Playlist for the Dead(20)

Kind of presumptuous of you to assume I’m going, isn’t it? I read it over before I sent it and realized it sounded rude, so I added a winking smiley face and hoped it was enough. ;-)


Oh, you’re going. Trust me, it’ll be a good thing.



How could I argue with that? I started getting ready. I brushed my teeth so many times my gums bled, and I accidentally put too much gel in my hair and had to wash it twice to get it out. I spent what felt like an hour staring at a drawer of T-shirts, before deciding on a Raygun shirt that said MAKE AWKWARD SEXUAL ADVANCES NOT WAR. Mom had rolled her eyes when I bought it, but I guess she thought the odds were against me getting to make the advances in the first place. She was probably right; I had a feeling the shirt could do more harm than good. But I liked it.

Hayden’s mix wasn’t exactly filled with party music, but I was finding it hard to listen to anything else these days. I didn’t think I’d ever be able to listen to that Vampire Weekend song again, so I opted instead for a song we’d rocked out to together before. It felt a little bit like an homage.

But it made me even more conflicted about whether I should be going out. I couldn’t imagine what Hayden would do in my place, but I’d never have put him in this place. And I wouldn’t be in this place at all if he were still here. Bitter, maybe, but true.

The party was on my side of town, which was already a point in its favor. The jock jerks tended to stay on their side, where there was always action because their parents traveled so much. “I’m kind of nervous about this,” I admitted to Astrid, when she called to give me the details. “I haven’t been to that many parties, and the last one . . .” I couldn’t finish the sentence. Not out loud.

“I know,” she said. “Why don’t I come to your house first and we can walk over together? Then maybe you won’t feel weird about going.”

“That would be great,” I said, exhaling. I’d wanted to ask her if we could meet up first, but I’d been too nervous. So much for awkward sexual advances—I couldn’t even make awkward friendly advances. “Eric won’t mind?”

“Not at all! He can drive us home.”

For a second, I’d hoped she’d say that he wasn’t coming, that they’d broken up, but I reminded myself that she was my new friend, not my future girlfriend. Even if that might have been nice. Or amazing.

Now I just had to wait for her to show up. Of all nights for Mom to be working the graveyard shift, this was the worst, because she hadn’t left the house yet.

“Look at you,” she said, and messed up my hair.

I ducked back. “Cut it out!”

“Don’t worry, it still looks . . . I’m not sure what it is you’re going for here. It still looks messy. Is that what you want?”

“It’s not messy,” I said. “It’s spiked.”

“Sweetie, your hair’s a little too long for that. But it looks great. Really.”

She totally didn’t mean it, but I didn’t care.

“Now I have to get parental. Where is this party, and who’s going to be there? What time are you coming home?” She said it all rapid fire, like she was joking, but I knew she was serious.

I didn’t see that it mattered, given that she’d be gone all night, but whatever. I gave her the details I knew and told her I had no idea who would be there or when I was coming back.

“You’re just daring me to give you a curfew, aren’t you?”

“Would you really do that?” She never had before. Then again, there hadn’t been much of a need.

“Do I have to?” She frowned and put her hands on her hips.

She didn’t, really—the town already had a curfew of midnight, so it wasn’t like I could stay out any later than that. Which I reminded her.

“I guess that will do,” she said. “It’s already after eight. You should get going.”

“I’m waiting for someone.” Crap, I could feel myself blushing.

“You are?” Mom looked excited. “That’s great! Who?”

“Um,” I said, “just someone.”

“A male someone or a female someone?” She looked more intrigued than concerned. It was true that I’d never so much as mentioned a girl to her before; we’d had the talk years ago, the first time I’d asked her a question about babies, but other than that we’d steered clear of conversations about dating other than to make fun of Rachel’s choice of suitors.

The doorbell rang before I could answer her question. I ran to answer it but Mom was closer and beat me there. “Hello,” she said, “I’m Sam’s mom. You can call me Sarah. And you are . . . ?”

“Hi, I’m Astrid. Nice to meet you.”

She didn’t seem at all annoyed to be meeting my mom, which was nice. And she looked fantastic—her whitish-blond hair was down and glittered with silver, gold, and bronze streaks, and she was wearing a silvery top and shiny gold pants and carrying a bronze backpack.

“Is this a costume party?” Mom asked. “I think Sam might be a little underdressed here.”

“Mom!” I yelled, but Astrid just laughed.

“No, it’s just a regular party. I felt like getting fancy is all. This isn’t the kind of outfit I can wear to school.”