by Mariah Dietz
“We can take my rig, if you don’t mind driving?” Landon offers, fishing his keys from his pocket.
“We’ve been pre-funking while you guys were glamming it up,” I say, holding up my beer.
Kendall laughs. Mocking me, she repeats pre-funking several times.
Landon tosses the keys in the air and catches them before passing them to Ace. “You’re going to have to move the seat up,” he says.
We pile into his Tahoe, the girls sitting in the front where they both move their seats forward, while us guys fill both back benches. Kendall is complaining about the neighbors again, as Ace starts the rig and grips the wheel with both hands.
“Landon, you might be cut off. I feel like I’m driving a school bus,” she says.
I laugh, turning in my seat to look out the back window so I can help her back up as she puts it into gear.
“It’s just like my truck, baby,” Max says, reaching forward to place a hand on her shoulder.
“And you know how much I love driving it,” she says, twisting in her seat to discover her blind spots. Ace lets off the brake slowly. We’ve barely moved when Kendall screams and grabs the dash with both hands, making Ace slam on the brakes, jolting us all forward.
“What?” Ace cries.
But Kendall doesn’t answer. Instead, she’s giggling so hard she has to continue to hold onto the dash for support. “You should have seen your face,” she manages to say between gasps of laughter.
I look over to Landon beside me. His face is stoic as he peers around, his eyes wide and fists clenched due to protocols that were taught to him that have become instincts.
“Babe, that wasn’t funny,” Jameson tells her.
“It was a little funny,” she says, holding up her thumb and forefinger with a brief gap between.
“Nope.” Max shakes his head. “Not even a little.”
“We’re going to stick you in a cab on the way home. You haven’t even been drinking and you’re already being obnoxious,” I warn.
“Lighten up, you guys,” Kendall says, fixing her hair in the mirror from the visor. “We were still in the driveway, no one’s hurt. You guys just seemed a little wound.”
We sit back, and after a few seconds of hesitation, Ace starts again, heading in the direction dictated by her phone.
“When we get there, you might have to park,” Ace says.
“Who are you talking to?” Kendall asks.
“Anyone willing to park this thing.”
“I’ve got you, babe,” Max says.
We stop in front of a large stucco house, one typical of this area of Southern California, with a large yard lined with manicured bushes. I imagine the neighbors are shitting themselves to see people parking on the lawn. Ace double parks and gets out, allowing Max to slide into the driver’s seat. Kendall joins Ace on the sidewalk giving us a brief wave.
Once parked, we find the girls still standing next to each other, their blonde heads leaned toward the other as they talk quietly. It’s a trademark look for the pair.
I incline my head between them. “Who are we talking about?”
“You,” Kendall says, putting a hand on my chest and pushing me away. I wrap an arm around her shoulders and walk beside her as a guy makes a show of looking her over. My presence doesn’t stop him, and for the first time in a long while, I’m a little grateful I don’t have a girlfriend because I know if I were in Jameson’s place, I’d be inclined to throw a right cross, and ask if he wanted to act like a jackass again.
We make our way inside the house, Max and Ace close behind us, followed by Jameson and Landon who have been discussing the football game because it was against Jameson’s beloved Seahawks.
The house is filled with people, and while most don’t look as young or inebriated as many of the parties we’ve been to in the past, it still has a college vibe to it. I debate asking Landon if he wants to hit up a bar instead, but Kendall wraps an arm around my waist, and I stop caring. The girls, the alcohol, even the energy doesn’t matter. I just want to have a good night with my friends.
“No one’s dancing,” Kendall says, disappointment furrowing her brow.
I look around again, noticing she’s right. Most parties consist of people standing around talking while eyeing others, but there’s generally a space where alcohol and the loud music combine to create a dance floor.
“You should start one,” I tell her.
She smiles. “Maybe I will.”
We stop beside a table where people are lined up, and Kendall stands on her toes in attempt to see what’s there. She barely reaches my chin.
“It’s food,” I tell her.
She raises her eyebrows. “And booze?”
I look around a tall guy nearest the table, and shake my head. “Maybe some Jell-O shots?”
“I’ll take it!” she says, standing closer to allow people to get past us.
As they pass, I see her. She looks happy and carefree and very non-busy as she laughs at something my friend Jamal says.
“I’ll be right back,” I tell Kendall, then turn to look behind me to ensure the others are there before heading toward Leela.
“What’s up, man?” Jamal says, holding out an arm to hug me.
I smile at him, ignoring Leela because though I walked over here to see her, I’m not sure what to say to her. “Nice place,” I tell him.
Jamal laughs. “It’s nice, but it’s not as glamorous as it looks. The whole damn team lives here, man. It’s not so glitzy when you think of sharing four bathrooms between nine players and three assistants.”
“Wes?”
I turn and face Leela. Her smile is so broad, that it tips all of her features into a smile. Though her happiness seems genuine, it’s strongly induced by the alcohol on her breath.
“You know this joker?” Jamal asks her.
Leela giggles and then hiccups, which makes her giggle even harder. “We go to school together.”
