Our Year in Love and Parties

by Karen Hattrup

  Erika was right behind him, scowling. Tucker jumped and almost dropped the frog right on the ground.

  They stood there, facing each other, neither of them saying a thing, until finally he extended his hand, making her a silent offer. For a second, he thought she was going to turn around and leave. Instead she plucked the frog from his palm and ate it in a single bite, without a thank-you, without looking at him, letting the silent seconds continue to stretch out.

  At least she wasn’t walking away. Or punching him in the face.

  “Was it good?” he asked.

  She didn’t answer at first, too busy standing on her tiptoes and looking this way and that, taking in the room. “Delicious. This is a pretty nice setup.”

  “I was going to say dream come true,” he said. “Is dream come true too strong?”

  She turned away from him, acting like she was trying to see the owl, but he was pretty sure she was laughing.

  “Big night for you and your mom. So many dreams coming true.”

  “Yeah, yeah. She was a little excited about this place.”

  “Well, I hope you got a good picture.”

  “Oh, it was perfect, don’t worry. A framer for sure.”

  Erika glanced at him, her expression curious, but still a little suspicious, too.

  “He seems nice. Your stepdad. I feel like they’d just started dating, that summer you worked at the Cave?”

  Hearing that, it came back to Tucker—how much he had joked about it, because joking about it had made it seem less overwhelming. He fiddled with his goblet.

  “Yeah. She hadn’t had a boyfriend in years, and was totally freaked out about telling me. I already knew, though.”

  “How?”

  Tucker rolled his eyes. “She came home one day and said that some guy had stopped to help her change a flat tire. All of a sudden, she was going to all these dinners with ‘her friends’ and getting a million texts.”

  A smile flickered across Erika’s face. Then she took a deep breath and turned to him, starting to say something about going to find Nina. Before she could finish, Dumbledore appeared at their side.

  “Are you two a team? Because it’s time! Everybody who’s playing needs to be at that table over there.”

  “No, no,” Erika said, at the same time Tucker asked, “Playing what?”

  “Harry Potter Trivia! We have excellent prizes. I wouldn’t miss it.”

  Dumbledore gave them a wink and then swept off, robes trailing behind him. Erika and Tucker turned to look at each other, officially making eye contact for the first time that night.

  She wanted to do this—he was sure she wanted to do this. He did, too, but more than that, he wanted to do whatever he could to make her happy. And the best way to do that was to forget entirely about trying to be cool.

  “So I’m going to take off, like I was saying before . . . ,” she said.

  Her foot was nervously tapping. Tucker didn’t even try to keep the goofy smile off his face.

  “Like hell you are.”

  “These scarves are really nice. It’s not like some crappy prize we gave out at the Cave. This is a high-quality piece of clothing.”

  “To be fair, we earned these. We know a truly unsettling amount about Harry Potter.”

  “The fact that they let us pick our houses really takes it to the next level. Yours looks weirdly nice with your suit.”

  “Yours looks weirdly nice with your candy cane tights.”

  Erika’s eyes narrowed when Tucker said that, and oops, oops, oops—he was forgetting himself. He’d been trying so hard to be reserved and polite around her, but the last half hour had undone all that. Sometime in the lightning round, when they’d started high-fiving at all their right answers, he’d given up trying to be mature . . .

  “Are you making fun of my tights?”

  No, I like your tights entirely too much was definitely not the right thing to say, so Tucker stammered for a few seconds, then blurted out the first question he could think of.

  “So what’s the best thing about college?”

  She cocked her head, smirking at him. “What are you, my aunt?”

  “It’s just . . . I can’t really imagine it yet. Living in a dorm. Frat parties, whatever. It might as well be Hogwarts—that’s how real it seems. I know that sounds dumb.”

  Erika fiddled with her scarf.

  “It’s not dumb. Honestly, I think my favorite thing is being an RA. I like looking after the little freshmen on my floor.”

