Sticky Fingers (18 page)

I take a few steps into the family room, staying within eyesight of the keg so Scott can find me, while at the same time trying to see farther into the room.

A few seconds later Aric passes by me and grabs the ass of a skinny but well-endowed junior, then offers to get her a beer while she lets out a completely fake giggle.

I try to look past them. Maybe I shouldn’t try to guess a thing about anyone. Just keep reminding myself that I need to live my life for me and not give a fly about what other people are doing with theirs.

“Hey, Jenna! There you are!” I hear Courtney, barely, over the music thumping from the speakers and turn to look to my right, in the general direction of her voice.

She scoots between a group of guys who are talking with their hands—right in the middle of all the people who are trying to dance—and a couple who’ve decided to make out. When she finally makes it to me, after nearly having her head knocked off by one of the hand-talkers, she yells, “I just tried to call you on your cell!”

“Like I could hear it ring.” I jiggle my purse, which is lying flat against my hip, hanging from a strap I’ve looped diagonally across my body to keep from losing it in the crowd. “I can’t believe how loud it is in here!”

“I know!” She looks incredible—her hair is piled on her head in a style I know took her a while to do, but that looks casual and thrown-together in a very sexy way. And she’s wearing The Skirt. I’m about to compliment her, but she leans in close to me and says, “When’d you get here? Did you know I’ve been looking all over for you? And where’s Scott?”

“About ten or fifteen minutes, Aric told me, and Scott’s getting me a drink,” I answer, tackling her questions one by one. “I told you we probably wouldn’t get here until close to ten. What’s the problem?”

“No problem,” she says, but I can tell it’s a lie. Her words are coming out too fast. “It’s just that since you missed Rick Dando’s and Lucas Ribiero’s parties, I was afraid you might not show up here. I thought Scott might take you somewhere else. Or something.”

It’s the first time she’s mentioned the fact Scott and I skipped out on them after Bennigan’s. But rather than acting hurt or pissed off, she simply sounds relieved to know I’m here tonight.

She gets bumped from behind by a senior who’s dancing with way too much enthusiasm given how many people are crammed into the room. Courtney just rolls her eyes. “You’re not staying too long, are you? I know how much you hate stuff like this. Maybe we can all go somewhere.”

“Scott wants to stay until midnight so we don’t miss the countdown,” I tell her. “I can live with the
noise till then. It’s the first party we’ve been to all of break, and it’s important to him.”

Courtney looks past me, and I turn to see Scott walking up, two beers in hand. He gives one to me, then says hello to Courtney and asks about Mat.

“Bathroom,” she says, then wrinkles her nose. “Piece of advice? If either of you need to go, use the one upstairs by Aric’s parents’ room. The one down here is nearly out of toilet paper.”

“I think I’m good,” I say, trying not to laugh, because it’s such a typical Courtney warning. “I came prepared. If you need any tissue, tell me.”

“And guys don’t care,” Scott adds.

“True,” she says. She glances at my cup, then her head jerks up. A typical person would never recognize it, but I see a definite pissedness in her gaze as she turns to Scott. “You got her a
beer?”

“Chill, Courtney,” he shoots back, a definite edge to his voice. “It’s not a crime.”

“Actually, it is a crime,” she says, right as I’m thinking the exact same thing. But I wasn’t going to say it, though, and I’m stunned that Court did.

“I’m only having one, then I’m switching to
Coke,” I tell her, hoping to diffuse whatever is up between the two of them. Although, as I take a tiny sip, I figure I probably won’t even finish this one. It’s not that I’m worried about getting plowed—I know I can handle one or two beers just fine—but I’m really not in the mood to drink. And frankly, I
do
worry about getting caught. A lot.

I look over my shoulder at Scott, who puts one hand on my lower back, then raises his plastic cup to his lips for a long swig. “And you’d better have only one too,” I tell him. “You’re my designated driver.”

“You got it, baby.” He leans in and kisses me on my neck, right below my jawline. “You two gonna be okay if I go find the guys? I gotta figure out the basketball thing. Then let’s dance. It’s New Year’s Eve, and I plan to celebrate big.”

