Leah on the Offbeat(20)

“You kidder,” he says. He nudges Simon, hard. “She’s such a kidder. She loves me. Did you know she came to the game on Saturday?”

My stomach drops.

“That’s right, Spier. Leah Andromeda Burke picked my game over your play. And she wasn’t there to see Greenfeld. I’m just saying.”

“Andromeda?”

“That’s not your middle name?”

“No.”

“Now it is.” He squeezes my shoulder. “Leah. Andromeda. Burke.”

Yeah, he’s already drunk. I don’t know how he managed to do that walking from his car to Martin’s house, but he did. It’s in his voice, in his grin, on his breath. I tug his hand off my shoulder and walk straight to the doorstep, where Abby and Bram are waiting.

“Buuuuuuurke. Wait up!”

“How did he get drunk already?” I ask Bram.

“He brought a flask in the car.”

“He drove drunk?”

“Oh no. He wouldn’t do that. Apparently, he and Nick drank it while they were parked.”

“Of course they did.” Abby rolls her eyes.

“That’s so stupid. How are they getting home?”

Bram sighs. “Probably me.”

There’s a note taped to the door, written in loopy handwriting. Welcome, Egyptians and Canaanites! Venture down to the basement! Abby catches my eye and smiles faintly. I look quickly down at my feet. When I look up again, Simon, Garrett, and Nick have caught up to us on the stoop. Abby pushes the door open and walks straight inside.

Martin’s basement is huge. These Shady Creek houses are unreal. The Addisons aren’t even rich. Not like Jeeves-shall-show-you-into-our-parlor rich. They’re just the usual Shady Creek rich: three floors and flat-screen TVs and a pinball machine in the basement.

I’m guessing from the tiny sandwiches and ceramic plates that Martin’s parents had a hand in setting this up. There are sophomores draped over the couches, legs over hands over laps. A couple of people are singing and dancing along with the Joseph soundtrack. Cal and Nora are tucked into an armchair, scrolling through his phone. I think Bram, Garrett, and I are the only non-theater people here.

“You guys came!” Martin bounds over to us. Kind of like a golden retriever, as insulting as that is to Bieber Spier. “Okay, so, people are just hanging out, and, uh. Let me know if there’s anything you want. My mom can run to Publix.” He pokes his elbow nervously and lowers his voice. “And there’s vodka. In the bathroom.”

“In the bathroom?” Simon raises his eyebrows.

“Yeah. It’s, uh. Don’t tell my parents. It’s under the sink behind the toilet bowl cleaner. It’s the one in the vodka bottle. Don’t drink the toilet bowl cleaner.”

“The vodka is the one in the vodka bottle. Got it.”

“Cool,” Martin says. And for a minute, he just stands there nodding. “Okay, so, I’m gonna . . . yeah.” He walks away backward, almost knocking over a freshman. Then he turns back around, makes finger guns at Simon, and almost bumps into someone else. I swear to God, that kid should wear a protective rubber bumper and possibly water wings.

I turn back to find Simon, but he’s already settled onto a corner of the couch with Bram. Abby turns to me. “You don’t drink, do you?”

“Nope.”

“Right. Okay. But you’ll come with me, right? To the bathroom? So I don’t drink the toilet bowl cleaner?”

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Garrett dropping it like it’s hot to “Go, Go, Go Joseph.” Nick’s leaning again the wall nearby, flushed and smiling. He’s talking to Taylor Metternich.

Abby rolls her eyes. “What an asshole. Come on.” She grabs my hand and tugs it. Abby. This is weird. “I don’t even care, you know?” she says as I follow her down the hallway. “Like, I’m not even upset. He can do whatever he wants. Is this the bathroom?”

“I think so?”

She tries the door, but it’s locked. “Someone’s in there. Only Martin would put the booze in the bathroom. Let’s just sit.” She slides against the wall, landing cross-legged, and I settle in beside her. Legs straight ahead, pressed together. I should have worn jeans.

She sighs, shifting toward me. “I can’t believe he’s talking to her. Seriously, Taylor?”

God, what do I even say to that? Sorry you and Nick aren’t as perfect as everyone thinks you are.

“Taylor’s annoying,” I say finally.

“Yeah.” She folds her legs up, hugs her knees, and tilts her head to look at me. “Anyway, I heard you stood up for me today.”

“The Morgan thing?”

“Mmhmm. Bram told me what happened.” She smiles. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I mean, Morgan was being racist.”

“Yup. But not everyone would have called her out, so.” Abby shrugs. “Thanks.”

There’s this flutter in my stomach. I don’t exactly feel like puking. But I don’t not feel like puking. This is why I don’t get close to Abby Suso. It always ends in nausea. I shift slightly to the right, putting an inch of space between us.

“Did she ever mention the tour thing?” Abby asks, after a moment.