  They had wandered to the edge of the library. Erika had said again that she wanted to find Nina, but so far they hadn’t seen her.

  “Do you want me to text her?” Tucker asked. “I can ask where she is.”

  Erika glanced over, blushing a little. “Sure. Yeah. Or I can do it. I’ll text her.”

  She took her phone out of her dress pocket, but then she paused, looking out over the beautiful room and sighing.

  “Oh my god, they even have a ladder. How is this place real? You’re friends with the kid who lives here?”

  “I am. He’s pretty nice, actually. I’ve come over to hang out in his video game room.”

  Erika’s eyes went wide as she turned to look at him.

  “His video game room?”

  Tucker was laughing so she flipped him off, but smiled as she did. He was almost starting to feel like this summer had been erased, like they could pretend it never happened.

  “I guess it’s not officially a video game room—it’s just one of the guest rooms, but Ryan’s kind of taken it over for that.”

  She was fiddling with her phone, but still not texting Nina.

  “You can ask,” he said. “Go ahead.”

  Erika paused, licked her lips. He thought for sure she was going to say no, and his heart sank a little, but then she whipped her head toward him.

  “Does he have Super Smash Brothers?”

  “Of course.”

  “Well, I’m Pikachu. You can’t be Pikachu.”

  “I think I can live with that.”

  15

  Erika

  The bed was a queen, and they were each perched on a different corner, so not particularly close to each other. Still—there was something about his tie and his jacket lying on the bed behind him, and his sleeves rolled up over his forearms, that felt distracting.

  She shouldn’t be here. She knew she shouldn’t be here. She had stood right in front of Nina, swearing she didn’t like him, promising to help her out tonight.

  But Erika was tired—very tired—of feeling alone. Right now she was having so much fun, playing games and joking around for the first time in weeks. She needed this, if only for a few more minutes. She’d even insisted to Tucker that they play just one round.

  The problem was, one round seemed very short, so they’d agreed to a couple more. Now he took off his shoes, scooting back a little so that he was leaning into the absolutely absurd pile of decorative pillows that adorned the bed. After hesitating, Erika kicked off her boots and did the same.

  They kept playing, Erika looking occasionally at the time, convincing herself they hadn’t really been up here that long. She noticed that Tucker was humming “Jingle Bell Rock” without seeming to notice that he was doing it, and she found that irritatingly cute.

  “You are freakishly good at this,” he said after she’d beaten him three times in a row.

  “It’s my game of choice when I can’t sleep. Playing it by myself is very soothing.”

  “You play this alone? That’s sad. Very sad, Erika.”

  That stung a little, but she knew he hadn’t meant anything by it, so she tried to brush it off.

  “Whatever. Insomnia sucks, and Pikachu is the only cure.”

  There were a few seconds of silence, and then he seemed to get squirmy, shifting around and coughing. She looked over and he was staring away from her at the wall, red-faced and trying desperately not to laugh.

  “Oh my god, what? What is wrong with you?�
�

  “Nothing, nothing.”

  “Nothing? You look like you’re choking.”

  He was shaking his head. He was still bright red. She was feeling simultaneously annoyed and amused.

  “What is so funny about . . .”

  But oh, oh, oh. Suddenly she knew.

  Back in high school, Erika had honed a whole bit about having one surefire way to put herself to sleep—and it definitely wasn’t Pikachu. There had been a time when she loved saying things like that, things that shocked people, things that proved she didn’t give a shit. She’d grown far away from that, of course, after the video. But sometimes at the Cave, with Tucker, she’d felt like she could still act that way.

  Now she clucked her tongue, but couldn’t quite look at him.

  “I cannot believe that you remember that,” she said.

  “Um, I was fifteen and I had a big crush on you. It kind of blew my mind.”

  She pulled one of the pillows from behind her and whacked him in the chest.

  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he said. “I have a lot of questions about why Pikachu is better than that now, but I’ll keep them to myself.”

