Thirsty - M. T. Anderson [55]
Bat smirks, says, “Heh heh heh.”
And they disappear into the living room.
The door is left open.
“We could go back to the carnie if you wanted,” says Jerk. “The, like, haunted house is only seventy-five cents. I mean, I’ve been in it four times, but there’s a really good skeleton and stuff.”
I shake my head. “No. I’ve got to go in. Come if you’d like. Or go. It’s up to you.”
I snap my fingers from nervousness. Then I go in to find her.
The party is in full swing. People are packed up and down the front stairs right near the door. They’re leaning on the dining room table and dancing in the living room. Kids are singing with the music, playing air guitar, slam dancing delicately, and gargling beer.
Lolli whirls like an Indian goddess of destruction atop a side table, scattering issues of Good Housekeeping with her heels. She and Jenny are dancing, pointing at each other, casting their shoulders back and forth, up and down.
Lolli’s friend Asheleighe is perched on the arm of the sofa, yelling over the music to Trunk McIntyre, “I, like, loved their first album totally, but then when their second album came out, it was like, god, way to be completely queer, all right?”
Trunk nods. After some thought, he washes the beer from one cheek to the other and swallows. He says, “Yeah!”
I pass Paul. He has waylaid Tony, blathering, “Hey, Tony, Tony, I was thinking. I brought my camcorder. It’s out the car. I was thinking, like, I could —”
“Yeah, great, man,” says Tony.
“No, Tony, I could bring it in and we could make a movie. You know, it would be fun, we’d preserve this party for future generations unseen? Do some crazy video stuff?”
“Yeah, whatever, guy,” says Tony. “My house is your house.” He turns and calls, “Chester boy! I see you standin’ there, but I don’t see you guzzlin’!”
I look around and spot Tom standing on the other side of the room, talking with some other people from the cooler crowd in our class. One of them is Rebecca.
I work my way through the crowd.
“Hi, Chris,” Chuck, Andy, Kristen, and Rebecca say when I join them. We’re all a couple years younger and more timid than everyone else at the party, so I’m on their level for a few minutes. Tom sees that they’ve said hello to me, then he says hi, too, as if we’re just meeting up.
“Great party,” says Chuck. “That girl Lolli, who’s dancing with Jenny Morturo, she says she knows you.”
“Yes,” I say.
“You know her?” Tom asks, somewhat in awe. She bucks her shiny pelvis; her tan legs kick.
“Yes,” I repeat.
“From where?” says Andy.
“Around,” I say.
Jerk has come up and stood next to us, peering at Tom and Kristen and Andy as if he were one of their crowd, but he is too shy to say hello. Rebecca says hi to him anyway — “Hi, Jerk” — which I think is nice. She gives him a quick smile.
So we’re standing there.
Time is running out. I feel anxious to begin, to talk to Lolli, to get on the road, to find the abandoned church again. Maybe two hours and forty five minutes left until midnight, and the final part of the Spell of Binding is cast. Rebecca first, though. She has to know. I have to tell her.
“Rebecca?” I say. Feeling weak, I look deep into her feet. “I was wondering, I mean . . . Could . . . ?”
Everyone waits. Tom is raising his eyebrows.
“Could I talk to you for a minute?”
“Whoa whoa whoa!” says Chuck. “Looks like you’ve got yourself an admirer!” he says to Rebecca.
Andy and Chuck laugh. Tom doesn’t know whether he’s supposed to laugh or not.
I say, “You can —” And then I feel Lolli’s soft arms wrap up around my shoulders from behind, like she’s about to do the Heimlich maneuver.
“Hi there, Chris,” she says. “Saw you from over there and thought you might like to step upstairs for a little talk.”
Chuck and Andy back off a step. They are blinking. Chuck whispers, “Shit . . .” Jealously.
Rebecca is obviously disgusted. She’s looking at Kristen.
I say, “Lolli, you. I mean, I need to talk to you, too, but first I want to talk, I mean, really talk — I’d just asked Rebecca if . . . Oh,