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“Or a third wheel,” adds The Mouse.
I cough and slide off the old easy chair where I’ve been stationed for the last hour. “Anybody want another drink?” I ask, giving The Mouse a look. She shrugs, knowing exactly what she’s said.
If Lali is offended, she doesn’t show it. “I’ll have another. And make it a double.”
“Coming right up.” A bag of ice, plastic cups, and various alcoholic potions sit atop an ancient card table. I begin mixing two drinks, filling Lali’s cup with vodka. It’s slightly evil, but I’ve bee
n feeling slightly evil toward Lali ever since Sebastian informed me that she took my clothes. We laughed it off, but there’s a quiet tension between us, like the shadow of a cloud on a beautiful summer day. You look up and suddenly realize you’re in for a thunderstorm.
“When is Sebastian coming back?” Lali asks with deliberate casualness, which may be a reaction to The Mouse’s “third wheel” comment after all. She knows Sebastian returns from his family vacation tomorrow. And she also knows that on Sunday, we have those tickets to see Aztec Two-Step at the Shaboo Inn. She hasn’t been able to stop talking about it. Until now.
“Tomorrow,” I say, as if it’s no big deal. What Lali doesn’t need to know is how desperately I’ve been counting the days until his return. I keep playing our reunion over and over again in my head. He’ll pull up to my house in his yellow Corvette. I’ll run to him and he’ll sweep me into his arms and kiss me passionately, murmuring, “I love you.” But when I imagine the scene, instead of picturing me, I see Julie Christie in Dr. Zhivago instead. I’m in my early twenties, I have dark hair, and I’m wearing a white ermine hat.
“What time is it?” Walt asks suddenly.
“Ten fifteen.”
“I don’t know if I can make it till midnight,” Maggie groans contentedly.
“You have to,” I insist. “Just because we’re losers doesn’t mean we have to be lightweights.”
“Speak for yourself.” Walt picks up the bottle of vodka and takes a swig.
“Walt, that’s gross,” Maggie scolds.
“You didn’t think it was gross when we swapped spit,” he says.
“Hey!” Peter jumps to his feet, making boxing motions in the direction of Walt’s head.
“Take it easy, homeboy.” Walt looks at me and takes another gulp of vodka.
“Do you want a glass?”
“Nope.” He places the bottle back on the table and claps his hands. “Okay, everybody,” he says loudly. “I have an announcement to make.”
Crap. This is it. The moment we’ve all been waiting for. I glance at The Mouse and Maggie. The Mouse is making tiny nods of encouragement, smiling kindly the way you would at a five-year-old who has just shown you a stick figure drawing of his family. Maggie has covered her mouth with her hands and is looking wildly from me to The Mouse, as if hoping someone will tell her what to do.
“You got into Penn,” Peter says.
“Nope.”
I move behind Walt and glare at Maggie, making a face as I put my finger to my lips.
“Hey—what’s going on?” Lali says, catching me. “I know. You’re taking over as the manager of the Hamburger Shack.”
“A pox on you,” Walt replies. It’s a phrase he’s never used before but probably picked up from Randy.
“This surprise is much better,” he continues, swaying slightly from side to side. “I was going to wait until midnight, but I’ll probably be passed out by then.” He looks around the room to make sure he has our complete attention. Then he casually drops the bomb:
“For those of you who haven’t figured it out, I’m now officially gay.”
For a moment, it’s quiet, as we all ponder how to react to this information, given our previous knowledge of it or lack thereof.
It’s broken by a low chortling sound. “That’s it?” Lali declares. “You’re gay? That’s news?”
“Thank you very much,” Walt says with faux indignation.
“Congratulations, man,” Peter says. He crosses the room and hugs Walt gingerly, patting him on the back. “When did you find out?” he asks, as if Walt has just announced he’s having a baby.
