head, This isn’t an emergency! But über-Julia knows better. What could it hurt, really? He hardly seems like a sex offender, what with the stumbling and mumbling. Plus he’s deliciously cute, and I’m not actually planning to answer his calls—if he calls at all. So I tell dorky Book Licker to shut it while über-Julia takes his iPhone out of his hand and taps my school-issued cell number into the shiny screen. Dad’s jersey number. Shakespeare’s birthday. My GPA. Done and done. I hand the phone back to him, letting my fingers linger on his palm for just a second.
“I look forward to hearing from you,” I say before flashing him a smile, turning on my heel, and heading out of the room. I’m not quite sure where I’m going, but leaving seems like the cool thing to do. And I don’t even teeter on my borrowed heels as I go.
Wait, wa? Mark has publiclyyy. // announced his luv 4 me??
Haaaa a girl cn dreem. Too trd will skype toMorrr. —J
I ’m definitely teetering on my heels a couple of hours later, when Jason finally appears at my side in the living room. I was chatting with a handsome bloke wearing Bob Marley’s face on his ratty T-shirt, but he left to get me another drink. I was standing near the fireplace, using the mantel to support my weight. It seemed as good a time as any to respond to Phoebe’s text.
As I lean away from the mantel to drop my phone back into my bag, I realize I’m wobbling. I’m not sure what all went from the various glasses and bottles into my body, but it seems to have done a number on my equilibrium. That’s a good word. Equilibrium. Equillllibriummmm …
“What are you mumbling about?”
“What?” I snap toward Jason’s voice.
His freckled face and bemused grin sway into focus. “You keep saying ‘equilibrium.’ ”
Oops, was that out loud? “Nothing, never mind.”
“Having fun?” he asks, raising his reddish-brown eyebrows at me.I notice they look like little sunburned caterpillars, which causes me to break into a fit of giggles and hiccups so epic all I can do is nod in response. Jason pretends not to notice that I’ve come completely undone.
“Great, let’s get out of here then, shall we?” He puts his hand on my lower back to steer me.
“What’s the rush?” I ask, though it sounds more like “watsha russssssss.” I’m following him toward the door, using his shoulder to steady me and desperately trying to resist the urge to pet his soft cashmere sweater.
“What do you mean?” Jason says, not even stopping in his pursuit of the exit. “I practically had to drag you kicking and screaming to this party, and now you want to stay?”
“No, I’m fine to go,” I say—er, maybe slur. “But I do not need to be dragged around by you. Wait, that was bad shentensh shtructure.”
“Great, a grammar lesson from a drunken Book Licker,” he mumbles, nudging someone out of his way as we barrel toward the door.
“I’m not a Book Licker! I’m not a prude! I’m a PARTY GIRL!” I shout, and then let out one of those party girl “Woooooo!”s that I find so annoying when I’m sober. But they’re really fun to do. Really fun. I totally get what’s going on with the woo. Fun! “Wooooooo!”
“All right, party girl,” he says, grasping me firmly by the hand. “But it’s time for the party to end.”
“Why are your pantsh suddenly so on fire to get out of here?”
“No reason,” he replies as we burst out onto the stoop, but not before a deep voice booms from within the house.
“Hey, you little American shit. You assaulted my girlfriend.”
Jason and I wheel around and come face to face with a very large, very drunk, and very mean-looking Brit with skunk-like neon streaks in his spiky bleached-blond hair. Even in my own drunken state I know immediately who his girlfriend must be: the girl Jason was talking to in the kitchen, the one with the emo-streak hair.
“I absolutely did not,” Jason replies with way more courage than he
“I look forward to hearing from you,” I say before flashing him a smile, turning on my heel, and heading out of the room. I’m not quite sure where I’m going, but leaving seems like the cool thing to do. And I don’t even teeter on my borrowed heels as I go.
Wait, wa? Mark has publiclyyy. // announced his luv 4 me??
Haaaa a girl cn dreem. Too trd will skype toMorrr. —J
I ’m definitely teetering on my heels a couple of hours later, when Jason finally appears at my side in the living room. I was chatting with a handsome bloke wearing Bob Marley’s face on his ratty T-shirt, but he left to get me another drink. I was standing near the fireplace, using the mantel to support my weight. It seemed as good a time as any to respond to Phoebe’s text.
As I lean away from the mantel to drop my phone back into my bag, I realize I’m wobbling. I’m not sure what all went from the various glasses and bottles into my body, but it seems to have done a number on my equilibrium. That’s a good word. Equilibrium. Equillllibriummmm …
“What are you mumbling about?”
“What?” I snap toward Jason’s voice.
His freckled face and bemused grin sway into focus. “You keep saying ‘equilibrium.’ ”
Oops, was that out loud? “Nothing, never mind.”
“Having fun?” he asks, raising his reddish-brown eyebrows at me.I notice they look like little sunburned caterpillars, which causes me to break into a fit of giggles and hiccups so epic all I can do is nod in response. Jason pretends not to notice that I’ve come completely undone.
“Great, let’s get out of here then, shall we?” He puts his hand on my lower back to steer me.
“What’s the rush?” I ask, though it sounds more like “watsha russssssss.” I’m following him toward the door, using his shoulder to steady me and desperately trying to resist the urge to pet his soft cashmere sweater.
“What do you mean?” Jason says, not even stopping in his pursuit of the exit. “I practically had to drag you kicking and screaming to this party, and now you want to stay?”
“No, I’m fine to go,” I say—er, maybe slur. “But I do not need to be dragged around by you. Wait, that was bad shentensh shtructure.”
“Great, a grammar lesson from a drunken Book Licker,” he mumbles, nudging someone out of his way as we barrel toward the door.
“I’m not a Book Licker! I’m not a prude! I’m a PARTY GIRL!” I shout, and then let out one of those party girl “Woooooo!”s that I find so annoying when I’m sober. But they’re really fun to do. Really fun. I totally get what’s going on with the woo. Fun! “Wooooooo!”
“All right, party girl,” he says, grasping me firmly by the hand. “But it’s time for the party to end.”
“Why are your pantsh suddenly so on fire to get out of here?”
“No reason,” he replies as we burst out onto the stoop, but not before a deep voice booms from within the house.
“Hey, you little American shit. You assaulted my girlfriend.”
Jason and I wheel around and come face to face with a very large, very drunk, and very mean-looking Brit with skunk-like neon streaks in his spiky bleached-blond hair. Even in my own drunken state I know immediately who his girlfriend must be: the girl Jason was talking to in the kitchen, the one with the emo-streak hair.
“I absolutely did not,” Jason replies with way more courage than he
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