“Uh, alcohol?” I say.
“That’s what I was gonna guess too!” Bodhi agrees. “I think it’s alcohol.”
“It’s the vodka you got me!” the guy says.
IknewI recognized him. I’ve been getting stuff for so many people the past couple weeks, it’s hard to keep everyone straight.
“Oh, sweet,” I say.
“Really appreciate it, man. Grey Goose is theshit! Here, have a swig! As a token of my gratitude.”
I stare at the flask he’s holding in my face. I’ve never actually had vodka before. At least not that I remember.
“I’ll take one if he doesn’t want it,” Bodhi says.
“No, I want it.” I take a chug from the flask, and OHMIGOD vodka tastes insane. It’s like I just swallowed gasoline and now it’s lit a fire in my stomach. “Thanks,” I say in a raspy voice.
“Good, right?” Wide-Faced Captain America says.
“Can I still get some too?” Bodhi asks.
“Nah, sorry,” the guy says, screwing the cap back on his flask.“Shit’s expensive. Thanks again, Carter. Guess this always-sixteen thing is finally giving you some sweet perks. I’m gonna tell everybody you’re here, they’re gonna be pumped.”
He pats me on the back and walks away.
“Oh, dude, my dude,” Bodhi says, completely giddy as we head out into the cold winter air of the patio. “Do you even know who that was?”
“I mean, kinda. His name is Chris, I think?”
“Youthink? That’s not just any Chris. That’s Chris Colasurdo, the goddamn quarterback of the goddamn football team. And he’s pumped to seeyou! This is dreams! This is a movie! This is movie dreams!”
“Cool,” I say, all nonchalant, even as I feel this rush of validation, like maybe there’s hope for me to be known as more than that kid with the messed-up age regression disorder. Maybe I can be that kid who brings joyinto everyone’s lives.
“Carter!” this cute girl at the keg says as she pours herself a beer. “So great that you’re here!”
“So great thatyou’rehere!” I say, vaguely remembering that maybe I bought her some... hard lemonade?
“And great that I’m here too!” Bodhi says.
“I’m Lizzy.” The girl waves the hand that’s not holding the tap. “You got my friend Tatiana those edibles. They were clutch. Thank you.”
“Hey,” I say with an aw-shucks shrug. “It’s what I do.”
“Who do you think got this keg you’re currently extracting from?” Bodhi asks.
“Whaaaat?” Lizzy says. “That’s dope. Seriously. Cheers tothat.” She clinks her full plastic cup against mine and then Bodhi’s asshe walks back inside. “See you in there.”
“You know we will!” Bodhi shouts, giddier than ever as he starts pouring more beer into his cup. “Dude, she was getting mad flirty with you!”
“Come on.” I realize I’m starting to shiver because we’ve been standing outside all this time without our coats on. “She wasn’t flirting. She’s just happy I helped her get high.”
“I dunno,” Bodhi says. “I think she was, and that means other seniors will likely be flirting too, and I want to be there when it happens so I can ride the hell out of your coattails.”
“You really found a way to make that expression sound inappropriate,” I say. We both start laughing, and Bodhi fills my cup to the top, and I take a large sip, and a new song starts playing inside, and I don’t recognize it—which, let’s face it, is unsurprising, seeing as there’s a six-year gap in my musical awareness—but I like it. I want to be back in the house, moving to the sound of those bouncing synths.
I step back into the kitchen, apparently before Bodhi is ready, as he darts ahead of me, shouting, “Wait! Let me lead the way, just to...”
“Just to what?”
