be allergic?” Ryan asks. “Curly doesn’t have any fur.”
“It’s not the fur,” Sam says, pushing his glasses up his nose. “It’s the dander.”
“Dander?”
“Dandruff. Dead skin.”
“Gross. I didn’t know cats had that,” Ryan says.
“Everyone does,” Sam says, because he knows everything.
I picture Curly standing proudly with her mouse, wearing her little pink camo vest.
“They can’t get rid of her,” I say. “She’s, like, the school mascot.”
“You can’t say anything, Dad. Promise!”
“OK, OK. I didn’t realize you boys cared about her so much.”
“We do,” Sam says.
“Definitely,” Ryan tells the window.
“Yes,” I say. “She’s the best.”
At Sam’s, we spread our sleeping bags out on the floor of his living room. Normally we’d stay up late talking in the dark, but as soon as Sam turns the light out, Ryan rolls over and tells us he’s going to sleep.
I can’t see his face, but I’m sure Sam is disappointed.
“Are you and Molly a definite thing now?” I whisper.
“Yes,” he whispers happily. “Are you and Sadie?”
Ryan zips his sleeping bag up and down and makes all kinds of can’t-get-comfortable noises.
“No,” I say. “She didn’t even talk to me.”
“That doesn’t mean she doesn’t like you, though. Molly thinks she does. I’ll tell her to ask Sadie.”
“No!” I say. I wish he could see me so I could signal not to talk about it in front of Ryan.
“She’s dating Tate,” Ryan says from under his sleeping bag.
“Then why did she dance with Noah?”
“Because Tate was dancing with Haley.”
“Why was Tate dancing with Haley?” Sam asks.
“Because Haley broke up with Big Tyler and she was sad, so Tate asked her to dance to make her feel better. But he doesn’t
like-
like her. Sadie only danced with Noah because she didn’t have anyone else.”
“Why didn’t Sadie ask to dance with Big Tyler?”
“Because the reason Haley broke up with him is that she found out he was also dating some girl from another school.”
“How do you know all this?” I ask. I was with him all night. No one ever told us any of this stuff.
“I’m observant,” Ryan says, as if that explains everything.
“It was a great night, wasn’t it?” Sam asks dreamily.
“Yeah,” Ryan says, “if you like that sort of thing.”
“What sort of thing?” Sam asks.
“Hanging around at school when you don’t have to be there, eating soggy chips and drinking flat soda, and listening to lame music.”
“My chips weren’t soggy,” Sam says.
Sometimes it takes a few extra beats for Sam to get the message.
“My soda wasn’t flat,” I say, just to annoy Ryan.
“Whatever,” he says. “It was still lame. About the only good thing that happened tonight was Curly and the mouse.” He rolls over. “I’m tired.”
“You’re a party pooper,” Sam says, disappointed. Even though he sounds like a little kid, I have to agree. Ryan is so moody — the emu.
I roll over, too, and try to get comfortable on the hard floor. As I try to sleep, I think about the mouse again, with its little paws grasping the floor, trying to crawl away. I think about how, right now, it’s probably midway down Stan’s neck, wrapped in snake saliva, slowly transforming into mouse juice.
The sleeping bags rustle quietly on either side of me. Then the sound of breathing steadies out. I wonder what Ryan is thinking about as he pretends to fall asleep. I wonder if he’s mad at me for dancing with Sadie. Maybe I should have said no when she asked me to dance. Maybe I’m a terrible friend for leaving Ryan alone on the couch when everyone else was dancing.
I close my eyes and realize the smell I’ve been noticing is Sadie’s perfume. I take a quiet breath and try to remember what it felt like to be so close to a girl. How it felt to have her arms around me and how fun it was to fast-dance with her, too. To act crazy and not be embarrassed. I feel like I spend
“It’s not the fur,” Sam says, pushing his glasses up his nose. “It’s the dander.”
“Dander?”
“Dandruff. Dead skin.”
“Gross. I didn’t know cats had that,” Ryan says.
“Everyone does,” Sam says, because he knows everything.
I picture Curly standing proudly with her mouse, wearing her little pink camo vest.
“They can’t get rid of her,” I say. “She’s, like, the school mascot.”
“You can’t say anything, Dad. Promise!”
“OK, OK. I didn’t realize you boys cared about her so much.”
“We do,” Sam says.
“Definitely,” Ryan tells the window.
“Yes,” I say. “She’s the best.”
At Sam’s, we spread our sleeping bags out on the floor of his living room. Normally we’d stay up late talking in the dark, but as soon as Sam turns the light out, Ryan rolls over and tells us he’s going to sleep.
I can’t see his face, but I’m sure Sam is disappointed.
“Are you and Molly a definite thing now?” I whisper.
“Yes,” he whispers happily. “Are you and Sadie?”
Ryan zips his sleeping bag up and down and makes all kinds of can’t-get-comfortable noises.
“No,” I say. “She didn’t even talk to me.”
“That doesn’t mean she doesn’t like you, though. Molly thinks she does. I’ll tell her to ask Sadie.”
“No!” I say. I wish he could see me so I could signal not to talk about it in front of Ryan.
“She’s dating Tate,” Ryan says from under his sleeping bag.
“Then why did she dance with Noah?”
“Because Tate was dancing with Haley.”
“Why was Tate dancing with Haley?” Sam asks.
“Because Haley broke up with Big Tyler and she was sad, so Tate asked her to dance to make her feel better. But he doesn’t
like-
like her. Sadie only danced with Noah because she didn’t have anyone else.”
“Why didn’t Sadie ask to dance with Big Tyler?”
“Because the reason Haley broke up with him is that she found out he was also dating some girl from another school.”
“How do you know all this?” I ask. I was with him all night. No one ever told us any of this stuff.
“I’m observant,” Ryan says, as if that explains everything.
“It was a great night, wasn’t it?” Sam asks dreamily.
“Yeah,” Ryan says, “if you like that sort of thing.”
“What sort of thing?” Sam asks.
“Hanging around at school when you don’t have to be there, eating soggy chips and drinking flat soda, and listening to lame music.”
“My chips weren’t soggy,” Sam says.
Sometimes it takes a few extra beats for Sam to get the message.
“My soda wasn’t flat,” I say, just to annoy Ryan.
“Whatever,” he says. “It was still lame. About the only good thing that happened tonight was Curly and the mouse.” He rolls over. “I’m tired.”
“You’re a party pooper,” Sam says, disappointed. Even though he sounds like a little kid, I have to agree. Ryan is so moody — the emu.
I roll over, too, and try to get comfortable on the hard floor. As I try to sleep, I think about the mouse again, with its little paws grasping the floor, trying to crawl away. I think about how, right now, it’s probably midway down Stan’s neck, wrapped in snake saliva, slowly transforming into mouse juice.
The sleeping bags rustle quietly on either side of me. Then the sound of breathing steadies out. I wonder what Ryan is thinking about as he pretends to fall asleep. I wonder if he’s mad at me for dancing with Sadie. Maybe I should have said no when she asked me to dance. Maybe I’m a terrible friend for leaving Ryan alone on the couch when everyone else was dancing.
I close my eyes and realize the smell I’ve been noticing is Sadie’s perfume. I take a quiet breath and try to remember what it felt like to be so close to a girl. How it felt to have her arms around me and how fun it was to fast-dance with her, too. To act crazy and not be embarrassed. I feel like I spend
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