Page 27 of Our Year of Maybe

“What do you think?” Sophie asks after she relinquishes her keys. She’s changed into a short black dress, and her hair, still damp from the rain, hangs in loose waves on her shoulders.

I like your hair like that, I could tell her.

The problem is, I don’t know what happens after that.

I could find out.

“It’s . . . a party,” I say.

“Excellent observation.” Sophie’s standing very close to me, probably because the party intimidates her. It intimidates me a little too, so much that part of me wishes it were just the two of us alone in the comfort of my room. We could lie on my bed while a record softly plays in the background, her red hair spilling across my pillow.

A bigger part of me demands I take advantage of being out of my house with a slightly extended curfew. Demands that I be brave.

“Your hair,” I blurt out.

Sophie’s eyes grow wide as she buries a hand in her waves. “What about it?” She sounds worried, which makes me realize my half compliment probably didn’t sound like one at all.

Before I can respond, Montana, the host of the party and one of Sophie’s dance teammates, grabs Sophie’s arm. “You came!” she shouts. “Liz and I are playing flip cup in the basement.” And she tugs Sophie away and out of sight.

At first I’m all set to follow her downstairs to the basement. See what exactly flip cup is and if I’m any good at it. This is what I wanted, right? A chance to be on my own, make some of my own friends?

Or . . . I could try to navigate this party without my shadow, though a not insignificant part of me longs to be at home with a book instead. At the game, it took me only an instant to spot her when everyone rushed the field. Maybe you can sense someone’s presence after knowing them this long. You can glance at a crowd and immediately know where they are, like a special searchlight beamed straight from your heart to theirs. Or maybe the piece of her I now have somehow ties us together.

I guess I’m wondering how tightly those knots are tied.

After I get a cup of water, I peek inside each room, which (a) makes me look like I have a purpose and (b) gives me a chance to search for the few people I’ve been friendly with in class, like Chase Cabrera or Eleanor Kang. My self-guided tour occupies me for at least twenty minutes. In the kitchen, there are Costco-size bottles of vodka and cranberry juice, plus a cooler full of beer. In the living room, people are dancing or chatting on couches or chairs. In the game room, what I assume is beer pong is in full swing. No one waves me over, says hi, asks me to play.

It hits me that everyone here has had years to cement bonds with their classmates. I’m a random new kid who showed up and expected—what? People to flock to me? Sophie’s been mine for so long that I’m not sure how to make friends. How to ask someone if they want to grab a bite to eat or come over and listen to records.

I’m utterly alone in this house full of semi-strangers.

“Hey! Nerd club president!” Chase Cabrera claps me on the back, causing me to splash water down the front of my shirt. “Oh—shit, I’m so sorry!”

“It’s okay!” I say, too eager because, though my shirt is now soaked, I finally have someone to talk to.

“I’ll get a paper towel.”

“No! Really, it’s fine.” What I mean, though, is Please don’t leave. You’ve saved me from looking like a friendless loser. “It’s just water.”

When we got to the game, I was certain he’d ditch me, but he invited me to sit with him and his friends, a guy named Noah and a girl named Trinity and her boyfriend, Hunter. I’ve seen Chase at lunch, and sometimes he sits with them and sometimes with other people. I get the sense he’s well liked but not attached to any singular group.

“Water?” Alcohol, I imagine, has flushed his cheeks to match his red plastic cup, and his glasses are more crooked than usual. “We gotta get you a beer.”

My stomach drops. “I can’t drink. Because of, uh, the medications I’m taking.” I’m very cool. It’s painful how cool I am.

“Ahh, right. I’m sorry.” He stares at his own cup, as though wondering whether it would be a dick move to drink it in front of me, and a silence gapes between us.

“You don’t have to—” I start, pointing to his cup as he raises it to his mouth. Heat rushes to my face. I’m not normally this awkward. Why am I acting so goddamn awkward? I can’t say a single right thing tonight.

“What?”

“Never mind,” I mutter, and he takes a swallow of whatever drink vodka and cranberry juice makes. Whatever it is, I’ll never know what it tastes like.

It reminds me I haven’t been cured. That my health is still a delicate thing.

Chase is staring at me as though unsure what I’m doing here, and, honestly, I don’t know either. God, what did I think we were going to talk about if I found him? Inferno? I shrink to the size of a red plastic cup.

Music! We could talk about how bad this music is.

Source: www.allfreenovel.com