Late to the Party - Kelly Quindlen Page 0,20
concoctions got more and more bizarre at every party; the cheap black cape belonged to a guy I knew from lit class, Daniel Parrilla, who had earned the nickname “Magic Dan” because he liked to perform magic tricks whenever he got drunk (“Kid’s a crock,” Ricky said); the bright green thong I found in a potted plant was probably Aliza Saylor’s, who apparently couldn’t stand to wear underwear once she got three Lime-A-Ritas deep.
“So she just starts stripping?” I asked, using a paper towel to drop the thong into a trash bag.
Ricky laughed, his eyes on me. “You sound terrified.”
“I mean, it’s…”
“Weird,” he said, nodding. “Yeah, her friends always joke they’re on ‘Panty Patrol.’”
I glanced at the thong again, heat creeping up the back of my neck. “I assumed someone lost it from, like, hooking up in here.”
“In the corner of the family room?” He looked amused, like he thought I was trying to be funny. “Nah. I’m pretty sure the hookups were happening in the laundry room, ’cause my friend Leo was staked out there all night. He always shows up early for a party, finds the spot where people are most likely to hook up, stands there like a bouncer, and charges everyone ten dollars to use it.”
“You’re kidding.”
“It’s how he pays for his weed. Leo’s a businessman.”
I felt pretty out of my element, hearing all this stuff, but Ricky didn’t seem to be judging me. He played James Brown’s greatest hits while we scrubbed the kitchen floor, and he sang along enthusiastically, dancing on his hands and knees. He caught my eye, daring me to dance with him, but I could only laugh and scrub harder at the floor.
“You need to loosen up,” he said, sitting back on his feet. “Can’t even dance to James Brown? Do I need to switch to Enya or something?”
“Very funny.”
“Come on, show me some moves.”
I blushed and shook my head, going back to my scrubbing. Ricky seemed perplexed, but he didn’t say anything more. He turned up the music and moved to clean a spill off the kitchen stools.
We worked without talking until I found a collection of aluminum beer tabs on one of the counters.
“Do we need to throw these away?” I asked.
Ricky went still. “Oh … yeah,” he said, staring hard at the tabs. “That was probably Tucker—um, the guy that—that you saw me with. He always does that.”
He scooped them into the trash bag he was holding. I got the impression he would have saved them if I hadn’t been there.
“I’m hungry,” he said, not quite looking at me. “Do you want some lunch?”
He made us grilled ham and cheese sandwiches. I sat plopped on a stool at the now-clean counter, leaning on my elbows while he hovered next to the stove. He flipped the sandwiches more than he needed to, and when he wasn’t flipping them, he tapped the handle of the spatula against the counter like someone doing Morse code. I could tell he was agitated, but I didn’t know why.
“I never add ham,” I said, trying to get the flow of conversation back. “I just make straight-up grilled cheese.”
“You’ve been missing out.”
“My best friend won’t eat grilled cheese at all. He says it’s disgusting.”
“Huh,” Ricky said, like he wasn’t truly listening. “Remind me not to hang out with him.”
“Yeah.” I paused. “He’s gay, too, though.”
Ricky made a stilted movement. I waited for him to say something, but he didn’t.
“He’s the one I came to pick up last night,” I went on. “Him and my other best friend, who’s bi. You didn’t meet them, did you? Maritza Vargas and JaKory Green?”
Ricky separated our sandwiches onto patterned ceramic plates. He wasn’t meeting my eyes. “No, I don’t think I did.”
“Oh. Well, they said they had a great time.” I paused. “Do you, um—do you always get to see that guy—Tucker—at parties?”
Ricky paused in the middle of passing my plate over. He looked up at me, his eyes careful and hard.
“Codi,” he said, “do you think I need you or something?”
I looked back at him, completely thrown by his serious tone. “What?”
“You think I’m, like, the closeted kid that needs someone to talk to? Is that why you came over?”
“No—?”
“Because it’s fine that you know about me and Tucker, but I don’t need anyone to know. It’s not a big deal. We’re not a serious thing. I’m not worried about it. I’m fine.”
I felt the heat rise in my face. Just like last night, with the girl who