Or maybe they just didn’t care.
I didn’t belong here. Not like them. I tried to appreciate it because I knew it was a privilege to attend a four-year university. A privilege my brothers never got.
“Come on,” Seb called over the blaring music as we pushed through the door and started across a living room already littered with plastic cups of beer. “Let’s get you a beer before you glare a hole in the wall.”
The furniture had been pushed to the edges of the room. Some awkward dry humping was happening to a heavy bass beat. Two guys were wrestling next to the couch, with a small crowd of onlookers laughing and jeering.
We ran the gauntlet—but not without beer getting sloshed over my shoulder—and squeezed through a kitchen cluttered with bodies hunching over snacks like they were Gollum with his precious ring.
The cafeteria food wasn’t great, though, so I couldn’t really blame them. I snagged a handful of Flaming Hot Cheetos as we walked by.
“I don’t know how you eat that crap,” Seb said.
“Like your nasty Sour Patch Kids are better.”
“They are! Ask anyone!” He grabbed a random dude by the arm. “Are Sour Patch Kids not the shit?”
“Um, I guess,” he said, turning back to the girl he’d been chatting up.
I snorted. “Ringing endorsement.”
“Whatever, you’re just a sore loser,” he said with a big grin.
Sebastian Morrow was an odd duck. He wore orange shorts and a lime-green T-shirt with red tongues all over it. To say his taste was eclectic was a stretch. More like nonexistent. But he was always smiling, always determined, even as people turned their noses up at him.
In a way, he didn’t fit in here much better than I did. Somehow, that made him easier to live with. Even when he dragged me to parties.
We crossed the backyard to the keg, where a square-jawed guy who could have modeled as the Ken doll was pumping out beer.
Seb approached eagerly, hand out.
“Whoa, hold up,” the dude said. “You look too young. We’re not serving underclassmen.”
“I just got one of those faces,” Seb said. “Baby-faced, you know? I’m a junior.”
“Yeah? Let me see some ID.”
I tugged Seb’s arm. “Come on, man. It’s not too late to catch a movie.”
“I want a drink,” Seb said stubbornly. “Please?”
The guy laughed. “That’s a little sad. Begging? Really?”
A curvy brunette came up beside us, a couple of girls at her side. “Oh, stop being an asshole, Troy. Let them have a drink.”
She curled a hand around my arm, leaning in way too close. “This one’s cute. I might keep him.”
I pulled away. “Don’t touch me.”
Her eyes widened in surprise, and Seb winced, knowing the tide was about to turn against us again.
“Fuck off, then,” she said. “Cocky little shit.”
“It’s not what you think,” Seb said loudly. “He’s gay, is all!”
Everyone turned to stare. Yeah, fuck this. Every time I went out, it was the same thing. Girls hit on me because they didn’t know I was gay. But the idea of coming out to every freaking person I met was exhausting.
People werewaytoo handsy, especially when drunk at a party. It was annoying as fuck.
