Late to the Party - Kelly Quindlen Page 0,14

react at first. Then he asked, in an uncertain voice, “A girl?”

“I like girls,” I said, with a confidence I didn’t feel.

Until that moment, I didn’t appreciate how big of a deal it would be to tell someone other than Maritza and JaKory. I felt vulnerable and powerful in the same breath.

“Oh,” he said finally. “Yeah. Cool.”

I’d hoped for a grander reaction, but maybe he didn’t realize what it meant for me to share something like that with a stranger.

“Um … that other guy…” I said. “Is he … your boyfriend?”

“No,” he said, very definitively. “No, we’re just…”

He lapsed into silence, shaking his head. I was burning with follow-up questions about the two of them, but I kept them to myself.

“What are you gonna do about your hand?” I asked.

“Oh,” he said, as if suddenly remembering it. “It’s not a big deal. I’ve been hurt worse in football.”

Football. This was the kind of guy who was engaged in extracurricular life, who was known for doing big things, who probably had a ton of friends even if I couldn’t imagine it right now.

“I’m gonna get something to clean this up,” he said, turning away from the trees. “Um. Are you still coming to my party?”

“Oh, right, yeah,” I said, following after him.

It was an abrupt change from the moment we had just shared by the trees. All of a sudden we were walking down the sidewalk together as if it was something we did every day, like two friends walking to our next class. I felt that jarring sense of intimacy that comes with walking in step with someone you don’t know; I was almost bizarrely aware of how my body moved, and how his moved next to mine.

We passed several houses before we reached the heart of the cul-de-sac. The streetlamps were more concentrated here and I could better see what he looked like. He was a tall, muscular black boy with heavy-lidded eyes, and when he looked sideways at me, I could see he was handsome.

“Why didn’t you come to the party earlier?” he asked. “With your friends?”

“Oh. Um.” I wasn’t sure how to answer without revealing how uncool I was. “Parties aren’t really my thing.”

He nodded. “I get that. Parties can be hit-or-miss.”

I looked at him. “Have you had parties before?”

“Once or twice. My older sister got away with it tons of times, so I figured I’d carry on the legacy. I don’t like hosting all that much, but nothing else was going on, and my parents are out of town for the long weekend, so I thought it would be good to … you know…” He gestured awkwardly. “Have a chance to see people.”

The way he said it, I wondered if “people” meant the boy he was with in the trees. We reached his driveway and stood together beside the mailbox looking up the small incline toward his house. The lights were on and the distant pulse of music drifted down to us. There was a sign in the front yard like the ones that every graduating senior in our neighborhood had on display—CONGRATULATIONS, RICKY! BUCHANAN HIGH SCHOOL GRADUATE—and next to that, a University of Georgia garden flag planted in the grass.

“You’re going to UGA?” I asked, impressed. The University of Georgia was almost impossibly hard to get into; only the best students from our school were admitted. I was already dreading the application I’d have to complete in the fall.

“Yeah,” Ricky said, as if it was no big deal, “been dying to go there since I was little.”

“Wow.”

He didn’t elaborate. He was looking down at his hand, still covered in blood.

“Hey, Codi?” He hesitated, looking carefully at me. “Before you leave with your friends … could you do me a favor? Could you sneak in there and grab some antibiotic and bandages?”

I stared at him. He couldn’t possibly have understood the enormity of what he was asking me—of how terrified I’d be to venture into a party by myself—but I didn’t know how to explain it to him.

“I’d do it myself,” he said apologetically, “but I don’t want to deal with all the questions.”

“I—I would,” I said, “but—but I don’t know anyone in there.”

He looked at me for a long beat. I felt small and insignificant, doomed to be the same limited person I’d always been, the same person Maritza and JaKory seemed to believe I was.

Ricky nodded like he realized he’d made a mistake. “Right, no worries, I get it. Um … it was nice

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