Leah on the Offbeat(21)

“Yeah.” I smile wryly. “Guess that’s not happening.”

“Well, you and I could still go.”

Suddenly, the bathroom door bursts open, and out stumble two juniors. They’re flushed and draped all over each other, and something tells me vodka and toilet bowl cleaner aren’t the only liquids we’ll find in this bathroom.

“They have sex hair,” Abby whispers.

“I know.”

“Like, you can’t do that in Martin Addison’s bathroom. I am perturbed. Aggrieved. Disquieted. Hey, Morgan, guess who got an 800 on the SAT critical reading section.” Abby locks the bathroom door behind us and kneels in front of the sink.

I perch on top of the toilet seat. “Did you really?”

Her mouth quirks. “Yeah. Ugh. Sorry, I feel like I’m bragging.”

“No, it’s cool.”

She smiles up at me and shrugs. “I don’t know. Anyway, here’s the vodka, and there’s Coke. Is vodka and Coke a thing?”

“I have no idea.”

“Clearly, Martin has no idea either.” She rolls her eyes. “You sure you don’t want any?”

“I’m sure.”

“Okay. I’m just gonna . . .” Abby tips some vodka into a red plastic cup, and then she fills the rest with Coke. She takes a sip and grimaces. “Wow. This is gross.”

“I’m sorry.”

She shrugs. “Am I allowed to bring the cup out? I don’t have to drink this in here, right?”

“I mean, that would be weird.”

“Yeah, but it’s Martin.”

I laugh. “Right.”

I tap the toes of my flats on the tiles, staring down. I feel awkward and strange. This is so unexpected. Alone with Abby Suso in Martin Addison’s bathroom. I sneak a peek at her through my lashes. She’s leaning against the bathtub now, back straight, pretzeled legs. Every time she sips her drink, her nose wrinkles. I’ve never understood the appeal of drinking. It’s not like liquor tastes good. I mean, I know it’s not about that. It’s about feeling loose and light and unstoppable. Simon described it to me once. He said drinking lets you say and do things without filtering or overthinking. But I don’t get how that’s a good thing.

Abby yawns. “It’s like—okay. He didn’t apply anywhere in Georgia. That’s fine. But that’s where I’ll be, and the closest he could be is North Carolina. And I’m sorry, but I don’t want to stay home from parties because I’m expecting a call from my boyfriend. I don’t want to miss out on college, you know?”

Sure, Abby. I totally know. My boyfriends are always trying to call me during parties. So many parties. Which I totally go to, because I love sitting in bathrooms watching other people drink.

I should hate this.

Why don’t I hate this?

Someone bangs on the door, and Abby hops to her feet. “Just a minute!” She chugs her drink. “Oh my God, this is so gross. I’m literally going to vomit.”

I stand abruptly, pushing up the toilet lid.

“Not literally literally. Come on, let’s go.” She takes my hand.

We step out of the bathroom, and there’s Garrett, blue eyes shining. He’s acquired a party hat somehow, which he’s wearing cocked to the side. He stares at our hands and his mouth falls open.

“Oh my God. What. OH MY GOD.”

“Not what you’re thinking, Garrett.”

“Ladies, wow. Okay. Hear me out. I have an idea. Let’s just all go back into the bathroom, and whatever happens . . .”

“Nope,” I say flatly.

Abby releases me and twines both of her hands through Garrett’s, peering up at him with doe eyes. “Garrett, sweetie,” she says, “I will never, ever do that.” Then she tugs her hands away and pats him firmly on his bicep. “In front of you,” she adds quietly, nudging him toward the bathroom.

My stomach swoops.

“WHAT?” Garrett shrieks, eyes darting back and forth between us. “You should. Do that in front of me. Okay? Please. Good. I have to pee.”

“So go pee.”

I think my brain’s made of Jell-O. My thoughts won’t stay in one place. She’d never do that. In front of Garrett. But maybe otherwise?

How am I supposed to interpret that?

We leave around eleven. Garrett’s a drunk mess, so Bram drives him home in the minivan, with Simon following behind. Then we all pile into Simon’s car for a shitshow of a ride. Simon and Bram take the front. Nora and I are basically on top of each other, squished between Nick and Abby, who aren’t talking. It’s the kind of silence that has its own gravity. Black hole silence. Simon tries to fight it with a steady stream of Simon-babble, but after a few minutes, even he stops speaking.

We pull into Bram’s driveway, and Simon leans over the gearshift. They kiss softly and quickly, and Bram mouths something to Simon. Simon shakes his head, grinning. Abby calls shotgun as soon as Bram unbuckles his seat belt.

“You sure you don’t want to spend the night?” Simon asks for the fifth time tonight. And normally I would. I don’t care that it’s Sunday. Simon lives so close to school that it would actually make my morning easier.

But Abby’s sleeping at Simon’s tonight. And I’ve had enough Abby weirdness for one night.