“No, I’ve got it,” Bailey says, then disappears into the house.
When she’s gone, Willow turns on me. “You’re not drinking? I thought you said you were ready to let loose and get crazy!”
“Not my exact words,” I say.
“Close enough.”
“I’m driving,” I point out.
“In likemaybethree hours. One drink won’t kill you,” she says. “Or I can make Brett stay sober and be DD.”
“Soda’s fine,” I insist, starting to wonder how I ever thought that coming out tonight was a good idea. Thankfully, at exactly that moment, Brett appears, snaking his arm around Willow’s waist.
“I heard my name,” he says. When he gives her a slobbery kiss on the cheek, she giggles.
“Ew, you’re all wet.”
“You’re all dry,” he says.
“On account of how I haven’t been in the pool yet, yeah,” she deadpans.
“Hey, Jessi,” Brett says. Brett is one year younger than we are, a senior next year. He’s a little self-obsessed for my taste, but he’s always been nice to me. His sport of choice is also soccer, which helps. I may teach tennis to little kids, but avoiding the tennis team this last year has basically been my full-time job.
“Hey,” I say back.
“Ooh, I promised I’d post from the party,” Willow says now, and draws Brett closer for a selfie.
“Hell, yeah,” Brett says. “My hot girlfriend’s dress deserves to be seen.”
“Aww.” Willow plants a kiss on his cheek.
“I’ll take it,” I offer. Willow hands me her phone and I back up to take the picture. They lean in close, their bodies facing each other, and they’re so cute it’s a little nauseating.
As parties go, this one is fairly tame. The music isn’t crazy loud, and everyone is only mildly drunk and it’s both a good and a bad thing. A good thing because wild parties really aren’t my scene, and a bad thing because it isn’t doing quite enough to quiet my thoughts. Still, it’s nice to hang out with Brett and Willow, and both of them are nice enough to not complain about my third wheeling.
And then everything changes.
They arrive in a pack, like most jocks, and they’re almost all already wasted. My stomach drops as soon as I see Eric Lerner. I knew I was taking a chance, hoping he wouldn’t be here. But he’d been off work all this week, so I thought the odds were in my favor.
“Bails!” Eric says, lifting her off the ground as soon as he sees her. “Orange looks good on you.”
“Shut up, Eric,” Bailey says, but she’s smiling.
After Eric puts Bailey down, he and a couple of other players make a beeline for Brett and Willow. They’re instantly all talking over one another and laughing. I feel stupid for trying to sink into the shadows. Brett, Willow, Eric, and I all work together. You’d think I’d have developed a better strategy than camouflaging into the scenery and hoping for the best.
Thankfully, I’m the furthest thing from Eric’s mind.
He pulls out his go-to party trick, holding his forearms out and getting everyone to see how much bigger and stronger his right arm, his dominant arm, is. Then he moves on to his other favorite: showing off the calluses on his hand from his racket.
Eric is going to the University of Illinois on a tennis scholarship, and he never lets anyone forget it. All through high school, he and Ro were competing for the same scholarships and titles. When they weren’t commiserating about how much of a hard-ass their coach was, they were embroiled in an intense (mostly friendly) rivalry. Other than me and his family, I think Ro spent most of his time with Eric.
Andrew, another guy on the tennis team, starts chatting up Willow. “Wills, how come you’re not in the pool right now? I heard you can hold your breath underwater for, like, a minute. Do you have any—what are they called—hacks?”
Willow rolls her eyes and ignores him, but a flash of annoyance crosses Brett’s face.
Undeterred, Andrew tries again. “You can teach me your tricks.”
“I’m not teaching you anything,” Willow says.
