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“Okay, don’t get your panties in a twist.”
“Why? Are you gonna make out with me?”
“No.”
“Will you show me your tits?”
“No, asshole, I’ll go to Santos’s stupid party.”
“Fine,” he said, obviously hoping for the former options.
“Where are they holding this Santos shindig?” she asked, slipping her shoes back on.
“Chuckie’s house. Word is his parents got wind of a place in Mexico where they could do DMT in a supervised clinical environment. Left town three days ago.”
“What’s DMT?”
“I dunno, Chuckie said it’s something called tryptamine. He said it’s also called Toad.”
“Toad?”
“Yeah, I guess because it’s found naturally in the pustule-like glands of some toad in the Sonoran Desert.”
“I don’t know if I’m disturbed by the fact that you know that, or impressed.”
He grinned, “Can you imagine life as that toad? Lying on its back, while someone pays an exorbitant amount of money to lick their glands, while the toad throws its webbed hands behind its head, saying… lower… low… er.”
Birdie picked up Pete’s half-empty beer can and threw it at him. “You’re disgusting.”
“What? A toad can dream.”
“Shut up and let’s go to the party,” she said, sliding off the hood and landing on her feet, swaying a bit.
Twenty minutes later they were at Chuckie’s house. Dancing their way through the living room, when Birdie spotted Maisie dancing with her hands in the air and then stopped. Making Pete, ram into her from behind.
“Hey,” she says, “I’ll find you later for my ride home. Gotta check on Maisie.”
“Why? She hates your fuckin’ guts, Birdie.”
She shrugs. “I know, but she’s still my sister.”
Maisie was moving back and forth, swaying to the music as Birdie navigated through the other dancing bodies in the room.
“Oh, hey, Birdie. I was hoping to see you,” Maisie said, with a wide smile.
That was unexpected.
“Yeah? You doing okay?” By this time of night Maisie was usually shit-faced, looking for a ride home or having already found one from someone that Birdie didn’t trust.
“You wanna beer?” Maisie asked, stopping her gyrating and making her way back into the kitchen where the keg was usually set up.
“Yeah, sure.”
Her sister seemed pretty sober, which was a good thing. Birdie followed her into the kitchen as she heard people cheering a new arrival, assuming the master of ceremonies had arrived.
“Hey, will you do me a favor?” Maisie asked, pulling down on the keg handle and filling a red Solo cup. “I’m supposed to pull the first beer for Santos, but you’re much closer to him. Would you do me a solid and deliver it for me?”
“Sure,” Birdie said, surprised at her sister’s request as she craned her neck to see through the throng of bodies patting Santos’s back and congratulating him with high fives and side hugs.
