Chapter Thirty
Over the next two hours, I do something I haven’t done in a long time. Like, criminally long. Like, so long I have to stop myself multiple times to ask if this is really happening, or did I accidentally walk through some kind of portal to an alternate dimension instead of Elliott’s front door.
Over the next two hours, I have, like … fun.
Elliott lets me take over the party playlist, saying nothing when I put on Joy Division’s first album twice in a row.
He and I dominate the beer pong table, gloating unceremoniously over every victory, of which there are many.
Turns out, spending most nights playing FIFA has drastically improved his hand–eye coordination, while my countless hours of chopping various salad vegetables has given me the wrist strength of a champion arm wrestler.
The fun and the wins and the beers keep coming, to the point that when the shameless PDA couple from the backyard multiply like some kind of lovestruck gremlins into four shameless PDA couples, I don’t even care.
Genuinely. In fact, there’s a part of me that wants to cheer them on.
Be like, You go swallow each other’s tonsils with a literal audience watching.
It’s prom night! You’ve got nothing to lose!
I’m not drunk, exactly – it’s more like all my senses have been sharpened, the lights and colours in Elliott’s living room dialled up into extreme focus.
Elliott, on the other hand, is definitely on his way to being drunk.
He keeps slinging his arm over my shoulder and at one point even tweaks my nose when he makes fun of my throwing technique, even though I make way more shots than he does.
And like, I don’t hate it. I laugh and shove him in the chest way more than is necessary, my body aware of how close he stands when he’s next to me.
It’s not that I like him, per se – just the ease of it.
He’s Elliott. The same old familiar, comfortable, Wall Code Elliott.
He and Julian go to retrieve more beers and Sam, who has been ogling me from the couch for the last ten minutes, swoops in.
‘Oh my God, what are you doing?’ she hisses. She tugs me over to the corner of the dining room. Our heads are so close together, the baby frizz of her hairline tickles my forehead.
I bring my beer to my lips and tip back my head, before remembering the bottle is already empty.
Hence Elliott getting me a new one. He and Julian are standing in front of the open fridge, laughing.
Watching him, two boys behind him locked at the mouth, it occurs to me that maybe I don’t have anything to lose either. Not here.
‘It would be a really bad idea if I made out with Elliott tonight, right?’ I say.
Shit, maybe I am drunk.
Sam bounces on her toes and squeals. ‘Oh my—’ she starts to say, but I cover her mouth with my hand before she can finish.
The wet slick of Sam’s tongue coats my palm and I make a barfing sound of disgust. ‘—God,’ she finishes when I pull my hand away.
‘I thought you liked Max. Are you saying you’re into Elliott now too? ’
My nose scrunches up. I can’t help it. ‘Well, no,’ I say.
Because it’s Elliott. I can’t like Elliott.
I can’t like anyone, but I definitely can’t like Elliott.
Not when his mom is also basically my mom and he’s just, well – Elliott.
But maybe tonight that’s a good thing. We can just make out and not have to think about it.
Just enjoy being close without having to worry that anyone’s going to sprout horns or a tail or gills.
‘Then you probably shouldn’t hook up with him,’ Sam says.
‘Why not? People do it all the time,’ I say. ‘You don’t have to be soulmates to stick your tongue down someone’s throat.’
‘Yeah,’ she concedes. Her eyeliner is a little smudged at the edges. ‘Except Elliott is actually in love with you.’
I snort. ‘Oh my God, no, he’s not,’ I say. ‘He took Maya Lincoln to prom. Although I guess he did technically ask me first—’
‘He did what?’ Sam shrieks.
‘He probably wasn’t even serious and I said no, because we’re all aware I would rather die than go to prom, et cetera, et cetera.’
‘He was definitely serious,’ Sam says. ‘Oh my God, you straight up rejected him and you didn’t even know!’
Our conversation skids to a halt as Elliott and Julian return looking noticeably less bouncy. Julian has his fingers steepled under his chin.
‘So, bad news,’ he says. He looks like I imagine I did that time I was five and my mom caught me with a pack of cotton candy Bubble Yum I’d stolen from the grocery store. ‘The alcohol is gone.’
‘Boo,’ Sam wails, all talk of Elliott thankfully forgotten temporarily. There are more important matters at hand.
Over Elliott’s shoulder and through the open doorway to the kitchen, I spot my backpack still slumped on the counter. That’s when it occurs to me.
‘I have gin!’ I exclaim.
The three of them cheer, Julian wrapping his arms around my waist and lifting me in the air like we’ve just won some big championship game.
‘Okay, okay, here’s what we do,’ Elliott whispers conspiratorially. We all bow our heads in. ‘Sam and J, you guys go outside while Indie and I make the drinks. Then we’ll bring them out back so nobody sees us and tries to take any.’
‘Yeah, that’s our gin!’ Sam says fiercely.
The plan set, we file into the kitchen silently.
I think we do this so as not to look suspicious, but in reality, we only make ourselves look eight thousand per cent more suspicious.
Julian and Sam disappear into the backyard while Elliott grabs a stack of red cups and I surreptitiously fish the gin out of my backpack.
He finds a bottle of lemonade in the fridge and fills each cup, but when it’s my turn to add the gin, my arms feel a little bit like rubber bands and I end up dribbling the liquor out so it spills on the counter.
‘Ugh,’ I say, reaching for the roll of paper towels, but knocking over the salt and pepper shakers next to the stovetop in the process.
Elliott rips off a wad of paper towels and starts mopping up the puddle of gin. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen you drunk,’ he says, laughing.
‘I am not drunk,’ I say. ‘I’m like, tipsy-adjacent.’
‘Oh, wow, I’m sorry.’
‘You should be. So if you were considering tattle-taling on me to my mom, you can think again.’
He lifts one of the cups to wipe up the rings of pinky liquid underneath. ‘I actually already have,’ he says. ‘She was extremely disappointed in you and said you needed to be moved out by nine tomorrow morning.’
‘Oh my God, that’s so sad,’ I say. ‘Where am I supposed to go?’
Elliott squints at me like the answer is the clearest one in the world. ‘Here, obviously.’
My mouth quirks up in a smile. Obviously.
He mirrors my expression so that we’re both just smiling stupidly at each other and I know I don’t like him like that but really, honestly, would it be so bad to kiss him?
He does look kind of cute in his suit, his tie loosened and one of the top buttons of his shirt undone.
It would just be one quick, easy, straightforward kiss.
Nothing like with Max, no fire in my stomach, no hands in his hair, no feeling like I’d self-destruct if I couldn’t—
The front door bangs open, breaking my thoughts.
For a moment, the sounds of the living room die down except for a chirpy pop song that’s playing from the video game.
A single voice cuts through, asking for the kitchen.
Elliott frowns as he turns to see who’s arrived.
More voices follow, a few muffled greetings, but it’s that first one that has me standing at attention, my spine feeling as though it’s been injected with ice water.
The warmth and giddiness the beer created immediately disappears.
Because I know that voice. I rush past Elliott and into the doorway.
Standing there in the living room, prom queen sash twisted around her torso and a dainty gold tiara balanced on her head, is Avery.