“Ah, that’s right. You brainiacs stick together, don’t you?” Jamal asks.
Leela smiles at him. “You could be a brainiac, too, if you’d apply yourself. We’ll get you there. Don’t worry.” She leans into him, swaying before patting his chest.
Jamal chuckles. “Girl, what did you get your hands on before me?”
“Punch,” she says with a smile.
Jealousy curls deep within my gut.
Leela’s jaw drops, and she pulls her hand back so quickly it appears like Jamal’s chest has burned her. “I’m sorry!” Then she turns to me. “that wasn’t intentional.” She points at Jamal, but keeps her glossy gaze on me. “How are you? I didn’t know you were coming.” She flashes another smile.
I hate myself for liking how the alcohol makes her smile so much brighter and easier. I wonder if she’s capable of smiling this wide while she’s sober. There’s usually such a somberness to her.
“I should go flush the punch,” Jamal tells us. “Coach finds out someone brought alcohol, and this will be our first and last party.” He peers over the crowds. “You got her?” he asks, looking at me.
“Yeah. I’ve got her.”
As Jamal moves toward the table filled with food, Leela places a hand on my forearm, steadying herself. She smells like lavender and sugar cookies.
“We should get you some water,” I say.
Her fingers tighten on my arm and then her other hand falls to my chest. “Do you do anything in your free time except work out?”
“Are you complimenting me?”
“No. I’m saying you spend too much time in the gym … I think…” She shakes her head.
I ignore the insult and pass her another question. “I thought you were too busy to come out tonight? Better invitee?”
She shakes her head again, this time with smaller motions. “I had no idea this was where you were going to be. I wasn’t planning on going anywhere tonight until I got home and my sister was screaming because she got grounded … again.”
I’m not a s
peculative person. I don’t look at people and wonder if they’re telling me the truth. Instead, I allow them the opportunity to prove me wrong for trusting them—and if that happens, we’re done. However, trusting Leela is for some reason harder. She doesn’t give me any straightforward clues about anything.
“You could have called me.”
Green eyes narrow at the corners. “You make me nervous,” she tells me. “And kind of confused.”
I smile. “Well, at least that makes two of us.”
“Two of us?”
“Why don’t we get you that water.” I wrap an arm around her shoulders and turn back toward the kitchen.
“You know,” she says. “There are a thousand reasons we won’t ever work.”
“A thousand?” I ask.
Leela nods. “The deck is stacked against us. You should be avoiding me.”
“You’re drunk.”
She nods once and then blinks heavily. “I know.”
“Maybe we should discuss this later?”
“It won’t change anything.”
10
Leela
The kitchen is too full, and I’m too unsteady to squeeze through people without running into them like they’re bumpers on a bowling lane, so I convince Wes to leave me by the food. He still looks hesitant to leave my side. I think of telling him how I’ve spent most of my life taking care of myself, but words keep tangling with thoughts, distracting me.
“Eat some of these,” Wes says, pulling a bowl of Fritos toward us and staring intensely at me as though I’m a child and he’s waiting to see if I understand him.
I stare back and pop a chip in my mouth, wondering if it’s possible for me to look as angry as I feel.
He raises his eyebrows but doesn’t say anything, and the stubborn and prideful side of me feels challenged. I don’t need him to babysit me. I don’t need him to get me water or tell me what to eat. I’m twenty-four. Valedictorian of my high school class. Recipient of numerous honors from college. And have been helping to support my family for years, in addition to getting into med school. I do not need him talking down to me or treating me like a pity case.
I shove a few more Fritos in my mouth, because we can’t ever afford them, and they taste way better than I remembered, and move toward the front door. The floor feels like it’s swaying. I’ve never been on a boat before, but I imagine this is what it feels like. I reach out and grab for something steady. Closing my eyes doesn’t help—in fact, it makes the feeling worse. I feel like I’m trapped inside of a giant hamster ball.
“Shit,” I mumble, lowering my gaze to the floor so I don’t have to watch the lights swirling above me.
“Are you okay?” a girl asks me.
I think I’m nodding. I’m trying to at least. I can’t say anything, fairly certain if my mouth opens, I’ll start throwing up.
“She probably doesn’t even belong here,” a guy says.
“She belongs anywhere she wants to be, asshole.” A hand rests between my shoulder blades, providing a nice distraction from my need to wretch.
“She sure as shit isn’t acting like it,” the guy says. The couples’ shoes move away as Wes reaches forward and grasps my arm.
“How much did you drink?” he asks.
“I was trying to be cool.” I focus on breathing to stop the nausea. “I think I failed.”
“How many glasses of punch equate cool?”
I shake my head. “Clearly too much.”
He chuckles, and the sound is like a warm blanket hugging me, protecting and shielding me.
“I like when you laugh,” I admit. “It makes me wish I were funnier.”
“You are funny,” Wes assures me.
“No. Awkward is what I am.”
“You aren’t awkward, you just aren’t as rehearsed as some.”
“Is that your nice way of saying I don’t know how to talk to people?”
