She Dims the Stars(4)

Cline, though. Cline is a massive guy and wouldn’t be what girls consider conventionally attractive. But his personality makes up for it. At some point, I see him with a girl on the other side of the room, and I try to maneuver my way over without tripping on any furniture. I make it to him just in time to see him lean into the girls face and tug on the end of her white-blonde hair before he asks, “Nice shoes. Wanna f*ck?”

The funniest part about this line is that the girl isn’t even wearing shoes. But she laughs so hard that she falls into him and, within minutes, they’re walking down the hallway to find an empty room.

I’m not suave by any means. Chelsea was kind of a one-off, if I’m being completely honest. I never in a million years would have pictured myself with a girlfriend as hot as she was.

I’m too goofy. Too awkward around girls. I don’t know. I’ve been told I’m many things. A good flirt is not one of them.

I can’t recall what I said to the girl with the black hair by the bonfire, but it ends with us running to the lake to drunkenly jump off the dock and me being pulled out of the water by someone who looks a little like Cline. Maybe it was my old stand-by of “I like that shirt, but I’d like it better on my floor.”

Pretty sure that’s when I blacked out. Which is a shame, because the girl who wanted to go swimming had actually taken off her top.





“Elliot.”

I shift and press my face into the fabric under my cheek.

“Elliot. Elllll-iiiii-ottttttt.” Whoever is making an E.T. voice is going to get my full wrath. As soon as the room stops spinning, of course.

This time it’s a whisper right next to my ear. “Elliottttt.”

It startles me, and I jump a little, my eyes flying open at the sound of little pings as something scatters across the floor.

Audrey. Audrey is by my side, laughing hysterically as I sit fully upright and watch a hundred Reese’s Pieces rain down around my feet.

“Original. Where the hell did you even get this many Reese’s?”

She blinks and leans back, her mouth open in false shock. “What else do you eat while you’re drunk?”

The house is eerily quiet, and I squint under the terrible brightness of that * we refer to as the sun.

She gets to her feet and tilts her head to look me over. “You’re really bad at this drinking thing.”

“I don’t do it very often, but when I do, I commit.” The smile I give her is fleeting before the back of my throat tingles, and I’m stumbling up and towards the bathroom to prove her right.

She’s standing outside the door when I finish puking, and the amusement on her face can’t be ignored. “Cline left you. Said I could bring you back to his house.”

“Why?” I’m only vaguely aware that my legs are really cold.

“He said something about wanting to choke you out, but then you passed out on the couch, and he went back into a room with that girl again. He took her home this morning. Said there wasn’t enough room in the truck.”

“He really is the shittiest best friend on the planet.”

She grins. “The. Absolute. Worst. I made him a t-shirt that said that exact thing once.”

“You’re the one who bought him that? He wears it all the time.” Just chuckling makes my head hurt, and she pushes off the wall tsk-ing as she walks away. “Why am I only wearing boxers? Where are my clothes?” I’d be embarrassed if I wasn’t feeling like death.

“Someone brought them in from outside. You weren’t wearing much when you were dragged in here.”

When she returns, she has a cup full of stuff that fizzes like Alka-Seltzer but tastes like really bad Gatorade. I assume I’ll puke this up in about five minutes, but miraculously, after laying down for another fifteen, I am perfectly fine and asking about breakfast.

In the time it’s taken me to recover, she’s cleaned up what she didn’t get to before waking me. If I wasn’t in so much pain, I would be really impressed with how pristine the place looks before we shuffle outside. When she locks the door behind us, I can see this look cross her face as though she’s disappointed that we’re leaving already. Her eyes fixate for a second on the welcome mat, and then, like a light switch, she turns to look at me with a smile.

“You’re a dude, so I assume breakfast means bacon. With a side of bacon. Am I right?”



I’m surrounded by fast food biscuit wrappers, and the taste of grease sits heavy on my tongue while I let the wind hit my face at sixty miles an hour. Audrey has graciously not spoken until this point. And then …

“What was her name?”

I crack an eye open and roll my head in her direction, hoping that the look I am giving her is one of disdain and not one where I look like a lobotomy patient. “Who?”

“The girl.” Her eyes slide to me and back to the road. “The one you were screaming out the window about. The one who made you try and pick up every last girl at my party last night.” She smiles a little. “Unsuccessfully. But still.”

I groan and lean my head back against the car seat. “Chelsea.”

“I’m sorry. Kelsey?”

“Chelsea,” I say louder. The sound of my own voice makes my head throb, like the hangover is just waiting to come back with a vengeance, and my body is ninja-ready.