Frenemies(42)

And for even one more reason—what was a winter caroling party, exactly? Nobody knew. The invitation made a mysterious reference to bells and bobtails, which had given rise to my suspicion that horses might be involved, and possibly hayrides. It was out in some or other far-off suburb ending in ham, so really, anything could happen. This was what happened when your friends tried to get creative with their holiday-making, and a simple drink near some mistletoe wouldn’t do. The three girls throwing it had felt upstaged by a separate Christmas party last year, so, not to be outdone two years running, they’d shanghaied someone’s mother’s friend’s house, and who knew what would come of it?

But I wasn’t fooling myself. My real stress was Nate-shaped, and I didn’t know what to do about it. My heart was jumpy whenever I thought about him, which I suspected was anticipation. I was looking forward to seeing him, and I knew this was destined to lead nowhere good. I hadn’t seen him since he’d manhandled me at the party out in Winchester. I hadn’t heard from him either, unless I counted the number of times I had replayed his messages.

One way or another, I decided, I had to sort out the Nate situation. Bells and bobtails be damned.

I tried not to think too much about it that whole morning and anyway, there were other things to brood about. Like what one wore to an outdoor party. In Boston. In December. Layers, obviously, but which layers? Exactly how fat was I willing to look to ward off possible hypothermia? I wrapped myself in a series of garments, and then rolled myself out the door and onto the T so that Amy Lee and Oscar could once again carpool us to suburban fun. It was a good thing New Year’s was coming up soon—I wasn’t sure how much more of the enforced gaiety I could take.

Especially when my friends were under the impression I was a bunny-boiler.

I stared out at the deceptively bright and sunny sky while Oscar drove out of the city. Amy Lee and Georgia took the car ride as an opportunity to lecture me extensively on the subject of my insanity.

According to my friends, I was prohibited from: talking to Nate, Helen, or Henry; speaking about Nate, Helen, or Henry; and engaging in any form of nonverbal communication to or about Nate, Helen, or Henry.

Although they said it in a lot more words than that.

“So what am I supposed to do?” I asked when they finished the initial tag-team lecture. “Pretend I don’t see them? Ignore them if they talk to me? That’s a great solution, and very mature.”

“You can nod and smile, and then you can walk away,” Georgia said. “Since you’re so concerned with maturity all of a sudden.”

“And I can’t believe you’re making it sound like this is going to be some hardship for you,” Amy Lee chimed in. “Please try to remember that you don’t like any of these people! Two of them betrayed you and the other one is Henry!”

I muttered something under my breath, and avoided looking anyone in the eye.

“I hope there’s hot chocolate,” Oscar contributed from behind the wheel. Apropos of nothing. “Everybody likes hot chocolate.”

By the time we arrived at the party, I was about as gloomy as it was possible to get without actually curling up into the fetal position. There were a series of sleighs—horses, blankets, runners and all—arrayed along the country lane. Nearby, a series of Bostonians milled around in the fresh snow, looking either excited or dubious. Or a mixture of the two.

“I’ve always wanted to go on a sleigh ride,” Georgia announced. She linked elbows with Oscar, and tugged him along with her toward the crowd. “Admit it, you have a yearning.”

I watched Oscar deny it, and then looked at Amy Lee, who hung behind to keep glaring at me.

“I’m allowed to be in whatever mood I want to be in,” I told her, feeling a little defensive.

“It’s dashing through the snow on a one-horse open sleigh,” Amy Lee retorted. “It’s not a death march. You could lighten up a little bit.”

“I’m fine,” I said. I waited a beat. “And actually it looks like a four-horse open—”

“You’re already freaking out, aren’t you?” Amy Lee hissed at me. “No sign of any of them, and you’re already a mess. Georgia’s right. You flipped your lid with Nate and—”

“Okay, enough,” I said, cutting her off. “You’re the one making me crazy, Amy Lee. Why don’t you stop monitoring my behavior? How am I supposed to feel with you watching me?”

“Fine,” she said. “But any insanity in the sleigh, Gus, and I swear to God I’ll feed you to the horses.”

They were so worried about it, in fact, that the two of them flanked me as we waited for the whole party to arrive. Wherever I went, it was in a Georgia-and–Amy Lee sandwich. I would have been more upset about it, except for the fact that it provided a convenient buffer. I saw Nate and Helen arrive—apparently still together, if the hand-holding and outdoor snuggling were anything to go by. From a distance, I performed the nod and smile I’d been permitted. Inside, I was in turmoil. He hardly even glanced at me! What was he doing? Then Henry turned up not long after, crooked his mouth in my direction, and there was no need for nodding or smiling since I was suddenly too shy to look at him.

The last time I’d seen him, after all, he’d been mostly naked.

Don’t get me wrong—I managed to see that he looked way too delicious for a sleigh ride, and I squirreled away salient details about the way he wore his winter coat and jeans—and then I had to look away.