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“I’m not sure I’m the dancing or drinking type.” That’s the type my father seems to end up with, and he finds the overachievers. Needless to say, I’m not looking to follow in their footsteps.
“Is that because you’ve tried it and didn’t like it, or you’ve never tried it?” Her tone suggests she already knows the answer.
“Never tried it.”
“Then how do you know?”
“I’ve seen the aftermath.” I think of some of the women my father’s been with over the years, and while I wouldn’t call them drunks or floozies or anything, I would say their primary focus seemed to be having a good time. “Getting drunk doesn’t appeal to me.”
“Me either, but drinking and getting drunk are two different things,” she says as we run past the soccer coach, who I hope is too focused on his players to notice the topic of our conversation.
“I guess.” I shrug noncommittally.
“What about dancing? People bring speakers and play music, so you can still dance.”
“I think I’d have to be drunk to do that in front of all those people.” I wrinkle my nose again.
“You don’t dance?” Her stride falters as she gapes at me.
“I don’t know if I do or not. I’ve never tried it.”
“You’ve never, like, mimicked the videos on TV or anything? Or made dance routines as a kid?” Her wide eyes blink rapidly.
“Have you?”
“My sister and I did all the time.” She nods in rhythm with our footsteps.
“Only child,” I tell her as I check my watch to monitor our pace.
“So? You don’t need anyone else to get your groove on. Haven’t you ever heard you’re supposed to dance like no one’s watching?” She quotes the inspirational phrase my mom has in a picture frame.
“Get your groove on? I thought you were a track star not a cheerleader.”
“Just because I don’t want to shake my ass on the sidelines doesn’t mean I’m opposed to shaking my ass.” She smirks. “But seriously, you don’t have to dance or drink or anything, just come hang out.”
And that’s why, two nights later, I find myself standing around a campfire nursing a cup of watery beer talking to Hollie and a few of her friends.
They seem nice enough, friendly without being false, more intelligent than gossipy, although I can see the flicker of recognition when they hear my name and associate me with Wes. They have the decency not to ask about his anatomy, but that doesn’t mean they don’t have questions.
“I can’t even imagine living across the hall from one of the guys in school, especially such a hot one.” Cat blinks wide eyes. “I’d feel like I had to be showered and dressed all the time to walk around my own house.”
“It doesn’t feel like my house yet. And most days we have school, so I’m showered and dressed anyway.” Sticking to a schedule has prevented any awkward run-ins, but I've started to secretly wish for one.
“Still.” Hannah shakes her head, “Between it not feeling like your house and living with amalestudent from our school, it must be hard to ever feel relaxed.”
“Sometimes.” I agree, thinking about how I can hear him coming and going, and hold my breath wondering if he'll ever stop at my door.
“What I want to know,” Sarah interjects, “is has anyone asked you the most obvious question?”
“What’s that?” I sip my beer warily, bracing.
“How do you handle knowing your mom is getting it on with Wes’ dad?”
“Eew, seriously?” I shoot an accusatory look at Hollie, who swore I wouldn’t have to deal with these types of questions from her friends.
“Let me rephrase that since Sarah has no idea how it sounded.” Hollie shoots her friend a withering look. “Sarah’s mom remarried last year and she was sort oftraumatizedby her mom’s activities.”
Sarah nods at me with wide eyes. “There are some things a child should never hear their parent do.”
