Chapter Three - 3. The Party #2
“It’s funny,” I said from where I was kneeling on the floor, using sticky tape to keep his costume secured tight around his waist, like he was an aristocrat, and I was his personal tailor.
“Easy for you to say. You look like Achilles. I look like I crawled out of a tip.”
I bit back a laugh, putting my finishing touches to Taylor’s garbage bag kilt — it’s a kilt, not a skirt, I had insisted.
Despite his scowl, he looked ridiculously hot for someone wearing a literal trash bag.
With the skir— kilt — so low on his hips, every row of his abs was on display.
I wanted to lick the ridges between them, but if I did that we would be late for the party.
After smoothing down the wrinkles of his outfit, I stood up and smiled at our reflections.
“You look good,” I promised. “Come on.” I led him to the living room, where a pack of beer was waiting in the fridge.
There was no way I was walking through campus half-naked without a few pre-drinks in my system.
We leaned against the kitchen island, making our way through the cans of beer. I caught Taylor’s gaze lingering on my thighs, just below the hem of the bedsheet toga.
“What?” I asked.
“Nothing.” He poked at his garbage bag, which made a loud rustling noise. “I can’t believe you’re making me do this.”
“I’m not making you,” I replied. “You offered, remember?”
“Yeah, to make you happy,” he muttered.
“If you really don’t want to go—”
“I’m going.” The corner of his lip curled slightly. “I can’t let someone steal you away.”
I spluttered. “Do you think I’m that easy?”
“No,” he said. At my expression he repeated it with more force. “No. I remember how much work I had to do to get you into bed.”
Before I could respond to that, he drained the rest of his beer, and crushed the can with his hand. “Let’s go.”
If I had second thoughts about wearing a bed sheet, they disappeared as soon as we left Valentina Hall. Walking across the lawn were two girls, one wearing a bra and skirt made of yellow caution tape, the other wearing a mini-dress made of white and red fragile packing tape.
As we approached Jackomos Dorm, located on the other side of campus, there was a couple wearing dictionary pages that had been taped together, a guy in a blue and yellow Ikea bag, and a girl wearing a gown that looked like it had been made out of someone’s grandmother’s curtains.
Jackomos Dorm was a square, utilitarian building with rectangular windows. Students spilled out the lobby and onto the front lawn. A guy stood under a tree, smoking a cigarette, which seemed like a safety hazard since he was wearing an outfit made of cardboard boxes.
I hadn’t thought too hard about whether the Jacko party was sanctioned by the university, but it seemed it was at least partly, because there was a line inside by the elevators, where you had to show student volunteers your ID, and they gave you a wristband if you were over eighteen and okay to drink.
Alcohol wasn’t free for all like a house party, but there was a makeshift bar in what was usually the mail room, where volunteers made drinks.
Taylor got us a beer each, paid, and then, with a sigh of resignation, said we better go upstairs.
The first floor was a big open space, and probably usually used for studying, on account of all the desks and plastic chairs that had been shoved to the sides. There was a DJ and a dance floor in the centre of the room, which was covered in writhing bodies.
“Let’s go find a table,” Taylor yelled into my ear, moving me through the crowd with his hand on the small of my back. Once we found a table, Taylor sat down beside me, his garbage bag riding up and revealing inches of his thighs.
I averted my eyes, scanning the crowd. “We should dance,” I said, to fill the silence.
“Together?”
“What? No. No, I mean —”
“What the hell are you guys doing here?” It was Matty, loud and raucous as ever. If Taylor was worried he looked like he fell out of a tip, Matty looked like he’d climbed out of a recycling bin, wearing what I could only describe as a lumpy sack made of scraps of paper, cardboard, and bubble wrap.
“You told us to come,” Taylor said pointedly as Matty dragged an unused chair from nearby and sat opposite us, wiping a few beads of sweat from his brow.
“No, I mean, why are you sitting in this corner instead of getting out there?” Matty gestured at the dance floor.
“We just arrived,” I said.
“Gotcha. You need me to buy you a drink? I’ll shout.” He stood up.
“That’s okay,” Taylor said, pinching the corner of Matty’s recyclable sack and pulling him down. “What’ve you been up to?”
“Just got a girl’s number,” Matty said smugly. “I’m still on a high. My heart was like ba-dump, ba-dump, that’s how nervous I was to ask her.”
“Nice job,” I told him.
Matty’s eyes fell on me and I had a terrifying premonition of what he would say. I tensed just as he asked, “Where’s Talia?”
The question seemed to echo. In my periphery, Taylor turned to look at me, his face wiped blank.
“Talia?” he asked.
“Archie’s girl,” Matty explained, slapping my back. “Prettiest girl on campus, according to him.”
“Uh,” I began. Fuck fuck fuck.
“And,” Matty continued, leaning in and lowering his voice, “she’s a total freak.”
“Oh, really?” Taylor said, sounding polite but bored.
Matty nodded eagerly. “Tell him, Archie.” He slapped me on the back again.
“Um.”
“She dressed up for him,” Matty said, when I didn’t elaborate. “Maid costume.”
I didn’t dare look up, keeping my eyes glued to the table. Someone had spilled their drink earlier, leaving a splotch of yellow residue.
“He handcuffed her,” Matty continued. “Like, where do you even buy handcuffs?”
“Probably at the same store you buy a collar,” Taylor said calmly.
“Huh?” Matty said loudly, nudging me. “You put a collar on her? Dude, how kinky are you?”
“He didn’t put the collar on her,” Taylor said calmly. “She put it on —”
“You know what?” I said loudly, checking my wrist for a watch that didn’t exist. “I think it’s time for another drink. Come on.”
“I’m still going,” Taylor said, remaining in his seat, holding up his beer. “Besides, I want to hear more about this Talia.”
“You haven’t met her yet?” Matty asked.
“No.” Taylor looked at me, his face unreadable. “So she’s your, what, girlfriend or something?”
“No,” I said, mouth dry. “It’s just — we’re just —”
“It’s casual,” Matty said for me, and I wasn’t sure whether I was irritated or grateful for his help. “Just hooking up, right?”
“Yep,” I managed. “Just hooking up.”
“Oh, but get this,” Matty said loudly, leaning in. “Apparently she’s got this photo album full of photos of Archie.”
No no no no no no no. Fuck me.
It was only because Taylor was right next to me that I sensed him go dead still.
“She’s totally in love with him,” Matty continued. “I tried to tell Archie, but he’s like, oh, no she’s not, she’s mean to me. Like, come on. How oblivious can you get?”
I wanted to go home.
“What was the photo album called?” Matty asked.
I wanted Matty to go home.
“Um,” I said, feeling my blood pound in my ears. “I…I can’t remember.”
He clapped his hands together. “It was called ‘idiot,’ right? I remember now. Okay, I guess it’s one thing for her not to name the album love of my life with ten heart emojis, but I don’t know.
It’s weird. I get she’s hot and kinky or whatever, but I think it’s sorta dangerous to get involved with someone who’s that into you.
” Matty stopped rambling long enough to take a breath. “What do you think, Taylor?”
Taylor just raised his beer can and tipped it back. I watched the column of his throat work as he swallowed. I braced for his response.
“I think,” he said, setting the can down and standing up, “it’s time for another drink.”