“I don’t.”
“You do,” Serena said. “But I’ll let you deny it.”
“You’ll let me deny it?” I asked with a chuckle. “Gee, thanks, boss.”
She snapped a few more pictures.
“Can we talk about you for, like, two seconds?” I asked.
“I know what you’re going to ask, and I don’t want to jinx anything,” she said, coming around the table so she was next to me.
I lifted the fabric, laying one piece on top of the other as I began to pin them together. These photographs were more than just an assignment; despite how Serena viewed her talent, they had the potential to win her a spot in the annual student art showcase. “I know there’s a chance this project could win you some real attention,” I said, ignoring her comment. “Do you think you have a chance?” I asked, rummaging through the pin box for all the yellow-tipped ones. “Like, am I enough to potentially win this for you?”
Serena set her camera on the table before adjusting her hoodie. She pulled at the cuffs, tucking her hands in, only her fingers poking out.
“Answer the question,” I said. “Is this”—I waved over the pile of fabric that sat on the table in front of me—“going to make it?”
“I mean, maybe…” Serena pushed her hands out of her hoodie and into the front pocket. “I’d like to think that if I have the talent, then the subject doesn’t matter.” She tapped her left toe into the floor several times.
“And you do have the talent,” I said.
She dropped her head back, her face toward the ceiling. “I don’t know. A girl can hope, right?”
I laughed. “Someone with your talent doesn’t need to hope.”
“Boss,” she said, righting her head. “I know you’re all woo-hoo, girl power about what you do, but I’m not nearly as confident.”
“I know you aren’t,” I said, putting down the chalk pencil I’d been holding. “But you are good at this. I would never bullshit you about that.” I put my hands on her shoulders.
She let out a deep breath, her shoulders sinking a bit.
“Sewing machine.” I gestured with my chin toward the bank of machines.
“I guess all I can say is that I’m going to try my hardest to make this project interesting and relatable,” she said as she followed me to the sewing machine. “I feel like that’s the most important aspect … that people can relate to it.”
I adjusted the chair to my height and threaded the machine. “Absolutely,” I said. “I’m just saying that I hope that this project is relatable.”
She shrugged, pointing her camera in my direction. “I think everyone can relate to hard work and dedication to something they are passionate about.”
15
Beer Pong? Beer Pong.
We walked through the living room at Michael’s house, searching the crowd for his face, Serena’s hand in mine as we made our way through all the people, our noses assaulted with the worst combination of men’s body spray and stale beer.
“I don’t see him,” I shouted.
Serena responded, but I couldn’t make out what she said. I looked over my shoulder so I could see her mouth.
“Kitchen,” she repeated.
I nodded and pushed forward. The kitchen was in the back of the house, through the living room and dining room. We passed two guys standing on the couch, sword fighting with plastic light sabers. A group huddled around the TV as two guys wearing headsets screamed and shot video guns with game controllers. We slipped past a couple whispering harshly at each other in the kitchen doorway.
“Not here, either,” I said as I scanned the room, pushing onto my toes to see over all the heads.
Serena stepped up to a short, skinny guy with a shaved head standing in front of the refrigerator. Scott. One of Michael’s frat brothers. “Where’s Michael?”
“Last I saw he was in the backyard,” Scott said, motioning toward the back door with his chin. He brought his beer to his lips and took a swig as he watched Serena.
“We’ll be back,” Serena said, running her fingers through her bangs. She grasped my hand and started to lead us through the kitchen and toward the back door.
“Hey, Serena,” Scott called, his hands cupping his mouth. “Heads up, Michael is a gray barrette.”
Michael is a gray barrette?
The backyard was far more crowded than the house, probably because it was fifty-five degrees out in March, which only encouraged people to hang out in the backyard like it was summer.
The backyard was small, surrounded on three sides by an old wooden fence teetering on dilapidated. Luckily for the neighbors on either side, who’d installed their own fences years ago, there was no chance of this backyard spilling into theirs.
“What did he say?” I asked Serena as we stepped outside.
“I have no idea. All I heard was heads up.” She scanned the backyard. “There,” she said, pointing toward a group of people standing around a set of feet in the air, cheering.
I pushed onto my toes again to see over the heads that separated us and whoever was doing a keg stand.
“Oh, shit,” Serena said, sidestepping the guys standing in front of us.
The pair of feet in the air belonged to Michael. It was barely nine and he was already doing a keg stand.
“Gray barrette,” I whispered to myself as I rolled my eyes.
“What?” She turned to me with an utterly confused look on her face.
“What I heard Scott say was heads up, Michael is a gray barrette; he was probably trying to tell you that Michael was doing something stupid in the backyard. People still do keg stands?”
“Gray barrette? That’s what you heard?” Serena scrunched her nose with a giggle.
I nodded.
“Well, that gray barrette is going to make himself sick tonight,” Serena said, shaking her head.
“Serena!” Michael shouted, his arms raised above his head, his hands in fists.
“Oh God,” we both breathed simultaneously.
“Hey,” Michael said once he’d jogged the few feet that separated us. “I’m glad you came.” He completely ignored me as he ran a hand through his reddish hair.
I cleared my throat.
“Edie, my friend,” Michael said, his attention finally turning to me. “You made it; so nice of you to grace us with your presence.” His grin as lopsided as his stance.
I narrowed my eyes at Serena.
