As he approaches, I admire the color of his eyes, which are the loveliest part of him; the blue of his shirt makes them look like pools of indigo ink.
“You came!” he shouts over the music.
He moves closer to me, like he’s going for a bear hug, but it turns into one of those awkward one-armed sideways hugs. Does he think a real hug would give me the wrong impression, or is there just not enough room to use both arms? Maybe Jessa and Amber are wrong about him liking me as more than a friend. It would make way more sense if he didn’t. Why won’t my hands stop sweating?
“It’s great to see you,” he says.
“You saw me yesterday!”
Harry looks down at his shoes, a pair of battered old Chucks, but his smile doesn’t waver.
“Yeah, well, it’s still nice. I wasn’t sure you’d make it.”
“Amber and Jessa brought me here,” I confess. I nearly said dragged, but I didn’t want him to take it the wrong way.
He grins. “What do I owe them?”
“A hundred and seventy-five dollars, before tax, and don’t forget to tip your kidnapper,” Jessa says, appearing at my elbow with three drinks balanced precariously in her hands—a beer, a bottle of water and a soda.
“Worth every penny,” Harry says, taking the two cups. He hands me the beer.
I shake my head. “I don’t drink.”
“Me neither,” he says, switching my beer out for the soda.
“Suit yourselves. I’m DD, so none for me, either.” Jessa cracks open her water.
“I’ll just hold this for Amber,” Harry says. I smile at him.
“I’m here, I’m here,” Amber says, emerging as if by magic out of a clump of strangers. She takes the beer from Harry. “Thank you, sir. That was very gallant of you.”
“That’s me,” Harry says, bowing at the waist and flourishing his hand theatrically. “Gallant.”
Amber taps her forehead. “It’s never too early to start studying for those SATs.”
“Gallant is not an SAT word,” Jessa says with a sniff. She’s very intense about standardized testing. Her parents started enrolling her in prep classes back in eighth grade.
“You look really nice,” Harry tells me. My chest cramps, and I realize I’m holding my breath. “But then, you always do.”
“Right answer,” Amber says, punching his arm in a friendly way. She winces and shakes out her fist. “What are you made of, dude? Rocks?”
“Petrified Red Vines, mostly,” I say. Harry laughs and pats his back pocket; there’s a half-empty pack of licorice sticking out of it.
My friends look at each other like they’re about to abandon me.
“We should—” Amber begins, but she’s cut off midsentence by the arrival of a white boy I don’t recognize. He flings his arm around Harry’s shoulders and sort of joggles him.
“Hey, man, I lost you,” the boy says.
“Well, now you’ve found me,” Harry replies with a good-natured roll of his eyes. The boy seems a bit buzzed. Harry shoots him a wary look, like he’s afraid his friend might say something to embarrass him. “Guys, this is Tucker. He goes to Gilcrest, too. His house, his party. Say hi, Tuck.”
“Hi,” Tucker says. Harry introduces us, but Tucker barely feigns interest. He came over here for a reason, and he’s laser focused on that.
“Harry, the people are demanding a show,” Tucker tells him, punching his arm repeatedly. Okay, maybe he’s more than buzzed. Tucker’s a skinny guy with a medium build, so I doubt it hurts, but Harry pulls away and holds up a hand to fend him off.
“Not tonight, man,” he says. He gives me an apologetic smile.
Tucker grabs Harry by both shoulders. “But the people, Matthews. Think of the people.”
Harry laughs. I can tell he’s uncomfortable, maybe a little nervous. I want to pull him into a quiet corner, away from everyone, which is probably what a more confident girl would do, but I just stand there feeling self-conscious. What are they even talking about?
“The people are going to have to learn to deal with disappointment,” he says.
“Really? I thought you’d do it just to impress this one.” Tucker angles his head at me.
I narrow my eyes at him as my face grows hot. Between the temperature and the embarrassment, I bet I’m red as a stop sign right now.
Harry glares at Tucker. Something about the way they’re interacting reminds me of me and Nina. Tucker’s getting under Harry’s skin in the way only siblings or longtime friends can. “More like horrify her. I’m not doing it.”
“Doing what?” I ask.
“You’ll see,” Tucker says with a wink.
“No, she won’t,” Harry shoots back, giving Tucker a light shove. To me, he says, “It’s stupid.”
“I want to see it now, whatever it is,” Jessa says, crossing her fingers. “Please be a strip show.”
“Me too, me too!” Amber agrees. “Although I’m cool if you keep your clothes on.”
Tucker turns to me. “What about you, Susanne? Don’t you want to see the Flow?”
“It’s Susannah,” I say. How hard is it to remember a name you heard three seconds ago? “And I don’t know what the Flow is.”
“Believe me, it’s great,” Tucker says, ignoring Harry’s angry stare.
“Okay, sure. Let’s see it.” I give Harry an encouraging smile. Tucker’s not giving up. Maybe if Harry does what he wants, he’ll leave us alone.
“Fine,” he says with a world-weary sigh. “Let’s go prep the stage.”
“The stage? What is happening right now?” I mutter as they walk away. Tucker throws his arm around Harry’s shoulders again, but Harry shakes him off gently.
Amber shrugs, but Jessa’s so preoccupied with a text she just got that I don’t think she heard me.
“You. Guys.” She looks up from her phone, wide-eyed. “Remember Kara Walker?”
“Sure,” Amber says.
“What about her?” I ask.
Kara is a few years older than us, one of the best swimmers Dave’s ever coached at GAC. She swims for Stanford, and last year at the NCAA Championships she placed first in all of her events except one. I’ve always looked up to her.
“She’s pregnant. Apparently, it’s a boy. Mazel tov, I guess,” Jessa murmurs. She returns the text so fast I’m surprised she doesn’t singe her fingertips. “Lucy says Kara met a guy at Stanford and they started going out and now, buh-buh-boom—bun in the oven.”