  This time she hit him squarely on the head.

  “You know what, Tucker? It’s a little tough to do that with a roommate five feet away. You see how it goes for you freshman year and get back to me.”

  “I’m not sure I feel comfortable getting back to you about that, but thanks for the warning.”

  She tried not to laugh, which made her snort as usual, and then she was yelling at him that she wanted another round. He got everything ready, was about to push start, but then he paused.

  “One more question. If you’re an RA, don’t you have your own room? I’m just wondering why you still need Pikachu, if you have some privacy.”

  She grabbed the pillow again and started hitting him repeatedly. After half a dozen blows, he picked up a pillow of his own, and was trying his best to fight her off. She got on her knees so that she’d have a better shot, but he whacked her first and she fell over, grabbing the hem of her dress as she did, to keep it from riding up.

  “Oh my god—are those candy canes fuzzy?”

  “Stop making fun of my tights!”

  She hit him a final time, with the smallest pillow, and the end of it popped right open, sending up a big burst of feathers.

  As the fluffy white down drifted all around them, she realized they were way too close to each other. She made a show of gathering herself and moving back to the edge of the bed, reclaiming her controller. She kept her voice low-key and steady when she asked him to please start the game. As she did, her phone beeped from the nightstand.

  Hey, it’s Salma. I found your number on the RA spreadsheet. Just wanted to say that if you want to talk about anything over break, I’m here.

  “Is everything all right?” Tucker asked.

  Erika glanced quickly at where he hovered on his corner, his brow furrowed. She realized her eyes had gotten watery.

  “What? Yeah. Sorry. Some weird stuff happened at school this semester, and it’s . . . It’s nothing. Seriously.”

  She picked up the remote and stared at the television, silently willing him to start the game and stop looking at her, but he didn’t. Instead, he was nervously shifting and clearing his throat, and then he was talking in a rush.

  “I feel like I should tell you this . . . I, uh, I saw the story online. And then I asked Nina, because I was worried about you, and she asked Marissa, so I know what happened. That you were the one who found her. I’m so sorry. I mean—I’m really sorry that it happened, and I’m also sorry if it seems like I was prying in your business or something.”

  Long seconds stretched out, and then she mumbled that it was fine, that she wasn’t mad. It was hard for Erika to think right now, though, because in her head she was hearing Makenzie’s voice.

  My wrists hurt, he hurt my wrists.

  She heard the echo of her own voice too, how she’d somehow kept it from shaking.

  I believe you, I believe you. Can I please call for help?

  “Do they know who it was?” Tucker asked.

  Erika swallowed hard. “He was a friend of a student. I guess he hung around the dorms all the time. She knew him. They just filed charges, but nobody really knows yet what’s going to happen.”

  Maybe there would be a trial. Maybe Erika would have to testify. And who knew what they might ask her about if that happened. Did they really dig up dirt on people, or did that only happen on TV?

  Chill out. Breathe. Don’t worry about this right now.

  “I’m sorry,” Tucker said quietly.

  She didn’t look at him. She took a few deep breaths.

  “One more round?” she said. “For real, this is the last one. Winner take all.”

  “Yeah, yeah. For sure.”

  The game started. She was destroying him within seconds. He cursed softly, then cleared his throat.

  “I hate to tell you this when you already picked your scarf out and everything,” he said. “But I don’t think you’re a Ravenclaw. I think you’re a Gryffindor.”

  Erika’s cheeks went pink. Stupid Pikachu was not behaving, and she started banging harder on the buttons.

  Was she brave? She’d like to think so, but she certainly didn’t feel that way right now, hiding out with Tucker when she should be helping Nina. If she thought about that too hard, this lump in her throat was going to get the best of her.

  “Well, I’m sorry to tell you this, when you’ve already picked out your scarf, but I’m pretty sure you’re not a Slytherin, Tucker. You’re a Hufflepuff.”

