It's Kind of a Funny Story by Ned Vizzini Page B

named Donna was balled up in a lump on one end of the couch. The guy with the Eight Ball jacket occupied a chair. Someone yelled to put on more music; Ronny yelled to Shut up, son. The house was full of cups—mugs and glasses everywhere, like they had been multiplying during the party.
    “Does anyone know where Aaron is?”
    “Pause,” was all Ronny could manage.
    “Aaron!”
    “Shut up, man! He’s with his chick.”
    “I’m here, I’m here!” Aaron strode out from his room, adjusting his pants. “Jeez.” He surveyed the damage. “What’s up? You have a good rest?”
    “Shoot, yeah. Where’s Nia?”
    “Asleep.”
    “You did her good, huh?” Ronny asked. “Asian invasion.”
    “Shut up, Ronny.”
    “Asian contagion.”
    “Shut up.”
    “Asian persuasion.”
    Aaron yanked his controller out of the PlayStation.
    “Suh-uhn!” Ronny scrambled for it.
    “You want to go for a walk?” Aaron asked.
    “Sure!” I got my jacket.
    Aaron woke up Eight Ball jacket and Donna and got them out; he forced Ronny to leave too, over many protests. We all took the elevator down; Eight-Ball jacket and Ronny went uptown; Donna and two others slid into a cab; me and Aaron, instinctively, started toward the shimmering Brooklyn Bridge, which carved its way through the night about three blocks from his house.
    “You want to walk across the bridge?” Aaron asked.
    “Into Brooklyn?”
    “Yeah. You can go home or we can take the subway back to my place.”
    “When will it be light?”
    “In three, four hours.”
    “Let’s do it. I’ll walk home and get breakfast.”
    “Cool.”
    We walked in step. My feet weren’t cold at all. My head swam. I looked at bare trees and thought they were beautiful. The only way it could have been better was if it were snowing. Then I’d have flakes dripping down on me and I’d be able to catch them in my mouth. I wouldn’t be worried about Aaron seeing that.
    “So, how do you feel?” I was like.
    “About what?” he was like.
    “You know,” I was like.
    “Hold on a second.” Aaron spotted a Snapple bottle on the curb; it looked like it was filled with urine, which happens a lot in Manhattan—I don’t know why but homeless people fill up bottles with piss and then don’t even have the courtesy to throw them away—but then again it could be apple Snapple—did they have that? He lunged at it and sent it sailing across the street with a three-point kick; it landed on the opposite curb and shattered yellow under the streetlight.
    “Rrnagh!” Aaron screamed. Then he looked around. “There aren’t any cops, right?”
    I laughed. “No.” We came to the entrance to the bridge. “So seriously, what was it like?”
    “She’s awesome. I mean, she likes everything— she really likes it. She likes. .. sex.”
    “You had sex with her?”
    “No, but I can tell. She likes everything else.”
    “What’d you do?”
    He told me.
    “No way!” I pushed him as we climbed the bridge. Air from the frigid New York Harbor blew at us, and I put my hood up over my head and tightened the chewed cord. “What was it like?”
    “It’s the craziest thing,” Aaron was like. “It feels just like the inside of your cheek.”
    “No kidding?” I pulled one hand out of my pocket.
    “Yeah.”
    I stuck a finger in my mouth and pushed to the side. “That’s it?”
    “Just like that,” Aaron said. He had his finger in his cheek too. “I’m serious. It’s hot.”
    “Huh.”
    We walked in silence with our fingers in our mouths.
    “Did you hook up with anyone?” he asked.
    “Nope. Julie wanted to, though.”
    “Nice one. Did she slip you something?”
    “What? No.”
    “Because you crashed out pretty hard in the corner over there.”
    “I was drinking my mom’s scotch and checking out your dad’s albums.”
    “You’re a trip, Craig.”
    “It’s cold out here.”
    “Looks pretty cool, though.”
    We weren’t even a tenth of the way up the bridge, but it did look cool.