filling up, and it’s seeming like it’s going to be even more insane than the October one.
But Shana’s being a weirdo. She’s all jumpy and anxious—this is the fourth random task she’s brought me along for out of nowhere. “Mags, let’s go see who just walked in.” “Should we make a new playlist?” “Oh shoot, come with me. Need to make sure the bathroom is clean.”
I’m sorry, but mid-party toilet tidying is not something we’ve ever done before, nor do I think it’s necessary. If you’re looking for an immaculate bathroom, maybe don’t go to a high school house party.
“Yup,” I say once we’ve arrived at the snack table. “They’re still snacks.”
“Yeah, but—” Shana puts down her red Solo cup so she can slightly re-angle the bowl of tortilla chips, shift over the salsa a few millimeters, and grab a paper towel from the kitchen to wipe clean some smudges and crumbs before adjusting the gigantic basket of now-cold mozzarella sticks.
“Are you okay?” I ask, taking a sip of gross-tasting beer from my cup.
“Yeah, why?” She swaps the positions of the chips and salsa.
“Because you seem to have lost your mind. Why do we keep bouncing from room to room like lunatics? These snacks do not need us. Are you even having fun?”
“Me?” Shana asks, finally looking up from her frenzy of reorganization. “Of course! Do I not seem like it? Woooo!! Party time!!” Shana throws her arms in the air and accidentally knocks the entire basket of mozzarella sticks to the ground. “Dammit.”
“Is one of your exes here or something?” I ask as we kneel on the ground, picking up gelatinous sticks of breaded cheese. “Bella? Meagan? Phineas? You can tell me.”
“No, no, none of my exes are here. Especially not Phineas. Blech. I just want things to look good. That’s all.”
I’m considering the slight emphasis she placed on the wordmywhen there’s a roar of laughter and hooting from behind us in the family room, the very room we left minutes ago. I step toward the noise like a moth to flame, and as Shana shouts, “No, Mags! Wait!” the puzzle pieces slide into place—she hasn’t needed my help, she needs me to switch locations, like I’m one of the bowls on that goddamn snack table—until, with a horrifying click, I understand exactly who it is I’m going to see inside this impromptu ring of chanting, cheering, intoxicated peers.
Not Shana’s ex.
Myex.
There’s Carter, doing the worm in the middle of the room, undulating his body across the Demirs’ family room rug as everyone shouts his name and says he’s funny as hell. His routine doesn’t end there, transitioning into some kind of handstand thing, where he kicks his legs into the air like a donkey, followed by a roll onto his back, crunching his legs in and trying to spin around like a turtle.
I’ve seen him do moves like these before, back when I found them hilarious and charming, but now I just find them gross. Carter’s eating up every bit of attention, and he’s obviously drunk, which I hate, and of course twerpy Bodhi is here too, leading the cheer squad along with those hyenas Amir and Robbie and WHY ARE THEY AT THIS PARTY?
“I’m sorry, Mags,” Shana says, appearing at my shoulder. “I’m so sorry. He’s not supposed to be here.”
“So you thought you’d just keep migrating me through the party all night every time he got close?”
“I didn’t know what else to do!”
“Why is he even here?”
“Well,” Shana says, her face tightening like she’s preparing for me to scream at her, “it turns out Carter was our beer hookup.”
