“Hey! Want some milk to wash those down?” Someone bumped into Oliver and I heard snickers over the music, which was suddenly loud and thumping and probably making the chandelier in the foyer dance on its axis.
Oliver swallowed quickly, then shook his head. “No, man, thanks. I’m good.”
The guy turned to me. “Hey, Emmy.”
I took a deep, inward breath. Brandon Mills. The last person I wanted to see at this party.
“Hey. This is Brandon,” I said to Oliver. “He went to our school, but he graduated last year.”
“We surf together,” Brandon added.
“I don’t think being in the Pacific Ocean at the same time counts as ‘surfing together,’” I said. “He goes to UC Santa Barbara,” I told Oliver. “Hopefully he’ll be going back there soon. Like, in the next ten minutes or so.”
“Aw, don’t be so jealous. Maybe one day you’ll be on the surf team, too.” Brandon tried to put his arm around my shoulders, but I shrugged him off. If I could, I would have shrugged him all the way out the front door and back up the coast.
Oliver was watching us both very carefully, his eyes shifting from me to Brandon and back to me. “Nice to meet you,” he finally said, even though his eyes were locked on mine.
“Hey, man, saw you on TV,” Brandon said, shaking his hand. Both of their grips looked tight. And painful. “Good interview.” He was still smiling, the way people smile when they want you to know that they’re talking shit about you, that they didn’t really see your television interview and don’t really care whether or not you’ve returned home after disappearing for ten years.
“Thanks.” Oliver sounded the same way that he had in the interview, clipped, not sure of the right words to say.
“So.” Brandon turned back to me. “Did Kane teach you any new moves? While I was away?”
“Oh, shut up, Brandon,” I said, rolling my eyes and taking Oliver’s arm to lead him away.
“What? It was just a question!” he yelled as we walked past, but he was laughing and so were a few other people in the kitchen.
“What was that?” Oliver asked. He was still holding the Cheez Doodles, bless him. “Are you friends with that guy?” The way he said “friends” made me think that he didn’t really mean “friends” at all.
“Um, absolutely not,” I said. “He’s just a douche bag. I mean, he’s in college but still goes to high school parties? It’s ridiculous. Where’s Caro? She always hangs out with the cool people.”
“Emmy!” Caro waved from the second-floor landing, a red cup already in her hand. “Wherefore art thou, Emmy?”
I waved at her, then looked at Oliver. “Do you know what we need?”
“A drink.”
I tapped my nose. “Bingo.”
A few hours later, the party had progressed (or de-gressed, depending on your point of view) nicely. And by that, I mean that I was drunk.
So was Oliver. So were Caro and Drew and pretty much every person I had seen since leaving Brandon behind. I was sticking to beer, but Caro and Drew were both doing shots and inventing some sort of complicated drinking game that involved a basketball, a feather duster, and some refrigerator magnets, and made no sense to anyone but them.
“You have to do the thing!” Caro screamed at him, waving the feather duster. “Shot!”
We had moved back down to the kitchen, but half the party was in the backyard, smoking weed and playing music. Someone had produced an acoustic guitar, as well, and there was an odd, drunken version of “Hotel California” being played.
“Ugh,” Caro said, dropping down onto my lap. I was sitting because, frankly, standing seemed too complicated. I had slumped into Oliver at some point, as well, his arm propping me up.
“Here,” Caro said, then put the feather duster on top of my head. “It’s a hat!”
“Why, thank you!” I said, then modeled it for her and Oliver. Drew was still kneeling on the ground, trying to figure out the magnets. “What do you think? Couture?”
“Ooh la la,” Oliver said. His words were a little sloshy, a nice change from earlier in the night. “You can wear it when you surf.”
“Impractical,” I told him, then plopped it down on his head. “It matches your eyes.”
“Picture! Picture!” Caro cried, then dug her phone out of her pocket and took a few staggered steps back. “Smile!”
We smiled. “Whoa, why is it—?” Caro squinted at the screen, then held it out in front of her. “I can’t tell if I’m blurry or if the picture’s blurry. And oh my God, who brought that goddamn guitar? I want to kill them. Do you know how you can tell who the douche bag is at the party? It’s the guy who starts playing the acoustic guitar.” She took the feather duster back from Oliver and jabbed it in the direction of the backyard. “Take that! And that!”
“Is it Brandon playing?” I asked her and she turned and pointed it at me.
“Oh God, probably. Brandon’s not even a douche bag. He’s a douche CANOE. A whole canoe, Emmy!” She sat back down in my lap and dropped the duster on the floor. Drew quickly snatched it up and took it back to the magnets. “Is he tripping or just really drunk?”
“He was hitting on Emmy,” Oliver said, his chin now resting in his hand.
Caro frowned. “Drew was?”