  Something in the room shifted then. Tucker seemed to go still, and when she looked over, he was wearing a complicated smirk.

  “Um, that’s not an insult,” she said. “Cedric Diggory was a Hufflepuff.”

  “Fair enough. And I know I’m a Hufflepuff. I know I’m a puppy dog. It’s cool.”

  A puppy dog? That set off a distant bell in the back of Erika’s mind, but she couldn’t quite place it or figure out what he was talking about, why he seemed suddenly more distant. But it didn’t matter, did it? She needed to get out of here as soon as possible.

  But as she was putting down the controller, whoosh. The door was flung open.

  Ryan was holding it wide, gesturing for his friends to walk in. Four people crowded through the doorway, and the last one was Nina.

  Erika couldn’t look at her. She couldn’t look at anyone. Her eyes swung sharply to the right, to the opposite wall, but unfortunately, there was a giant mirror there.

  The bed was a mess, and Erika’s hair was full of soft, white feathers.

  16

  Tucker

  Tucker was still in the guest room, watching a round of Fortnite, when he got a text that Bobby had finally arrived.

  Erika had left, having practically sprinted from the room when everybody else showed up. Meanwhile, Tucker was back to feeling terrible. First he’d let himself get annoyed by that Hufflepuff comment, which shouldn’t have been a big deal, and then she’d gotten so embarrassed when Ryan and everyone walked in. He hadn’t realized it would upset her so much—if he’d known, maybe he could have said something, made it clear that nothing was going on. By the time he’d thought of that, though, she was long gone.

  Tucker found Bobby standing in the foyer alone, devouring a plate of crackers and fancy cheese, looking around like he couldn’t decide if this place was amazing or ridiculous.

  “Finally,” Tucker said, settling in next to him. “Did you see the pictures I posted, of the Great Hall?”

  “All fifty million of them? Yes.”

  “It’s even better in person. I’ll show you. Where’s Skylar?”

  Bobby shook his head, then refilled his plate with fancy nuts and crackers.

  “She’s not coming?” Tucker asked.

  “It’s a long story.”

  Tucker nodded, secretly glad that just the two of them could hang out. H
e looked around at this enormous space, which was as big as the entire first floor of the house he’d grown up in.

  In the far corner, there was a mountainous man dressed up very convincingly as Santa, posed perfectly in a red velvet chair. A professional photographer was kneeling on the floor in front of him, while a snaking line of children waited for their turn to say their wishes out loud, to have their pictures taken.

  “I think we missed a few years,” Tucker said. “Are you ready or what?”

  Bobby shook his head and gave Tucker a don’t even think about it kind of look. Their moms used to drag them to the mall together every year. Tucker was sure that there were half a dozen photos of the two of them on Santa’s lap still haunting Facebook or Instagram.

  “Can you imagine if we did that, and sent it to them?” Bobby asked.

  “They would die. We might have to do it.”

  “I’m not waiting in that line—no way,” Bobby said. “And you know your mom would post it everywhere, even if you asked her not to.”

  “She can’t help herself,” Tucker said.

  Bobby laughed, then started running his hand back and forth across his hair, a nervous habit he had. His face grew serious.

  “Is everything okay, with your dad?”

  Tucker purposely hadn’t been drinking tonight, but that suddenly seemed like a mistake. He could really use a beer right now. A very light buzz would be nice.

  “It’s fine,” Tucker said. “I mean, he’s still an asshole, like always. But that’s to be expected.”

  He’d asked his mom not to talk to Bobby’s mom yet, not to tell her why his dad was here, and why they were suddenly spending all this time together. He wanted to tell Bobby himself, he’d said.

  Except days went by, then weeks. Months.

  He should have told Bobby the truth right then; he knew he should. But there was no way he wanted to talk about it with these happy, screaming kids all around them. This was a Christmas party, and they were supposed to be having fun.