Super Fake Love Song - David Yoon Page 0,60

forest.

There were two of the biggest bounce castles I’ve ever seen—Ice Princess and Mulam—already spasming with revelers inside.

There was a balloon-animal-making clown who had already broken the fourth wall to share a vape and a beer with a few fellow off-duty Ruby High classmates.

There was a two-story-tall scaffold, from which a screaming girl zip-lined a hundred meters into a pit of foam cubes.

I dismounted from my bike, ducked to let two laser-tag combatants pass, and entered the house.

It was packed. How was it already packed?

In the back patio window I could see Milo and Jamal thick as thieves with Gunner, talking about something while his sidekick wended and wove between the legs of partygoers. Artemis was there, too, ignoring Gunner pretending to ignore her. But I saw him sneak glances from behind his cup.

Milo and Jamal had both come wearing Gray’s shirts from before, because they knew they were coming here, and they remembered. Bless Milo and Jamal.

Gunner found me with his eyes and stabbed the air with a triumphant thumbs-up.

Cirrus emerged. She ducked and twirled her way to me for an embrace. She wore her black apron. She smelled like smoke and steak.

“I’m making Argentinian-style galbi,” she said.

“That’s a thing?” I said.

“It is now,” she said. With one arm still hanging on to my shoulder, she turned to the party and made an announcement.

“Food will be ready in about fifteen minutes,” she hollered. “Till then there’s chevre, manchego, membrillo for said manchego, mild ojingeo, spicy ojingeo, stuff from my parents’ liquor stash like Aperol and Ricard and makgeolli and like six bottles of clara in the fridge if you’re not into makgeolli, which I get, makgeolli’s definitely an acquired taste, ha!”

The whole party stopped and stared at her like she had just spoken in tongues from deep within a snake pit. Cirrus looked at me for help, so I raised her arm and yelled,

“Par-tay!”

Everyone cheered. Someone figured out how to put “All Star” by Smash Mouth on the TV-slash-stereo, and suddenly Gunner was kung-fu dancing with his ridiculous wraparound sunglasses in a circle of people in the living room.

“Hey now, you’re a rock star,” he said, pointing at me.

Cirrus gripped my chin. “Is the bouncy castle age-appropriate? I only realized after the rental guys came that I’ve never seen bouncy castles in American teen movies.”

“It’s highly traditional,” I said. “You nailed it.”

“Oh thank god,” said Cirrus. “I just want to do this right.”

I for one thought she was doing this right. Because I knew nothing!

“How much did all this cost?” I said.

Cirrus smiled. “About three thousand dollars.”

The music switched to a house stomper, and the party accelerated to takeoff velocity. Kids everywhere were day drinking, just like Mommy and Daddy did on the weekends. The football crew showed up like marauders returning home from a voyage, and Gunner leapt to shower them with violent greeting rituals.

Everyone had to shout. It was officially a shouting party now.

“This is Sunny!” said Gunner to someone—Lancer? Driver?—and added, “This is his girlfriend, Cirrus! We’re in her house!”

I beamed. I was Sunny, and this was my girlfriend, Cirrus. I looked at her and saw she was beaming just as brightly. She gripped my hand and held it tight with barely contained excitement.

“Welcome!” she cried.

Driver (Sailor?) looked at me, then at Gunner, as if to ask, What is this guy doing here?

“I’m making him help me with my science homework under threat of bodily harm!” said Gunner. His teammate seemed to understand.

“Say hi, stoner!” said Gunner.

Sailor (Tracker?) shook off his confusion and obeyed Gunner’s command. “Hai!”

The old instinct to flee twitched in my gut, but I looked at Cirrus and acted like I belonged there. Because I did.

“Dude, there’s an obstacle course!” said Tracker.

“That big thing outside!” said Gunner.

“Is that the Nora the Explorer thing?” I said.

Cirrus nodded. “I think they couldn’t get the licensing.”

We realized we were now standing in a surge of people—the drink table attracted them like cult worshippers—and stepped aside. One of those people was Artemis.

“I never see you at these things!” said Artemis with her halogen smile. She wiggled bedazzled fingers at Cirrus. “Oh, it’s Sunny’s girlfriend!”

There it was again: girlfriend. That made me boyfriend. It felt like respect, in a way. I had achieved a title that people like Artemis now officially recognized.

The music mercifully switched to a quieter electronic ballad. There was predictably no rock and roll at this party, because rock and roll was dead.

Artemis turned to look at Gunner, who had become very still.

“Obstacle course, let’s