Loner by Teddy Wayne Read Free Book Online

with.”
    â€œSomething with which you identify,” she said playfully. “Aren’t you glad you’re talking to that fun girl at the party who reminds you to never end a sentence on a preposition?”
    â€œYou should also try to never split an infinitive,” I said, but whoever was manning the volume control cranked it up and she didn’t hear me.
    â€œJust one request, please,” the rapper boomed from the speakers, and everyone in the room pumped their fists and chanted along to the next line: “ That all y’all suckers can choke on these! ”
    The volume was lowered. “I hope to play that at my wedding someday,” I said with a nervous laugh.
    â€œWhat a coincidence,” Sara said. “I was saving it for my father-­daughter dance.”
    She looked down, cheeks reddening, and excused herself for the bathroom. As I refilled my drink, Ivana showed up.
    â€œSo, Sara’s cute,” she said, much like a mother suggesting a piece of fruit for dessert.
    That word again. I considered her assessment. Sara’s dishwater-­brown hair was generally pulled back in a ponytail, and her face looked like a sculpture someone hadn’t thought worth putting the finishing touches on, its planes and protrusions not fully defined. But when she smiled she was, I supposed, cute.
    â€œMmhuh,” I grunted.
    â€œOh, you’re playing it cool.” She smirked. “No worries. By the way, do you have any idea if Steven’s hooking up with anyone?”
    â€œ Steven? I doubt it.”
    â€œTo both of us playing it cool, then,” she toasted, bumping her beer against the rim of my cup and spilling it again.
    Sara returned. Ivana gave me a knowing look as she melted back into the throng.
    Two ovals of perspiration had bloomed in Sara’s underarms. She noticed right after I did, noticed I’d noticed, and crossed her arms.
    â€œWell, screw it,” she said, uncrossing them. “I sweat. Big deal.”
    She finished her beer and I asked if she wanted another. “I was thinking about heading back, actually,” she said. “But I can hang out for a little more if you want to go after this drink.”
    It wasn’t that late yet. You might show up.
    â€œI’ll probably stick around for a while.”
    â€œOkay,” she said. “See you later.”
    I got another drink and searched for Steven and Ivana. I didn’t find them but saw a face that looked strangely familiar, as if it were the instantiation of one I’d hazily conjured up in nightmares over the years. Pug-nosed and short, he nonetheless commanded the attention of a circle of listeners. At one point he tipped his head back in amusement at something he’d himself said. Over the musicI heard a strident cackle, the sound a pterodactyl might make if it could laugh.
    Scott Tupper was at Harvard.
    One day in fifth grade, Jessica Waltham, one of the popular girls, passed me a note in homeroom.
    â€œI have something to tell you at recess,” she’d written. The i of something was dotted with a heart.
    At the appointed time Jessica stood alone while the rest of our class frolicked on the playground. I timidly approached.
    â€œI love you,” she said, looking at her sneaker as she toed the rubber matting.
    Even in those latency-phase days I understood that this was ­socio-romantic validation of the highest order.
    â€œThank you,” I replied.
    Neither of us spoke. Then Jessica looked over her shoulder at Scott, who had seemingly come out of nowhere, his minions in tow.
    â€œDid he say he loves you?” he asked.
    Jessica responded with a less-than-convincing nod, but that was enough to send the boys into hysterics.
    I wasn’t familiar with the word entrapment , but knew I’d been the victim of something. Nor was I aware that Scott and Jessica had recently begun “dating,” whatever that meant at our age. I protested that I