We get inside the party and Shannon goes to grab us a drink as I walk through the room and look around. Some people are wearing Saints costumes. More are wearing devil horns. I’m not against parties and I’ll go to one occasionally but it’s also not my first choice. When I told Shannon that some guy in my conversational Italian class said that there was a party, handed me the flier, and said that I should go, she made the decision forus.
“We’re going,” she’ssaid.
She isn’t the kind of girl you say no to, but not out of fear or embarrassment. No, on the contrary, Shannon is the kind of person who just seems to know exactly what to do in any given situation. We were put together as roommates freshman year and have be best friends eversince.
She’s always on time for stuff. I find that people who are always on time for stuff are implicitlytrustworthy.
But...I don’t think we’re on time to thisparty.
From the looks of things, we’ve arrived late. Late enough that people are already making out in corners and they’re at the portion of the night where old nostalgia music is pumping. My theory is that when there’s dance music, things are still in control. When the dance floor is thumping, you know people are havingfun.
Now, on the other hand, when people start swaying and White Snake starts playing, that’s when you know you’ve gotten to the part of the night where people are overly emotional and things can gosideways.
“Where’s the guy who invited you?” Shannon says as she comes back with two red plastic cups. I look inside and see that it’s filled to the brim with something red. Red for hearts or red for blood? I realize there isn’t a difference. Probably a Kool-aid packet mixed with vodka. I take a tiny sip. Yeah, it’s a Kool-aid packet mixed withvodka.
“Oh,” I say, “I’m not sure. I don’t know if I seehim.”
“If he invited you, he should be on the lookout foryou.”
“Ah,” I say as I spot him pointing to where he’s making out with a girl in the corner. I take another sip. “There heis.”
I’m not disappointed that he’s making out with someone. I’m not disappointed in the slightest. But it does make me wonder why I’m actuallyhere.
In fact, I’m not here. I’m consumed with thoughts of Eli. Every time the door opens I look toward it anxiously, wondering if he’s somehow stalked me here or figured out where I am and has decided to take it upon himself to come get me out ofhere.
“Shannon,I...”
“I know. Give me this.” She takes my drink. “Go.”
“How did youknow?”
“I justknow.”
“Thankyou.”
I run outside, hoping that I can intercept him before he can make other plans. He told me he was just laying low tonight and I should call if I need anything, but it would only take one step into any bar in Miami for him to meet anotherwoman.
That makes me think. Should I be monopolizing his time when he could be out doing something better? I’ll just text him and then let him decide. A cab appears and I shoot my handout.
“Thank you.” I realize I don’t know where I’m going. “Um…can you just start driving East,please?”
“I’ll drive anywhere you want, lady, as long as the meter’sticking.”
I pull out my phone. What do Isay?
Hey. I was wondering if that invitation was still on thetable.
My heart flutters when he repliesimmediately.
I’ll pick youup.
I text himback.
I’m already in acab.
He gives me the address and a second later another text comesthrough.
Get overhere.