Afterparty(61)

Siobhan: OK but you’re still a bimbo when u have a boyfriend.

Me: Get me an Almond Joy.

Siobhan and I sit there in the student lounge eating our Almond Joys.

“I’m going to fix this,” she says. “Like people think I let you screw me over? I don’t think so.”

Chelsea looks over at us and shakes her head. Then Dylan shows up with Arif and Sam on an Orangina run, and I want to crawl into a dark tunnel that leads away from Latimer and ends in my backyard.

A desire even more acute when Siobhan starts waving her arms at Dylan.

He looks understandably reluctant to come over, which makes sense given that she’s offered him nothing but grief since he’s been with me. But by the time he makes his way across the room, he has returned to big-time blankness.

“Hey,” he says to no one in particular.

Siobhan says, “Kiss her.”

Dylan and I start to splutter simultaneously.

Siobhan says, “You should listen to me. I’m doing you a favor.”

Dylan starts to say something, but Siobhan interrupts him. “Not a favor for you, jerk. Her. I don’t do favors for you.”

Arif says, “Do it.” And to Siobhan: “Assuming you’re not going to start screeching, which would be less of a favor.”

Siobhan says, “Fuck you.”

Dylan leans down and we establish that we can engage in a completely mechanical prolonged kiss with no feelings. It goes on and on, emotionless as Dylan’s face.

Arif clears his throat.

Siobhan says, “You’re lapsing into get-a-room.”

We come up for air, Dylan resting on the arm of my chair.

Chelsea and Lia walk back toward the door. The set point on their faces is contempt. Siobhan keeps smiling beatifically at them, offering the grand finale to our spectacle with a two-handed flip off, waving her forearms from the elbow.

“Nobody feels sorry for me,” Siobhan says.

Sam keeps shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “And from this fascinating piece of guerrilla theater, we take away—?”

I am still reeling from the non-kiss kiss. Still, I’m pretty sure I’m no longer the stealth bitch who leveled Siobhan; I’m now just some theatrical form of weird.

Dylan says, “Can we go now?”

“Oh, you’re excused,” Siobhan says.

I follow him out—no holding open of the door, no hand-holding, no PDA of any kind—into the quad and up onto the hill.

I say, “That was maybe the most awkward moment of my life.”

I say, “I think she was trying to be nice.”

He says, “Don’t bet on it.”





CHAPTER FORTY-TWO


Dylan: I’m making up for before. Issuing formal invitation. Very romantic.

Me: By text?

Dylan: This is as formal as I get. Valentine’s Day. Are you in?

Me: Duh.

Me: I’m going to facetime you right now. I want details and sappiness.

Dylan: I’m not that sappy Me: Try

Dylan: Cheesy cupid decorations and an open bar with pink mixed drinks?

Me: Yes please!

This Valentine’s Day party is a producer’s insanely over-the-top annual extravaganza, complete with his revolving girlfriends and exciting gown malfunctions. To which said producer always asks Dylan’s parents to bring Dylan, as he’s the same age as his kid. When they were little, it gave his kid something to do, other than watch assorted women run into the house for more denture cream to hold up their dresses.

“You should know up front, I’m embarrassed to take you,” Dylan says.

“Thanks a lot. I can see why you left that out of the formal invitation.”

“That came out wrong. You don’t know what my parents are like until you’ve seen them in action.”

“What is it they do?”

“You have a dad who cares if you drink all your milk. I’m not sure you’re going to get this.” He just looks at me, and even on the tiny screen of my phone, I get that whatever it is, it’s not a fun topic. “Are you sure you don’t mind going anyway?”

Dylan and Valentine’s Day and a lavish, over-the-top extravaganza complete with drama yet such a large contingent of parents and so-called responsible adults (blasted out of their minds) in attendance that my dad couldn’t possibly say no—how sure can a person be?

And instantly, without thought or analysis, I want to tell Siobhan. That’s my first impulse. All these weeks of crazy and I still want best friendship without the complications.

I want the impossible.

Me: Physics?

Siobhan: Don’t you have to sit at boy toy’s feet day and night?

Me: Screwdrivers. Cheetos. Electrical fields. Come on.

We’re in Siobhan’s dining room, trying to figure out our lab reports. Nancy rolls her suitcase by on her way to the airport.

She says, “That school is screwing up your lives but good. Why don’t you ladies take a break and have some fun?”

Words that would wither and die on my dad’s lips.

Siobhan eats a Cheeto and doesn’t look up until Nancy is out the front door.

I say, “Are you ever going to talk to her again? It’s been a while.”

“I’m just keeping her guessing. It results in lots of shopping. I need all new shoes.”