left a few minutes later to get a drink, I said, “She’s nice.”
Jeremiah shrugged and said, “Yeah, she’s cool. Want me to get you a drink?”
“Sure,” I said.
He led me by the shoulders and planted me on the couch. “You sit right here. Don’t move a muscle. I’ll be right back.”
I watched him make his way through the crowd, feeling proud I could call him mine. My boyfriend, my Jeremiah. The first boy I had ever fallen asleep next to. The first boy I ever told about the time I accidentally walked in on my parents doing it when I was eight. The first boy to go out and buy me Midol because my cramps were so bad, the first boy to paint my toenails, to hold my hair back when I threw up that time I got really drunk in front of all his friends, the first boy to write me a love note on the whiteboard hanging outside my dorm room.
YOU ARE THE MILK TO MY SHAKE,
forever and ever. Love, J.
He was the first boy I ever kissed. He was my best friend. More and more, I understood. This was the way it was supposed to be. He was the one. My one.
chapter four
It was later that night.
We were dancing. I had my arms around Jeremiah’s neck, and the music was pulsing around us. I felt flushed and abuzz, from the dancing and from the alcohol. The room was packed with people, but when Jere looked at me, there was no one else. Just me and him.
He reached down and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. He said something I couldn’t hear.
“What?” I yelled.
He yelled, “Don’t ever cut your hair, okay?”
“I have to! I’d look like—like a witch.”
Jeremiah tapped his ear and said, “I can’t hear you!”
“Witch!” I shook my hair around my face for emphasis and mimed stirring a cauldron and cackling.
“I like you witchy,” he said in my ear. “How about just trims?”
I shouted, “I promise not to cut my hair short if you promise to give up your beard dream!”
He’d been talking about growing a beard ever since Thanksgiving, when some of his high school friends got a contest going to see who could grow it the longest. I’d told him no way, it reminded me too much of my dad.
“I’ll consider it,” he said, kissing me.
He tasted like beer, and I probably did too.
Then Jeremiah’s frat brother Tom—also known as Redbird for reasons unknown to me—spotted us, and he came charging at Jeremiah like a bull. He was wearing his underwear and carrying a water bottle. And they weren’t boxers, they were tighty whities. “Break it up, break it up!” he shouted.
They started messing around, and when Jeremiah got Tom in a headlock, Tom’s water bottle of beer spilled all over me and Anika’s dress.
“Sorry, sorry,” he mumbled. When Tom was really drunk, he said everything twice.
“It’s okay,” I said, wringing out the skirt and trying not to look at the lower half of his body.
I left to go clean my dress in the bathroom, but there was a long line, so I went to the kitchen. People were doing body shots on the kitchen table; Jeremiah’s frat brother Luke was licking salt out of a red-haired girl’s belly button.
“Hey, Isabel,” he said, looking up.
“Um, hey, Luke,” I said. Then I spotted some girl throwing up in the sink, and I booked it out of there.
I headed to the upstairs bathroom. At the top of the staircase, I squeezed past a guy and a girl making out, and I accidentally stepped on the guy’s hand. “I’m so sorry,” I said, but he didn’t seem to notice either way, since he had his other hand up the girl’s shirt.
When I finally made it to the bathroom, I locked the door behind me and let out a little sigh of relief. This party was even wilder than usual. I guessed with the end of year upon us and finals over, everybody was letting loose. I was kind of glad Anika hadn’t been able to come. It wouldn’t be her scene—not that it was mine, either.
I dabbed liquid soap onto the wet marks and crossed my fingers it wouldn’t stain. Someone tried to open the door, and I called out, “Just a sec.”
As I stood there, dabbing at the dress, I heard girls on the other side talking. I wasn’t really paying attention until I heard Lacie’s voice. I heard her say, “He looks hot