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“Sorry.” Her fault for wearing open-toe sandals.
“Dude, that wasn’t cool,” I heard Eric say, but his voice started to blend into the drone of music and shrieks surrounding me. “Apologize to her.”
Shaking my head, I backed away into the crowd. Arms wrapped around me and I looked up to find Eric holding me in place.
“I’m sorry, he’s being a jerk,” he said. “Let me help you get cleaned up.”
“No.” I pushed past him, heading for the porch. “I’m good.”
It took me less than five seconds to break out of the smog of e-cigs and bad breath and into the cloud of nighttime mist. The screen door rattled shut behind me. I collapsed against the wall of the house, taking in a deep breath. The fresh air calmed my nerves, though it probably had something to do with the scent of weed.
I stayed there for a few moments, listening to the throb of music beating through the thin wooden slats.
Four years of humiliation and hating myself because people hated me—I didn’t belong at Woodman and I didn’t belong here. Fuck this. I was going home.
“Hey.”
I looked up from the floor to find myself face to face with a cigar.
“Um,” I said, looking past it. “I don’t smoke.”
The boy lowered it.
“No hard feelings,” he said, lighting it and taking a drag for himself. “Or are there?”
“Yeah, well,” I laughed, shaking my head, “I’m guess I’m not exactly enjoying myself.”
Nodding, he leaned back against the porch rail across from me. I expected him to start a spiel, convince me it wasn’t that bad here, I’d get used to the sights and smells and bad manners and everything else that comes with college life. But he just sat there, blowing on his cigar, studying me.
I shrugged, settling back against the wall. “There’s this friend of mine,” I started, then rolled my eyes. “Well, not a friend. You know what I mean. He’s just being a jerk, then turns around and pretends to care.” I laughed again, but at myself. “I’m not making any fucking sense.”
The boy took another drag, and I watched as the smoke blew out into the dark air. “Freshman?”
I waited for him to elaborate. He sipped again at his cigar.
“Yeah,” I replied.
He nodded, taking a moment to rest his hand against his thigh. “Why do you think he’s pretending?”
The question—his wholedemeanor—caught me off guard. Ten seconds ago, I was ready to hitchhike my way back to campus, and now I was getting a free therapy session by long-haired dude smoking a blunt.
I mean, I’ll take it.
“Because he was a different person twenty-four hours ago,” I answered, pawing my boot at the splintering floor. “He was nice. Now he’s ignoring me. I don’t know. Whatever. It doesn’t matter.”
“I disagree.” The guy chuckled, and his chuckle turned into a raspy cough. “Obviously this matters a lot to you.” He was at the end of his cigar and crushed it into the stone column beside him. “I like to give people the benefit of the doubt. Give this jerk a second chance.”
I sat on his words for a moment, then pushed myself off the wall.
“Okay,” I said, backing up to the door. “Maybe you’re right. Thanks… uh…”
“Kenny.” He gave me a salute. “Anytime.”
With that, I swung open the door and held it open for a stumbling couple before diving back into the drunken mania. Maybe Pothead Kenny was right. There was a reason for everything. Just because Eric had been acting weird on the ride here didn’t mean I had to hold some petty grudge.
I’d just go see what’s up.
The stain on my top had almost dried out, and no one seemed to notice it as I squeezed between the clumps of sweaty and heavily perfumed bodies. At last, I ended up back at the punch bowl table where I’d abandoned everyone.
