Hope and Other Punch Lines(31)

“Hans,” I say, and decide to put my hands on my hips, which I read in a magazine is flattering in photographs. I have no idea if it works in person.

“His name is definitely not Hans. Mike, maybe,” Jack says.

“It’s Hans in my head. Cat would never date a Mike.”

“You’re so much weirder than I thought,” Noah says, and then does his cute hair-ruffle thing. He peeks over my shoulder again. “Wow, Cat looks wasted.”

“You can tell from here?” I decide not to turn around. If I’m careful enough, we can avoid each other, like we did at school. At Oakdale, whenever I’d see anyone who even slightly resembled Cat, any flash of ubiquitous purple hair, I’d hide in a classroom or a bathroom.

The irony is not lost on me that my reaction to my friend’s having outgrown me is super immature.

“She’s throwing her arms in the air, waving like she just doesn’t care,” Noah says flatly.

“She was shit-faced last week too,” Jack says. “I thought she was going to christen my car.”

“Julia christened my car after Tash’s party,” I say.

“You’re so not supposed to tell people about that,” Julia says, popping up next to me. I assumed she was off with Zach, taking more photos to glam up her already glamorous-in-a-down-to-earth-way Instagram feed.

If you don’t take a picture and post it, did it really happen? Cat used to ask. No, no, it didn’t, she’d respond. And then she’d hold out her phone—she had the longest arms—and we’d all pose. Sometimes she’d even say Duck faces, ladies. Here’s the strangest part: I would always listen. I would pout on command if Cat was the one asking.

“I’m keeping the drink I got you to make up for it,” Julia says. She takes a sip of something that looks like Kool-Aid. Childishly red in a clear plastic cup. “Why are you standing so strangely?”

“My ex–best friend is over there.”

“Oooh, I have one of those. They’re seriously worse than bad breakups,” Julia says, and then hands me her drink. “Fine, you need this more than me. And I say that even though Zach is making out with Tash in the corner.”

I take a swig, and it burns going down. Definitely not Kool-Aid.

“Zach is a dick,” Noah says.

“Totally,” Julia admits. “And yet—”

“Can I ask you something?” Jack asks. “Is it his dickishness that makes you like him?”

“Who are you?” Julia asks.

“I’m Jack. Noah’s friend. Abbi’s too.”

“It’s not his dickishness. That’s not really my thing. I like that he’s full of surprises. Like you don’t expect a guy in a fedora to be able to do a yoga headstand. Look at him. He’s wearing overalls. I mean really? Overalls.” Julia smiles as she says this, her voice thick with affection, even though we’re all looking straight at Zach sticking his tongue down Tash’s throat. They’re no longer in a corner but in the center of the foyer, as if the party should revolve around them.

“I will never understand women,” Noah says. He takes off his glasses and cleans them with the corner of his shirt, pops them back on. “If I wore overalls you guys would never let me live it down. Why does he get to wear them?”

“Do you want to wear overalls?” I ask.

“Not even a little bit, but that’s not the point,” Noah says.

“It’s all about confidence,” Julia says.

“But I have confidence!” Noah shouts, trying to make himself heard over the loud thumping music that has started playing. Is that a live band in the backyard? Who the hell is this Moss?

“Not enough to wear overalls, though,” Jack says.

“Exactly,” Julia says. “Exactly.”



* * *



—

About half an hour later, one red drink under my belt, I’m feeling warm and loose and happy. Jack, Julia, Noah, and I wind through the crowds with linked arms, a merry band of new friends, and this way, with them literally attached to my limbs, I stop worrying about Cat. There must be at least three hundred people here. In the backyard, four kids with loud electric guitars pound away on a makeshift stage. The only reason this party hasn’t been broken up by the neighbors is because I don’t think there are any. Beyond the huge lawn, all I see are towering walls. I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s a moat.

“Have you seen Charles?” Julia asks once we’ve settled into a new spot, a little away from the music so we can hear ourselves talk.

“Lifeguard Charles?” I ask.

“Yup. Though I think he just goes by Charles in the wild,” Julia says.

“Have you seen Brendan?” Jack asks. “He texted and said he might come. What do you think that means?”

“I think that means he might come,” Julia says, who is now double-fisting the not-Kool-Aid because the line for the bar wraps around one of the verandas and is chock-full of grope-y drunk boys. “Who’s Brendan?”

“The guy Jack is into who has a questionable tattoo and may or may not want to make out with him near the frozen fish at the supermarket where he works,” I say.

“There are so many sexier sections,” Noah says. “I don’t get it.”