jumps up onto one of the lounge chairs to get a better view of the party. I try to pull her down. I don’t want him, wherever he is, whoever he is, to see her scoping him out. Dri is many wonderful things, but subtle is not one of them.
“I’d say three-quarters of the guys at this party are texting right now,” she reports. “Could be Caleb, though. He’s a little weird like that.”
“SN is not weird,” I say.
“Right,” Dri says. “Because anonymously texting someone all day every day is not weird at all.”
SN: nice try. i’m good at hiding in plain sight. i rock the camouflage.
Me: Fine. Are you having fun?
SN: a little bored, which is why I’m texting you.
Me: You could just talk to me, you know, IN PERSON instead.
SN: one day. not tonight.
Me: We don’t have parties like these back home. Like with a real band.
SN: you liked Oville?
Me: I thought they were amazing.
SN: eh. they used to be better.
Me: I think I may be drunk.
SN: me too.
Me: So let’s meet. Come on. What’s the worst that can happen? You don’t even have to talk to me….
SN: what are you implying?
Me: I don’t know. I warned you I was drunk.
SN: the old “I was drunk” excuse.
Me: Not an excuse. An explanation.
SN: I love how you’re always so precise with your words.
Me: I don’t get this. What’s the point?
SN: ?
Me: Of all this talking. Are you embarrassed to be seen with me? Are you worried I won’t like you? I don’t get it.
SN: none of the above. I just like this. a lot. this IM’ing thing works. I’m too drunk to explain now.
Me: The old “I was drunk” excuse.
SN: I promise we will meet. soon.
Me: You keep saying that.
SN: you know what I think about sometimes?
Me: What?
SN: you know that piece of hair that always falls into your eyes—the not-quite-a-bang piece? I want to be able to tuck it behind your ear. I want to be able to do that. I want to meet you when I feel comfortable enough with you to do that.
Me: You are so weird.
SN: you are not the first person to say that.
Me: Am I the first to say that I really like that about you?
I look over at Caleb again, try to imagine SN’s words coming out of that guy’s mouth, try to picture him making as romantic a gesture as tucking my hair behind my ears. Him understanding that touching my hair requires a certain amount of intimacy. No, the image doesn’t work. Instead, I picture Caleb as a future frat president, the type to yell at his pledge to chug a beer. SN’s probably not Kilimanjaro gray T-shirt boy then. But who the hell is he?
—
“I’m drunk,” I tell Dri and Agnes.
“You’ve already told us,” Dri says. “Like a million times.”
“Sorry. Apparently, I’m the type of drunk who likes to let other people know,” I say.
“It’s charming,” Agnes says, in her typical dry way. “I’m a little drunk too. Though not as sloppy as you.”
“I’m not sloppy,” I say. I look down. Am I sloppy? Everything seems to still be in place except my mind, which is rolling around in my head. I’ve gotten drunk before, though usually alone with Scarlett. I guess my tolerance is two Agnes Specials.
“You’re both sloppy,” Dri says. She throws her arms around our necks, which I’m grateful for because it helps me with my balance.
“Do you think it’s possible to have a crush on two people at once?” I ask, which is one of those embarrassing questions I would never ask sober. Maybe I should never drink again.
“Totally. I’m usually into, like, five guys at a time,” Agnes says. “I like to keep it varied. Optimize my chances.”
“So who do you like? SN, obvi, but who else? Please, please don’t say Liam.”
I’m about to say it out loud, tell her Ethan, and finally get the entire scoop since I know Dri is not the type to withhold details: she’ll tell me his life story, what he was like in sixth grade, whether he has a girlfriend, whether he’s a d-bag. Maybe she’ll even help angle us closer to him so I can say hello. So far, our only contact has been when he passed by me after the show—a “hey” that was neither rude nor friendly nor an invitation to talk more: the same closed-up can of nothing he seems to lob at everyone else. I thought we were getting past that. I guess