“You don’t show off. You don’t have a pocketful of responses and wow cards to try and shock and impress people.”
“I’m awkward.” I groan as quietly as I can manage, done with being upright, though I’m bent in half.
“Well, maybe awkward is the new endearing.”
“Don’t flirt with me right now.”
“You don’t like it when I flirt with you?”
“I think I like it too much.”
Again, he laughs. “Where would you like me to take you? Do you want to go home?”
“I can’t leave my Jeep.”
“Well, you can’t drive, either.”
“Of course I can drive!”
“You can hardly walk. What are you going to do when you start having the spins again and you’re driving?”
“The spins?”
Wes lifts a finger and twists it in the air. “That dizzy feeling you just had where you didn’t know if the house was moving or you were.”
“God, why do people drink?” I clasp my hands to either side of my head.
“Why don’t I take your Jeep and we can go back to Max’s? You’ve been there. You can borrow some of Ace’s clothes.”
“I don’t need her clothes.” My words are clipped, filled with an outrage I can’t appropriately channel.
“Well, you might change your mind if you’re a puker. But, we’ll see.” He seems so unaffected. I wonder how many times he’s done this in the past with his friends.
“I don’t drink.” It seems necessary to tell him this.
“Then why did you tonight?”
“You’d laugh if I told you.”
“There’s that chance, but,” his lips press together with thought for a second, “I usually only laugh when it’s something funny. I’ve been told I have a good sense of humor.” He winks at me and I work to recall if it was from me.
Trying to think about it makes my head ache, and the room spin again. I am definitely not cut out for drinking and partying. Perhaps all those years of work and school ruined me—or maybe saved me from a lot of embarrassment.
“We can stay here if you want, and try the water and Fritos or we can head back to Max’s where there will be a lot less noise and movement, and you can sleep this off.”
“I don’t need a babysitter.” I scowl, thinking how much I’m acting like Luna tonight and how embarrassed I am to have him see me not only drunk but being so ridiculous. I thought alcohol was supposed to make me funny and easygoing—not irrational and angry.
“No, but you might need a friend,” Wes says. He doesn’t attempt to make me decide or usher me out of the house, he simply stares at me, waiting for a decision.
“What about your other friends? What about your reason for coming here?”
“They have a DD. Likely at least two, and they watch out for each other. They’ll be okay.”
“I wasn’t worried about you watching out for them.”
Wes’s eyebrows draw up.
“Clearly you’re here for a reason.”
He turns his head and squints.
“You came to find someone or to hang out or do whatever with…”
Is my insinuation clear? Is it merely an insinuation?
Wes shakes his head. “What exactly do you think I came here to do?”
I sigh with frustration. “Were you looking to hook-up with someone?” Something in my chest tightens with the faintest feeling of embarrassment, but I stare at him brazenly.
“If this was two years ago, probably.”
“But now?” I sound impatient, and once again, more like my little sister.
“Are you afraid I’m going to take advantage of you?” His body leans away from me.
“I’d kick your ass if you tried.”
He laughs, and this time I don’t enjoy the sound of it. “I’m sure you would.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Wes rubs a hand across his chin. As he does, his index finger runs the distance of his bottom lip and back, distracting me for half a second. “Let’s have this conversatio
n when you’re sober and less … green…”
“I don’t want any more chips,” I tell him. “I might never be able to eat another chip.”
“Want to try a cheeseburger? The grease helps to minimize the hangover.”
“Is she okay?” Ace appears beside Wes, her eyes trained on me as she asks the question. Clearly she knows I’m here, so why isn’t she addressing me?
“I’m fine,” I mutter.
“You’re drunk,” Wes reminds me. “I’m going to take her car and grab some takeout, then head back to your place. You don’t mind an extra couch surfer tonight, do you?”
Ace shakes her head, and watching the slight movement seems to knock my equilibrium off balance and once again things begin shifting and swaying.
“Kendall swears by cheese,” Ace says.
“Hear that? You’re going to eat your weight in cheese tonight.” Wes says, leading me toward the door.
I squeeze my eyes shut after we take our first step, and hear Wes say something before I feel completely weightless.
“Where’s your car?” he asks.
I giggle.
Every emotion seems so strong right now, it’s impossible for a single one to settle.
“Want me to drive you guys? I can drive back for them?” Ace offers, confusing me because I can’t remember who them is.
I’m about to ask when my stomach lurches, and I can’t even attempt to fight the sensation. Wes quickly sets me on my feet, and before I can turn away from him, I’m throwing up all over an azalea bush. The momentum of leaning forward makes me feel like I’m about to fall face first into the plant, but something anchors me to the ground. My embarrassment grows exponentially when I realize it’s Wes, and that Ace is holding my hair back.
“Well, Doc, I think your liver is calling game.” Wes helps me stand again.
I’m shivering and sweating, dizzy and exhausted. He doesn’t ask me any more questions.
When I open my eyes again, there are tacos in front of me, and I’m no longer standing over the bush I decimated, but sitting on a couch with a blanket draped over my shoulders.
“How are you feeling?” Wes asks.
