Inside, music rattled the floors and kids were packed together tightly, red Solo cups in hand. A keg stood by the entrance to the kitchen, a line snaking around the corner. Chloe and Layla waved us over as soon as we walked in, giving us both hugs. In the last week I’d been given more hugs than in my entire life combined. I was anxious about anyone touching me and my reflex was to tense up and jump away, but once I took a deep breath and relaxed I found that I actually enjoyed it, that momentary contact that said you weren’t alone.
Chloe directed me toward the kitchen, telling the other girls we’d get them drinks—beer for Layla and water for Anna, who didn’t drink. I started to say I didn’t drink either, but then I remembered I had gotten high two days before, and suddenly a beer hardly felt adventurous at all.
When it was just the two of us, Chloe leaned in close. “Thanks again,” she said. “For Thursday.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I told her with a smile.
She tapped her red cup against mine. “You know everybody here talks about how much other people talk,” she said. I was pretty sure that was more words together than I had heard her use all week. “But the more they talk about how shameful it is, the more they do it.”
Behind us, Layla and Anna were fiddling with our host’s iPhone and speakers. They shrieked happily as a new song came on.
“If you ever want someone to talk to,” I told her, “I know how to keep a secret.”
* * *
Twenty minutes later I sat on a countertop staring out at the sea of people filling the house. Anna, Layla, and Chloe were all talking to other people, so I tried to look busy as I sipped gingerly from my red plastic cup and tapped my heel in time with the Top 40 hits blaring over the speaker. I was unimpressed with beer—it tasted like stale bread and water, and it wasn’t making me feel any different.
“Um … hey,” a deep voice called, almost drowned out by the music and the crowd. I looked up and saw Parker standing a few feet away, a nervous expression on his face.
“Hey,” I said, trying to act nonchalant. Something about his heavy-lidded gaze always set me on edge. “Congrats on the game the other night.”
“We lost.”
“It was still the most fun I’ve ever had watching sports,” I said, shrugging. “Seems like there should be a prize for that.”
“Oh,” he said, looking away. His cheeks flushed red and it occurred to me that he was nervous. I felt guilty all of a sudden, as if just by existing and talking to him I was leading him on. It gave me a strange sense of power, and not one that I liked.
“Can I get you a beer?”
“I already—” I began, but he said, “I’ll go get you one” abruptly and disappeared into the crowd. I let out a long sigh as I watched him go.
Only seconds had passed when Grant appeared in front of me. He wore a heather-gray T-shirt and well-worn jeans, looking completely at ease, his jet-black hair tousled like he’d stuck his head out a car window on the freeway.
“So, hey,” he said, giving me a mischievous smile. “I might be confused, but the idea of a party, generally, is to have fun.”
“I’m having fun,” I said, taking another sip of beer.
I had rehearsed this encounter all afternoon as I got ready. In the shower, I pretended I barely knew he existed, looking cool and aloof. As I blew out my hair, I threw caution to the wind and flirted mercilessly with him. While I got dressed, I gave innocent and naïve a shot. No more plans came to me when I got around to putting on makeup, and now that he was actually in front of me, I realized I didn’t even have to try.
“You’ve been staring at the ceiling for the last ten minutes.”
“Well, then you’ve clearly been staring at me.”
“Can you blame me?” he said, shaking his head and laughing. “I just really wanna make sure you have a good time.”
“I’m having a good time, I promise.” I was starting to feel a little dizzy and realized the beer was finally having an effect. “I like this song a lot! It’s, um, my favorite.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Somehow I doubt anything by Kesha is your favorite.”
“It could be!” He stared me down, plastering a maddeningly neutral look on his features. I broke in seconds. “Okay, fine. I only really listen to techno.”
“Come with me then,” he said, gesturing as he headed across the room. My head was buzzing pleasantly as I hopped down and followed him.
Out of the corner of my eye I caught Parker emerging from the kitchen, a red cup in each hand, craning his neck to look for me. The crowd parted at the other end of the room to reveal Grant swiping through the iPhone, his eyes intent on the screen. I tried to peek over his shoulder but he tapped the screen one last time, turned, and smiled at me triumphantly. The familiar, tinny beat of Daft Punk hit my ears, barely audible at first but quickly building. Grant bit his lip and bobbed his head in time with the music. I finished my drink, set the cup on the table, and joined him.
The vocals kicked in, a digitized voice commanding me to work harder, become better, faster, and stronger, reminding me my work was never over, and I felt so good, all of my fear gone somewhere else for the night. Grant took my hands, and I didn’t shrink from his touch. Our fingers were the same length, I noticed, but his were much wider and stronger. He led me into the crowd, and when we took steps our feet moved in time with the beat, my hips following suit. Bodies pressed and swirled around me, but I didn’t mind. I always avoided crowds instinctively, but tonight the crush of bodies actually felt comforting. Dancing with a boy for the first time in my entire life, I felt like a part of the people around me, like another cell in a healthy body instead of a hidden disease.