How to Be Brave(36)

There’s also the additional fact that Daniel’s here. And he’s sitting on the leather couch right next to me. We’re so close, our arms are touching. I can feel his skin against mine, his muscles, his every little shift and laugh. Everyone’s talking and laughing around us, but I hardly hear any of it. I’m in this long tunnel where everything is dark and relaxed and happy and all I see at the end of it is Daniel Antell.

I look up at him.

“Hey,” I say.

“Hey.” He smiles.

“How are you?” I ask.

“Pretty good,” he says. “Pretty good. Glad to be here, I guess.”

But then that’s it. He doesn’t ask how I am or say anything else to me. Five days ago, he was all excited about “hanging out” with me at this party, and now here we are, and he’s not saying more than ten words.

Don’t think, Georgia. Just drink.

I take a sip of juice and look over at Liss. She’s sitting next to Gregg and she looks pretty happy, too—her face is all red and shiny. She told me on the way here that she’s been practicing her tribal moves for later. Tonight’s the night. Actually, in like an hour, I guess. She’s planning on sneaking out after the socializing calms down so they can go back to his place and do it. Crazy. She’s really going to have sex with Gregg. She’s going to take this giant leap into adulthood and sexuality and all this stuff that requires responsibility and maturity and—holy shit—condoms. She’s going to have to use real-life unwrapped Trojan condoms out of a box tonight. That’s insane.

Don’t think, Georgia. Just drink.

Jungle Juice, good. Responsibility, bad.

My glass is getting empty again rather quickly. Chloe leans over and fills it back up. I should probably slow down.

I listen to the talk about getting carded at the 7-Eleven and spring break in the Bahamas and safety schools. I have nothing to contribute, so I take another couple of sips of juice.

And then they all start getting nostalgic, as though senior year is coming to an end tomorrow. They talk about parties and dances and football games and soccer games and it’s like they’re speaking a foreign language—it’s like I’ve been living in a completely different world. I look over at Liss and Evelyn, who are listening and laughing as though they were there, too, living these normal high school lives with these people, when we all know for a fact that none of us have.

But then they start reminiscing about teachers and classes, and I tune back in. Avery and Chloe are telling us about Mr. Fillmore, our sophomore-year history teacher who mysteriously disappeared after wearing bunny slippers to work and muttering about UFOs and the Second Coming; and about Mrs. Stanfield, everyone’s favorite English teacher, who was diagnosed with cancer last year. They’re talking to Liss and Evelyn and me as though we didn’t know. I’ve sat next to these people for nearly twelve years. We know the stories. We know the same people. We’ve been there the whole time. What strikes me as I take another sip is that I don’t think they realized it.

“And Linberg’s f*cking crazy,” Avery remarks. “Like she might be absolutely certifiable. She’s been around forever, makes no sense, old as hell, and still, she’s back every August, her hair dyed a darker shade of brown.”

I chime in, hearing my voice aloud for the first time all night. “And she doesn’t look at you when she looks at you. Instead, she stares at the space above your head—”

Daniel laughs and adds, “Yes! And it’s f*cking creepy!”

“I think she’s looking at our third eye,” Liss says, suddenly the expert on all things metaphysical.

“Kind of, man,” Evelyn says. “It’s more like she’s looking at your aura, except she’s not seeing it.” I get why Liss and Evelyn get along.

Avery adds, “We were always cheating in that class. I’d look over Rosie Cabrillo’s shoulder to get the answer, and then I’d turn around and tell Althea White, who’d turn around and tell Felicia Carter, who’d spread it to the whole class.”

Everyone except me, I think.

Don’t think, Georgia. Just drink.

“And then,” Avery continues, “Linberg would inevitably yell at poor Rosie, even though she was the only one who understood trigonometry. Seriously, she was the only one actually doing the work.”

I remember that. How Rosie Cabrillo, freakishly smart nerd extraordinaire, would sit in the front row with Avery and some other moocher next to her, and she’d have her nose headfirst into her trigonometry book. She taught herself all of it from start to finish. Rosie’s so smart—way smarter than I’ll ever be. I never understood why she gave all the answers away to people like Avery Trenholm. Maybe it was the only way she knew to survive.

“Oh!” Liss adds. “And she’d stare above our heads at the corner of the room.” Liss had Linberg last year for AP calculus.

“Yes!” Avery is nearly yelling now. “Oh my God, this one time freshman year, Kevin Lee did the craziest thing—”

“I remember this!” I say. I know what she’s talking about, the crazy stunt that Kevin Lee pulled that almost got me killed. I remember it well. I sat in the back row, right next to the scene.

“You do?” Avery looks at me like she’s never seen me before.