“Look at their arms. Their arms are works of art. They have been sculpted by Michelangelo.”
Noah’s arms were works of art.
Jane pointed. “I’m taking him.”
“How?” I did not necessarily want to take a bro, but I did want to know, operationally, how this worked.
“I’m going to say hi, act like he’s brilliant for five minutes, ask if he wants to go for a walk, and then make out with him.”
I drooped. “You make it sound so easy.”
“It is.” She set her free hand on my shoulder. “I believe in you, Abby. Follow those steps and you, too, can have a bro of your own. Chime chime.” She stood and walked away.
Chimechime.
I leaned back. I was at a beach party under a full moon, with the waves crashing and people laughing. If you could bottle this night, it would be eternal youth.
I did want a fling. I didn’t want the last guy I’d made out with to beMatt. I didn’t want to think about... I didn’t want to be focused on someone I couldn’t have.
Okay. I was doing this.
I refilled my Solo cup. Rum and coke, easy peasy. No wonder they called alcohol liquid courage.
As I topped off my drink, a boy grabbing a beer nodded at me. “Hey.”
“Hey.”
Oh no. What came after hey? How did words work?
“What are you drinking?” He grinned, his teeth blazingly white. He wore a backward baseball hat, which was a choice.
“A rum and coke.” I took a sip to give myself something to do, then repeated my thought from earlier. “Drink of pirates.”
His laugh gave me a glow inside stronger than the alcohol’s. “Are you a pirate?”
“Totally. I have a cutlass and a tricorn hat and everything.” I wanted to make some weird joke about tricorn hats and pirates and Haman from the Esther story and American patriots, but decided it would inevitably fall flat. “I’m Abby.”
“Sean. You here for the summer?”
It was surprisingly easy to talk to this boy, about our summer jobs and what we’d done on Nantucket so far, and our normal lives (he was a college freshman in Boston). Part of me knew the ease probably came from alcohol, but maybe part also came from my confidence in how good I looked, and from a cute boy’s attention.
“Want another drink?” he said when we’d finished ours. “Or want to take a walk?”
I could do this. I could make out with him, like a normal, well-adjusted human being. Admittedly, I had limited experience makingout. But this was how you obtained experience, right? By mashing your lips against each other. Hopefully notquiteas aggressively as Matt had done. (How could I have beenso intosomeone who didn’t even make out properly?)
Okay. I just had to say yes. Easy. So easy.
“Oh, I’m—” I made an awkward, truncated noise, and waved my hand vaguely. “I’m waiting for friends.”
“Cool.” He nodded, already scanning the area. “I’ve gotta find some of my friends, too. See you around.”
I watched him go, my stomach sinking. What was wrong with me? So much for being bold and having fun. Why didn’t I know how to relax?
Grimacing, I poured another drink, and downed it with more ease than I’d expected.
“Are you okay?”
I whipped my head up at the familiar voice. “Hi.”
