“Who invited him?”
“Trish,” Sondheim says. “He did her a favor for some class, and she wanted to thank him.”
“I know a better way she could thank him,” a guy named Krajnik calls out, and the group howls. Sondheim flushes. I suspect that even among the football superstars, he still ranks on the lower totem pole of jocks.
I look around, half expecting to see someone wander by with incorporeal kids climbing up his back, but no such luck. I can see Matheson’s with the group, still glaring at me, obviously not having forgiven me for lunch. I rack my brain, trying to come up with things to say.
“So. Hanging around and drinking beer while watching the game. Is that all you guys do at these parties?”
The grin freezes on McNeil’s face. “Yeah. Why not?”
“Always thought you got wild at parties. I was pretty sure you guys had more balls than the one you pass around on the field.”
The laughter is louder now. McNeil chuckles. “Brought a smart-ass with you this time, Andy.” But no one complains when we both find empty chairs to sit.
“Wish you’d brought some more girls instead, Sondheim.”
“McNeil, you’re the one with the pool of groupies to choose from,” someone else counters.
There’s not much talk after that; whatever conversation there is gets swallowed by the cheers and hoots directed at the television screen, where a rival college team is getting its ass whooped by their opponents. I take the opportunity to scan the room, hoping to catch a glimpse of a corpse hanging off someone’s back, because the sooner I spot the killer, the sooner Okiku can do what she needs to do and the sooner I can get out of here. My eyes wander back to Kendele, and more than once, I have to force the scowl off my face at seeing she’s still talking to Armstrong.
“Hey, McNeil,” one of the guys says in between half-innings. “You still going out with that girl? That redhead with the pigtails?”
“Not anymore. You have any idea what I need to do to—” McNeil stops, sneaks a look at me, and then grins. “Go ahead, Garcia, but I’m not holding my breath that she’ll say yes to an ugly mug like you.”
More guffaws all around. Trish reappears to hand Sondheim his beer, then hesitates when she sees the others.
“Where’s mine?” McNeil reaches for the beer she was about to hand to me. She startles and drops it. I’m not much on booze anyway, so I retrieve it and toss the can to him, a little confused as I watch the now-pale cheerleader hurry away, and as Sondheim gets up from his chair to follow, I cast another quick glance around but don’t see anything out of the ordinary. Are there more people upstairs? Tendrils of voices still
sweet death claw and tear
rip him up
stroke through the edges of my mind, which means Okiku hasn’t found him either.
“What’s up with your eyes by the way?” one of the girls asks me. “I’ve always meant to ask.”
“What do you mean?”
“Why are they blue? Aren’t you, like, Chinese?”
“Japanese.”
“Isn’t that almost the same thing?”
“He’s only half Asian, Danielle,” a voice behind me responds. Kendele is standing with her hands on her hips, looking none too pleased to see me. Hank Armstrong is nowhere in sight. “I wanna borrow Halloway for a minute.”
“Ten minutes in and you’re already a stud, Halloway,” McNeil drawls. “See what good company does for you?” The guys crack up, and I shrug—good-humoredly, I hope—before standing to follow Kendele to an unoccupied sofa in the least populated part of the room.
“What are you doing here?” she hisses, flouncing down onto the cushion.
“Trish invited me.” I don’t know why I sound so defensive, but I do. “You were there.”
“I know that, but why did you come?”
“Why not?” I cast a pointed glance around the room. “You think I’m not up to the male standards?”
Kendele turns red. “That’s not what I mean and you know it.”
“Then what do you mean?”
“You aren’t them.”
“No shit, Sherlock.”
“No, I mean you aren’t them. You’re not an asshole. I saw your face just now. Whatever they were talking about, you obviously didn’t like it. There are other wannabes out there who’d like to be part of this even if it means they have to be jerks, but I know you’re not one of them. So why are you here?”
“Why are you here?”
“Because most of the cheerleaders are dating the jocks! And they’re cheerleaders I happen to be friends with, and friends stick with friends even when they outvote you on where you want to spend your Friday night! Nadia thinks the cheerleaders need to hang out more often anyway, so we can work better together on the field or whatever. And you still haven’t answered my question!”
“Maybe I want to be an ass.” She looks really upset at that, which puzzles me. “Being your lab partner slash tutor for a couple of semesters doesn’t make you the expert on who I am.”
“If I thought you were an asshole, I wouldn’t have asked you to be my lab partner in the first place, you idiot. Trish didn’t ask you here to the party because she wanted to thank you for whatever you did for her and Sondheim. She was only using that as an excuse. She thought she was doing me a favor.”
I blink. “I don’t get it.”
“For a smart person, you’re pretty dumb, aren’t you? I didn’t want you to come here, but I did want you to ask me out,” Kendele huffs. With any other girl, it wouldn’t have sounded so feminine. “Honestly, you must be the most oblivious boy I’ve ever met. I flirted with you, I picked you for my lab partner, and you barely give me a second glance in class. I invite you to a movie earlier today and you blow me off. I was waiting for you to take the hint, but…”
“You were asking me out?” Kendele Baker wants to ask me out? I’m aware of my mouth hanging open, and it takes a good minute to weld it back shut. “Why?”
Kendele giggles. “Why? I don’t know. You’re different from all the other guys. I know that sounds so clichéd, but you really are.” She leans toward me. “I mean, other than being such a hopeless, insensitive, inconsiderate…”
We’re inches apart, and she smells good, a mix of perfume and mint. I rally one last time. “What about Armstrong?”
“He wishes he could, but I’m not interested. I turned him down earlier because I’m not oblivious.” She shifts closer. “Was I wrong?” she whispers. “You don’t like me at all? You’ve never thought about it?”
I wish I could say I wanted to reject her advances. Or that she isn’t right.
I’m not aware she’s already on me until I feel her kissing me. Her lips are soft against my mouth—and sweet. She’s obviously done this before. I haven’t. I’m nervous it might show.
My hands settle behind her back—more from a lack of anywhere else to put them than anything else—while she presses against my chest and lets out a little sigh.
“Was this your first kiss?” she teases when we both come up for air.