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“Sticky from what; your lip-gloss?”
“Bitch.”
“Ha,” I cackled.
“By the way, he invited me to his debs in July, too.”
“Are you going to go?”
“Am I going to go to Sticky-Dicky’s debs with him?Obviously.”
I laughed. “You can borrow a dress from me.”
“Thanks bestie because I don’t have anything formal. Now open them.”
“Alright, alright.” Walking back out into the hallway, I grabbed my schoolbag and returned to the kitchen table to unzip it and then turn it upside down.
“How many did you get?”
“A few.”
“How many?”
Scanning the selection of cards on the table, I mentally tallied them all up and said, “I think there’s fourteen?”
“Fourteen!”
“No, sorry, I counted one twice. There’s thirteen.”
“Okay, I hate you.”
“Oh please,” I laughed. “You know this holiday is total bullshit.”
“Okay, so we know one of them is from Paul,” Casey said, morphing into a detective on the other side of the line. “Who are the rest from? Start opening.”
Ripping through more than a dozen envelopes, I stacked them neatly in front of me and put the phone back to my ear. “You ready?”
“Since yesterday.”
“Finny O’ Shea, Dermot Keane, and Luke Twomey from sixth year.”
“Hey, Luke is Sticky-Dicky’s friend.”
“Danny Collins and Trev Mulcahy from fifth year.”
“Trev Mulcahy?” she swooned down the line. “Lord Jesus, he’s a pretty one.”
“Okay… there’s one from fourth year.”
“Who?”
“Liam O Neill.”
“Oh, I’ve scored with him,” she informed me. “He has a tongue like a washing machine stuck on a fast spin cycle.”
“Nice mental image, Case.”
“Be glad you only have to imagine it.”
