A Little Bit of Everything Lost by Stephanie Elliot Page A

would be over. Soon they would no longer be together, and who knew when they would see each other next; for they hadn’t discussed anything beyond the next day.
    Had he asked, Marnie knew she would be able to commit to a relationship. She knew at this point she would be able to turn down any guy at school, say no if someone asked her to dance, or go for a drink, or come home with him, which, in the past, she had done. But that was all before Joe. Now she knew. She was sure Joe was all she wanted, for she had never given so much of herself to one person and in such a short amount of time, and had never felt so secure in doing so. Never.
    The music – Any Way You Want It – pulsated through the house. Marnie heard laughter out back. Joe led her through the foyer, where a couple crouched near the stairway, the girl so close to the guy, so near his face, and so angry, Marnie thought she might spit on him.              
    Through the hallway, they walked on oriental rugs and past original canvassed modern paintings probably worth thousands. Joe steered her toward the noise, to the back of the house, where the music swelled and the party came alive. Through curtains of smoke – a purple bong was being passed around the kitchen table – Marnie could make out people but was sure she didn’t know anyone. She was hoping to see a familiar face, maybe someone she had graduated with, but she recognized no one. Not kids from her high school, not her crowd.
    Feeling tiny and insecure, she pressed closer to Joe. She coughed; a cloud of marijuana in her face. Someone shouted, “Keg’s over there,” and Joe gently steered Marnie in the direction of the beer, his hands possessively on her hips.
    As he pumped the tap, Joe looked at her, intensely. “You okay?”
    “Yeah. It’s just weird. I don’t know anyone here.”
    “We’ll go outside – there won’t be as much smoke,” he assured.
    Joe took two yellow Solo beer cups, foamy and filled, and Marnie grabbed onto his elbow as he pushed through the growing crowd. There were so many people crammed into the house. She hadn’t expected it to be a big party; Joe had said “just a couple of friends” were getting together. Sorority girls strutted around in their house gear, wearing letters across their chest, on necklaces, and wrapped around their wrists in wooden beads and hemp bracelets. They laughed as one relayed a story about being so drunk she passed out while sitting on the toilet. Others looked at Marnie like she was an outcast, and she was, all things considered. This wasn’t her territory. These weren’t her friends. She hadn’t even rushed a sorority at her college.
    Outside, the cool summer air caressed her cheeks and calmed Marnie. A long sip of her beer settled into her empty stomach and she felt her body loosen up a bit, her limbs relaxed. I can do this, she thought. I can be charming and witty and fun. She took another long swallow, smiled at the guy who Joe introduced her to, put out her hand to shake his. She laughed when he made a comment about Joe coming around with another “babe,” decided she already did not like this guy, and took another long sip of beer.
    By her third beer, Marnie was completely relaxed. With her beer buzz came confidence. She and Joe found seats at the white wrought-iron table outside, and he stayed near her, protectively. She loved the feeling of having him nearby, was glad all the girls at the party knew she had come with him. She was even sharing her own stories of the first week in college, and those at the table laughed about how she had been so homesick the first night, she and her roommate went back to their dorm, ordered a pizza, and cried.
    “That’s what happens to the freshman. You get a little sad, you order a pizza! The freshman fifteen, in no time at all!” Marnie said, lifted her beer and drank.
    “Yeah, like you even gained the freshman fifteen,” Gena countered, a plump girl who had been very sweet