“We’re more than okay,” Courtney says. “Just find us when you’re done.”

When Scott walks away, I can’t help but ask Courtney, “What in the world is up with you two lately?”

Her eyes crinkle at the corners, which is a classic
move when she’s about to pretend something’s inconsequential that’s not. “Whaddya mean?”

“You and Scott.” I take a long drink of my beer, figuring the sooner I get it down and move on to soda, the better. “You two are acting all annoyed with each other lately.”

“What have I told you about trying to read people?” She tilts her head toward the kitchen to indicate that we should head that way, and I edge through the crowd as she finds a path for us. Once we’re near the counter, where we can actually hear each other without shouting, she says, “There’s nothing ‘up’ with me and Scott, and I’m not annoyed with him. Seriously. He’s probably just crabby about my saying that I wanted to skip Aric’s party, you know? Not a big deal.”

She’s trying not to look down at the beer in my hand while she says all this, so I explain: “He went to get it before I could tell him I didn’t want it.”

“So don’t drink it.”

“I don’t want to hurt his feelings.” Even as the words are leaving my mouth, though, it dawns on me that while I’m supposedly doing my best to live
my life the way I want—trying not to take other people’s opinions to heart, not having sex with Scott until I’m ready, trying not to tell Courtney how to live her life or let her decisions affect me—I’m totally cheating at it. Doing things like coming to Aric’s party and drinking this stupid, nasty-tasting beer as a bass-ackwards way of making it up to Scott for not having sex with him. Which, of course, I haven’t even had the guts to tell him yet—I mean, that it’s not just going to be a while so I can try to relax. But that it could be a
long
while. And that I don’t want to relax. Well, not that way.

I swish the beer in the cup and stare down at the golden liquid. I am such a chickenshit.

I take one more swig, then dump the end of the beer down the sink. I turn back to Courtney and say, “Since Scott’s not here, I guess I shouldn’t worry about his feelings.”

“Want me to pour you some soda?”

I open the cupboard under the sink, guessing that’s where the garbage must be (and it is), then toss in my cup. “Nah. Let’s go dance.”

I need to do something that
I
want to do, and
Courtney and I always have a blast when we’re dancing. Dancing also means I don’t have to talk to her too much. I’m still feeling a little uncomfortable with her and I don’t want to get into any serious conversations until I’ve sorted out my emotions and can stop being such a wuss.

Plus, I’m feeling energized. Loose. I know there’s no way my piddly little half a beer is affecting me so fast, but I can feel my heart rate picking up, and it’s like my feet have a life of their own, pulling me back toward the family room. A fast dance tune is on, and more people are moving from the front hall and the kitchen toward the music.

“Cool mix, huh?” Courtney says as we move through the room, trying to find a space open enough to really dance. “You missed some good songs earlier.”

“But you’re here now, and that’s what counts,” Mat says, surprising me and Courtney by popping out of the crowd near us. “You two were coming in here to dance with me, right?”

“Absolutely!” I don’t know what’s with me, but I suddenly feel like I really, really need to dance. Like someone’s shot my veins full of adrenaline and I have
to work it out of my system. I see an open spot and push toward it, then nearly trip when I realize that’s where someone put the coffee table.

“Sorry,” I mumble to the group of people who are huddled on the floor around it, bouncing quarters off its smooth surface into a tall red plastic cup full of beer. I feel like a total dork, but then someone else bumps into the table from the other side—apparently thinking the same thing I did, that they’d discovered a few open feet of dance space.

“Um, maybe you oughta move the table?” I tell the guy nearest me as he grabs the quarter and prepares to send it pinging toward the cup.

This brings a bunch of groans and eye-rolling and one “Maybe you oughta just watch where you’re going.”

“Jen, you okay?” Courtney says, pulling me away, toward another semi-open spot.

“Yeah. Great!” I let out a little whoop as my absolute favorite eighties song comes on. Who’da guessed Aric Jensen would have such wild taste in music? “Just dance with me!”

