Second Helpings_ A Jessica Darling Novel - Megan McCafferty [68]
“Uh, what?”
“You’re letting 9/11 stop you!”
“I got freaked out!”
“That’s what they want!” His arms were flailing all over the place. He was all riled up, as I imagine he is at his PACO meetings. “Don’t you see? Fear is the greatest form of oppression. The best way to rise up in protest is to live your life to its fullest!”
Taryn whispered something into his ear.
“Look, I gotta go now. Remember, it’s not too late to change your mind.” Then he looked me dead in the eyes and said one last time, “Columbia.”
Columbia. Columbia. Columbia.
New York City. New York City. New York City.
Death! Terror! Fear!
“Was that, like, the Paul Parlipiano you were talking to?” said Bridget, snapping me out of my hysteria. She and Pepe had been watching the whole thing. I was actually very relieved to see them.
“So was it?” Pepe asked, handing me a cup of beer.
“The same,” I replied. I took a long swig and was pleasantly surprised to find that it didn’t have the familiar cat piss bouquet that Milwaukee’s Best is famous for.
“What is it?” I asked.
“MGD,” Pepe said.
“No Beast? Pretty classy for a Pineville party.”
“True dat,” he replied, and we bumped fists.
“Is he, like, still gay?” Bridget asked.
“I’d assume so,” I said.
“Too bad,” she replied.
“What’s too bad?” another voice asked.
I looked to my left and Marcus was standing next to me.
“It’s too bad that Jessica’s, like, future husband is gay,” Bridget replied.
“Yes, that is unfortunate, isn’t it?” he said, holding my gaze a little longer than necessary.
“Good luck, Marcus,” Bridget said.
“If you get nervous, just imagine everyone in their underwear,” Pepe said. “That’s what I do when I’m onstage.”
“It’s easier to do with some people than with others,” Marcus said, looking right at me.
How did I become a part of yet another conversation about Marcus and underwear?
“True dat,” said Pepe, glancing at me, then zoning in on Bridget.
The truth hit me like a dodgeball to the face: I’d been replaced as his older-woman object of lust. Fortunately, Bridget hadn’t heard any of this banter because she was distracted by Dori Sipowitz and the rest of the theater crowd convening in the corner. Obviously, there’s no hope for Pepe and Bridget. Like me, Bridget enjoys Pepe’s sense of humor and his company, but she will never see him as dating material. I’m going to have to talk him out of it. One friend to another.
“Let’s, like, bond with the rest of the cast,” Bridget said as she whisked Pepe away.
Marcus and I were alone. Alone surrounded by a hundred screaming, scamming, shot-slamming buffoons. Our peers. The walls were vibrating. The air was thick with smoke and the airborne form that beer takes on at parties, so it hangs heavy over everyone’s heads.
“Aren’t you going to ask me how Len is doing?”
“How’s Len?” Marcus replied with extra dramatic emphasis.
“Len is fine.”
“That’s good.”
“I guess.”
Our conversation had already become a parody of itself.
“Nice shirt,” he said.
“Thanks,” I replied, sincerely flattered that someone appreciated its awesomeness. “I was about to say the same to you.”
For the Anti-Homecoming, Marcus was wearing another one of his custom white T-shirts. This one said: COMINGHOME. If I’d had an adequate number of beers, I probably would’ve pressed my fingertip to one of the letters, to feel the soft fake-velvety texture.
“Thanks. I ironed it myself,” he replied.
The image of Marcus toiling over an ironing board was too domestic for me to handle.
“I happen to be very crafty,” he said, laughing along with me, knowing exactly what I had thought was so funny.
I glanced at the plastic cup in his hand. The liquid was dark and bubbly.
“That better not have any alcohol in it,” I said disapprovingly.
What was I doing? Why was I saying this to him?
“Do you want a taste?”
Why is it that everything that comes out of that boy’s mouth sounds like a come-on? Because it is?! No! I still can’t believe it. The Game Master was just messing with me.
“Sure.” I took his cup, put it to my lips, and let the liquid