Ruby pulled her hair out of her bun so she could whip it around, and I had to step back to avoid being hit. Then we got sweaty and she put it back up. Three different people came over to hug Ruby and dance near her. A few times the crowd pushed us apart, and I found myself dancing with no one. But I didn’t care. I felt light and alive and in love with everything. And eventually, Ruby and I danced our way back to each other.
At some point the glow started to fade, and I realized my throat was dry and I needed to pee like never before. I transmitted this information to Ruby as best I could, and tried not to be too disappointed when she didn’t follow me. After I went to the bathroom, I found my cup on the sideboard and carried it into the kitchen, where I filled it with water from the Tovars’ fancy built-in filter. Forget my punch—that water was the best thing I’d ever tasted in my life. I gulped it down standing by the sink and refilled it. Since I’d been in there last, the scene in the kitchen had deteriorated considerably. Empty bottles had spread over every surface like a virus. A small pile of radioactive-looking Cheez Balls sat at the edge of the counter, overlooking a few fallen compatriots on the floor. And then there were the people: slumped, splayed, splotchy. Yelling for no reason. I wasn’t drunk enough to not find them annoying, so I poured some of the nearest warm vodka and warm Diet Coke in a cup and grimaced through it with my eyes on the doorway to the dance room. Any second now, I thought.
Ten hours later, Ruby appeared, rosy and glowing. I smiled until I saw her expression, which was certifiably Pissed Off. A second later, the reason why staggered through the doorway after her: Mikey. I hadn’t seen him in there, but then again, I hadn’t been looking for anyone else.
Ruby saw me, and our eyes locked. My adrenaline kicked into high gear. I flew across the kitchen to Ruby’s side, inserting myself between her and Mikey.
“Are you okay?” I asked. Ruby nodded, but her eyes were on Mikey, who didn’t seem to notice I was there. He was the kind of drunk you could see, and smell. He propped himself up against a cabinet, glowering.
“We’re having a private conversation,” he said, and finally he looked at me. I hated him so intensely in that moment I wanted to hit him. I imagined him trying to pull Ruby closer by the wrist, and her resisting, then me knocking him flat with a single, well-placed punch. I imagined Ruby thanking me, throwing her arms around my shoulders. My hero, she’d say. It wasn’t that I wanted him to hurt her, but I thought that maybe if I saved her before he could make her cry she’d realize how much she wanted me.
But he didn’t grab her, and Ruby didn’t say anything, so instead of the savior, I was only a creep, still standing between two people who didn’t want me there.
“Sorry,” I muttered. I walked out of the kitchen so it looked like I had somewhere else to be anyway, when of course I didn’t. In the house’s dark and empty entryway I sat on the steps presiding over the sea of shoes and held a hand to my mouth so no one would hear me cry. I felt so stupid for so much: my unrealistic imagination, the gap between the way I wanted to be seen and the way these people actually saw me. For drinking too much, past the point at which I knew I became angrier than I wanted to be. Two drinks was safe. Any more and I ran the risk of reminding myself of my dad. Ugh, my dad. He still hadn’t told me when, or if, he was moving back, and I hadn’t asked for more information in weeks, not wanting to remind him to ask me about college again. I hoped that by Monday, when the tournament was over and the club season with it, I’d have something good to tell him. But I didn’t want to think about that now.