Playlist for the Dead(21)

“No, you’re right about that,” Mom agreed. I listened for her tone but she seemed amused. “Well, you’re very sparkly.”

“That’s what I was going for,” Astrid said, and laughed again. “Sam, we should really get going.”

“Okay. See you later, Mom.” I prayed she wouldn’t do something annoying like try to kiss me before I left.

“Have fun,” she said. “And make sure to keep your phone on. You never know when I might need you.”

I rolled my eyes as I shut the door behind me.

“Your mom’s really sweet,” Astrid said.

“She’s a total pain,” I said, but secretly I agreed with her. “What’s in the bag?” I pointed to her bulging bronze backpack.

“That’s the beer,” she said. “It’s BYOB. No keg.”

I hadn’t even thought of that. “I didn’t bring anything,” I said apologetically.

“No worries. I brought enough to share. I don’t drink much, anyway.”

My shoulders sagged; I hadn’t realized I’d tensed them. “Neither do I.”

“Something else we have in common, then,” she said.

Was I crazy, or was she flirting with me?

“I like the T-shirt,” she said.

I felt myself blushing again. “Thanks.”

“You know, you haven’t commented on my outfit yet. Were you going to let your mom take care of that for you? Or do you not like it?” She almost looked worried. Did she really care what I thought?

“No, I do, I mean, I meant to say—” Get it together, Sam. “You look great. Really. Sparkly, like my mom said.”

She smiled then, a wide grin that made the gem in her lip ring sparkle in the dim light. She was so pretty, and I liked that it was an odd prettiness, that it wasn’t a given that everyone in the world would be able to see it. It made her special. To me, anyway.

The streets were quiet and dark; this part of town didn’t have that many streetlights. The party wasn’t that far away, so we didn’t have to talk much, which was nice; I was too busy trying to figure out how to talk to Astrid. We walked for a few blocks, past the apartment building they’d been trying unsuccessfully to convert to condos for as long as I could remember, past the all-night 7-Eleven where some Mexican dudes in a cart outside sold some of the best tamales I’d ever had, not that I was any kind of expert on authentic Mexican food. The party was in a neighborhood filled with houses just like ours, little run-down one-and two-family setups with too many people crammed into too-small spaces.

“We’re almost there,” Astrid said, and pointed to a house a block away. I heard the faint strains of music I actually liked blaring from the speakers and I could tell already that it would be a better party than any of the other ones I’d been to, where they played crappy radio dance pop.

When we got to the door, though, I hesitated. I remembered the other night, Vampire Weekend playing in my head, along with the sound of Hayden laughing. Was I really ready for this?

“Come on,” Astrid said, and grabbed my hand.

The door opened into the living room; the house was laid out just like mine. It was a nice change from those other parties, where everything felt unfamiliar. Here I could almost feel at home. The room was full of the indie kids Astrid sat with at lunch—a few locals from my side of town, and the artsy kids from South Branch. Emo kids with dyed hair and piercings; skinny hipsters like Eric. I almost looked like I fit in. I almost felt it, too. It was a strange feeling, one I wasn’t used to.

We walked through the living room to the kitchen, where Astrid took the beer out of her backpack, pulled out two for us, then stashed the rest in the fridge. We found a bottle opener and pulled off the caps, then clinked our bottles.

“Cheers,” I said.

“To a good night,” she said.

I took a long sip of beer, almost spitting it out as soon as I remembered how gross it tasted. Maybe someday I’d get used to it, but I didn’t see it happening anytime soon.

“Let’s meet some people,” she said, and steered me through the crowd. “Here’s someone I think you’ll like. Sam, meet Damian. Damian, Sam. You two get to know each other. I’ll be back.” She wandered off, greeting people as she went.

Sure, not awkward at all. Especially for the guy who couldn’t even talk to people on the bus. I stared at Damian for a minute. “Dig the facial hair,” I said. Damian was the first high school student I’d ever seen who’d successfully managed to grow a full beard.

“Thanks, man.” He smiled and tugged at the end of it. “Most of it’s going to go in Movember.”

“Movember?”

“National mustache month. I’m thinking about a Van Buren.”

“Van Buren?” Was I only going to be able to manage stupid questions?

“After the president. He had some crazy facial hair going. Big mustache, big puffy sideburns, no beard. Sure to be a hit with the ladies.” He pulled out the sides of his beard to show where the sideburns would pouf out.

I liked him immediately. It turned out he was taking extra writing and art classes so he could work on a graphic novel, so we immediately started debating the merits of the Walking Dead TV show versus the comic. It was the kind of conversation I used to have with Hayden, and it made me feel happy and lonely at the same time. I wasn’t replacing him, was I? We talked long enough for me to force down another couple of beers, which tasted less bitter now.