Page 529 of Call Me Baby 2: Side B

“This is Andrew.”

“Andrew.”

“Andrew.”

Everyone’s packed shoulder-to-shoulder. Hookah hoses pass across the velvet couches.

Andrew ends up on the outskirts with Bowie, Ty’s producer and best friend, and Sinclair, one of the lead guitarists from Linc’s band, laughing, smiling, relaxed. A few girls stand near, inching closer.

Near the DJ, Kate and her friends surround me as the party turns up, the pulse of house music shaking the blood in my veins.

As I turn in place,

I realize they’re closing in on me,

a tight, spinning circle,

their laughter bouncing off the night.

“I’m just gonna… yeah—” I slip out,

“preserve the vibe by removing myself.”

Just in time before grinding bodies melt into one another.

Roxie tries pulling me in, reaching for me, but I wave my hand. “No, you’re good. You look hot. I need more room for the slutty shit I might do.”

I step a way, a loser.

‘Cause I want to.

I want it so bad it almost hurts worse than the fear, worse than watching it from the sidelines:

Kate laughing.

The girls singing.

Everyone’s arms up,

their skin glowing under rooftop lights.

It shouldn’t be this fucking hard.

But all I see are hands⁠—

reaching, moving, sliding.

I can’t track whose belong to who fast enough, and it only makes my anxiety compound.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper,

though no one hears me.

For what, I don’t know.

Being no fun, maybe.

Then Drake’s “Rich Baby Daddy” thuds through subwoofers.