Mat maneuvers his body to get us all a little more
dancing space, and we start moving to the music. I just close my eyes, let my body go, and have fun. Forget all about the jerks with their quarters table. Forget all about Scott and school, and about my minor flip-out at the hotel. Forget about Mark’s e-mails, my wonky horoscopes, and all about Courtney. I just go with how I feel.

I don’t know why, but a couple great songs later, I’m suddenly feeling totally light-headed and spacey, like I’m drunk. Even though I know I can’t possibly be.

Maybe Scott was right. I
need
to get out and relax. At least a little.

I must look it, too, because I’m mid-groove when Mat yells, “Hey, Jenna! You okay?”

“I told you guys, I feel great!” Though I’m starting to wonder. Mat’s voice sounded like it was coming out of an echo chamber. Distant.

They look at each other, shrug, and keep dancing. And I swear, if I wasn’t feeling so loopy, I’d think Courtney looked guilty.

But like she says, I am soooooo not a good judge of people. So whhaaaat-ever.

I just grin at them, letting the music pound through my head and move my hips and my hands. I decide to think about how good I look in my new, low-slung black pants. And how my pink wrap-around shirt makes me look like I actually have boobs. And I think about how next year I’m going to be at Harvard. Going to parties with Harvard kids. And hopefully getting some kick-ass grades.

As I’m mentally singing along with the music, I hear Scott’s voice in my head, singing right along with me. I open my eyes, and he’s right there, dancing with us. “Courtney and Mat got you dancing,” he says, his eyes full of amusement.

“Hey, I got
them
dancing,” I say. Just as the words are out of my mouth, I feel someone’s chest connecting straight on with my back, and I start to fall forward.

“Watch out!” Scott reaches behind me to push a guy I vaguely recognize from the basketball team off of me.

He gives Scott a slow, bleary smile. “Hey, Bannister. Sorry, man. Didn’t mean to fall on your girlfriend.” The tall redhead looks down at me and adds,
“Sorry, Scott’s girlfriend,” before making his way past us, toward the coffee table.

I shouldn’t find it funny, but I do. And I can’t stop giggling. And then I get the feeling I’m gonna hurl.

“You did it, didn’t you?” I hear Courtney say.

I quit laughing long enough to look at her, but I can’t quite focus on her face. There are black spots in the way, and I can’t make my brain wrap around them to see properly. “Do what?”

“I didn’t do jack,” Scott says.

“What are you talking about?” Mat asks, but Courtney’s totally ignoring him. She’s glaring at Scott like he just murdered someone.

“Get off my case, Courtney. She’s fine.” He wraps his arms around my waist from behind, spreading his hands across my stomach. “She had a beer for once in her life.”

“Beer, my ass!”

He rests his chin on my shoulder and whispers in my ear, “Ignore her. You’re good—right, baby?”

I nod, even though I don’t think I’m so good at all. My mouth isn’t working. Or maybe I don’t want
it to work. ’Cause Courtney looks like she’s ready to rip someone’s head off. Instead, she grabs me so hard, she nearly rips my arm off. “Come on, Jenna. We’ve gotta get out of here.”

“No way,” Scott says, pulling me back against him, hard. I start to protest—mainly because I’m trying to use every ounce of my energy not to yak up my dinner—but Scott doesn’t even hear me. He’s too busy trying to take Courtney’s fingers off my arm, even though she’s refusing to let go.

“You’re delusional, Courtney!” Scott yells. “And I’m sick of you trying to run Jenna’s life.”

“She’s sick!”

“Then
I’ll
take her home,” Scott says. He starts pushing me toward the door. I let him. I can’t deal with either of them right now. I’m more worried about how half a beer has me ready to pass out.

Maybe the salmon Mom made for dinner wasn’t cooked or something. Maybe I should call her. See if she and Dad are sick. I fumble for my purse, but it drops to the ground as I’m trying to get the strap over my head.

Dammit.

Scott’s still pushing me toward the door, and I don’t have the energy to push back to get my purse. When I manage to look up, I realize we’re in the dining room. Scott lets me go, bending down behind the plant to get our coats.