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Her eyes are a bright green as they find mine, and she’s practically vibrating where she stands, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “Come on!” she urges, grasping my wrist in her hand.
For once, someone’s touch doesn’t make me flinch. Her palm is warm, and she tugs me into the fray of bodies. I lean into her familiarness.
I hate being surrounded like this, but I take a breath to try and calm my racing heart.
I’m not sure if it’s better or worse inside. While there is space to walk, it still feels crowded in a way I’m not used to. We find a nook over by the couch and head toward it.
“Has he texted you yet?” Anna asks.
She doesn’t say who, and I already know who she means.
Slowly, I take out my phone and swipe across it. Sure enough, Mustachio has sent me a message.
Are you here yet?
Yes.
My reply is quick.
His is quicker.
Where are you?
By some orange couch that smells like a raccoon died inside it.
On my way.
I want to cry with laughter, a sensation that feels foreign to me, because he knew exactly what couch I was fucking talking about. Is this some sort of national frat house monument? Raccoon rot couch? Weird.
“He’s on his way.”
No sooner than the words are out of my mouth, he is striding through the dark room. His smile is wide, and he’s staring at me like he can’t believe I’m real. Either that or I have something on my face. Or maybe the raccoon couch is permeating onto me.
“You came,” he says with a tad too much excitement.
“Yeah.” Fuck me and my shit choices in life, I did.
There’s an awkward beat of silence in which I have no fucking idea what to say. Anxiety starts to get the best of me. Why did I think I could do this? I can’t do this. I have no idea what it takes to be at a party. I’m in my twenties, and I don’t know how to party. No idea what it is to be normal. My life would have been normal. I would have grown up like anybody else. I would know how to relax at a fucking party, and instead I’m–
Anna clears her throat and nudges me with a sharp elbow to the ribs. At least, I think that’s what she was aiming for. With our height difference, she ends up nudging me in the eye.
I blink at her swinging elbow, tearing myself out of my own panic.
“Right.” I nod at Anna. “This is Anna my... friend...” The word surprisingly doesn’t taste so bad on my tongue. And while we might not be close, sharing secrets and whispering outside of working hours, I do like Anna.
Huh. I made a fucking friend in college. Maybe I am doing okay in life.
“Anna, this is...” Fuck, what was his name? “This is...” I cringe at myself. “I wanna say Alvin?”
Mustache throws his head back and laughs. “It’s Simon, actually.”
Stupid.
“Right.” I clear my throat. “I knew it was one of the Chipmunks.”
Simon laughs again. It’s a pleasant laugh, though, and he doesn’t look at all offended that I forgot what his name was for a second there.
“Nice to meet you, Anna.” He barely spares her a glance. “Wanna come with me?”
