nod and start backing up, slowly so she wonât notice Iâm trying to get away.
But Klein sees everything.
âWait.â He pulls a red cup from one of the upside-down stacks, all lined up like those hats the Shriners wear. âLet me make you a drink.â
âNo, thanks.â I point toward the patio. âBeer.â
âOkay.â He wraps an arm around Trishaâs teeny waist. âWell, weâre gonna roll later. You in?â
I choke down a âno fucking wayâ and say that I have to be up early for ballet tomorrow. Which is true. But also? Doing E with Klein Anderson and his girlfriend is about the last thing to check off of my list tonight. They hooked up with Mallory Frank at a pool party last summer. I wasnât there but Iâd believe it even if there hadnât been witnesses. Mallory is on the fringe, one of those girls who will do anything to make her way into the circle.
He looks at me now and shrugs. âYour choice. Hey, if you see Hosea out there, tell him Iâm looking for him. Dude has no fucking concept of time.â
He and Trisha start fumbling with a bottle of rum and a two-liter of Coke and thatâs my cue to leave. My friends are no longer on the patio, but the kegs are getting plenty of action from the fringe peopleâlike Mallory. People who are cool enough to be invited, but awkward enough to feel like they have to kiss everyoneâs ass for their next invitation. I donât know if anyone would call me, Sara-Kate, and Phil popular, but weâre cool with the people who
do
hold most of the power in our classâparticularly the two messy people I just left in the kitchen.
âYou look like you could use a beer,â says a friendly voice to my left.
Eddie Corteen. Weâve gone to school together our whole lives but I donât know anything about him. He shows up to class every day, he comes to all the parties, and heâs so
nice,
it seems like an act until you realize no one could keep that up for so long. But I canât remember having an actual conversation with him, nothing more than hello in passing or asking him for his notes if I missed English class.
âI
could
use a beer,â I say since heâs already pumping the keg. âThanks, Eddie.â
âNo problem,â he says, sort of ducking his head as he reaches into a plastic bag near the base of the keg and fills a red cup. âSo howâs it going? Iâve been thinking about you.â Eddie flushes so quickly, I wonder how his mind had time to communicate with his body. His white-blond eyebrows get lost in his pinkened skin. âI mean, not like that. I justâDonovan. You know?â
Right. He knew him, too.
He hands me the cup and I sip. Ice-cold, hasnât gone flat, and hardly any head. Normally Iâd forgo the beer on a Friday night since I have ballet early the next morning, but after the past couple of days I deserve this. Except . . . thinking about Donovan mars the perfection of this beer.
âI feel like I shouldnât be out right now,â I say, spilling my fears to the person I probably know the least at this party, as if that makes any kind of sense. The words are out before I can stop them. âLike itâs wrong because heâs at home with his mom . . . recovering.â
Recovering.
Such a crap word, but I donât know what else to say. He was hurt and suffering and now heâs home and trying to heal. Maybe he canât close his eyes without launching a thousand nightmares.
So what am I doing? It never occurred to me to skip Kleinâs party until now, but guilt coats my insides as I think of Donovan while I stand on the terrace, holding a beer and talking to people who used to be his classmates.
âYou canât think about it that way,â Eddie says in a careful voice. âI used to sit behind you guys on the bus sometimes and you . . . well, you