“Why are you always so dressed up?” Michael asked, switching gears quickly as he eyed me. His comment elicited a slap to the arm from Serena.
“Excuse me for wanting to look nice.” I was way overdressed for this party, and I liked it that way. Skinny jeans, ivory camisole, navy blazer, brown riding boots. A plaid scarf in reds and blues to tie the whole outfit together.
I didn’t dress up for anyone else; I did it for myself. I did it because I liked how it felt to be put together. Unlike Michael in his too-tight T-shirt boasting the symbol of a sports apparel company. Nothing like paying a company to advertise for them.
“I need a beer, STAT.” I ran a hand through my hair, pushing it out of my face and tucking it behind my ear.
“Me too,” Serena said as she assessed her date.
“There’s something I have to do real quick. I’ll meet you inside,” Michael said, his arms outstretched, his fingers pointing in our direction as he walked backward toward the house.
“Shit,” Serena said through a grimace.
“Ten bucks says the thing he needs to do is throw up,” I said, my eyes wide. There was no way this would end well.
Michael’s back was to the door when we walked into the kitchen. The room had mostly cleared out, the arguing couple nowhere in sight, and the guys stacking beer cans in the sink had left, too. Serena stepped up beside Michael, resting her hand between his shoulder blades as I stood behind him, smoothing my navy jacket and sniffing my scarf for any hints of stale beer.
“Hey,” Michael said, wrapping an arm arou
nd Serena before turning to face me.
“Oh, look who it is,” Serena laughed as the person Michael was talking to came into view.
“Hudson?” I said.
“Hey,” Hudson said, shoving his hands into his pockets. He looked at me with that small smile that drove me wild. Not that he knew it drove me wild or anything, just that it literally put me back into the place where I either wanted to grab his face and kiss him or punch him in the gut, and right now I wasn’t sure how I felt.
“Nice to see you again. Where’s your hat?” Serena asked, pinching me in the tricep.
I could feel my face burst into flames. Kill me now. Someone. Anyone.
“Nice to see you again,” Hudson said. “I forgot it.” He looked at me. “The hat, that is.”
The grin on Serena’s face spread slowly as she looked between me and Hudson.
“Serena,” I said through gritted teeth, shying away from another pinch to the underarm.
“What is going on right now? I thought it would be cool to invite Huds since he’s such a fan of the team now. Right? Cool? Who cares if Hudson didn’t wear his hat? Why don’t either of you have a beer?” Michael asked, sincerely interested in the answer to every one of his questions.
“Huds?” Serena said, her eyebrow quirked.
“Beer pong?” I asked, changing the subject to something I knew would immediately distract Michael.
Michael reached into the refrigerator and grabbed four cans, handing them all to Hudson. “Beer pong,” he said, grabbing out four more cans and handing those off to Serena.
The beer pong table was set up in the basement, and even though the basement had surprisingly high ceilings, high enough that Michael could stand up without hitting his head, it wasn’t high enough for him to toss the pong ball the way he liked, which we knew. It gave us an advantage over them, though we were probably still going to lose miserably.
“Team names?” Michael suggested as he stacked his plastic cups in the traditional pyramid.
“Sure. Hudson, how about you think them up. I heard you’re good at nicknames,” Serena said, listing her head toward me.
I turned away from Hudson, shooting Serena the bug eyes.
“You heard about that?” he asked, pouring beer into each cup.
“I hear about everything,” Serena said.
I gasped, swatting her in the arm with the back of my hand.
“There’s an everything to hear about?” he asked.
“Oh, there’s an everything all right,” Michael said, grabbing everyone’s attention. “And with these two, nothing is a secret.”
A burst of air escaped me as I whipped around to face both boys.
“No, you didn’t.” Serena looked between Michael and Hudson.
Hudson blew out his cheeks, his face reddening by the second.
“What?” Michael asked. “You told me the other day in the campus center that Edie—”
“Oh my God, literally shut up right now.” I laughed as I pressed my hands to my cheeks.
Hudson ran a hand through his hair. “How about Us versus Them?” he offered.
We all laughed at the pathetic attempt to change the subject.
“No.” Serena shook her head as she smiled. “How about Ladies versus…” She held the word as she looked at me for help.
I stacked our cups. “Assholes?” I offered with a laugh, looking to Michael.
“Assholes works.” She nodded enthusiastically, hip checking me away from the table. She wanted first toss.
“Oh, you’re so funny, Edie. How could I have forgotten how funny you are?” Michael drawled. I playfully gave him the finger.
I watched Hudson as he continued to fill each cup with beer. He looked up at me when he finished, catching me watching him. “If it helps, I’m okay with whatever you’ve told Serena about me,” he whispered, getting the attention of Michael and Serena as well.
I shot a look to Michael.
He shrugged with a smirk.
I blinked at him, my tongue skimming my bottom lip as I tried to conjure a worthy comeback for both of them.
“Can we just—” Hudson interrupted, gesturing over his shoulder with his thumb. “Like, over there for a sec?”
He stepped back from the table, his eyes on me.
I took a step toward him as I shot a look to my smiling roommate.
“Really?” I asked the second we were out of earshot.
He fidgeted with the cuffs of his shirt. “That guy has no chill.”
“I have no chill right now, thanks to you,” I said.
“Why, because you’re so happy I’m here?” he asked with a smile as he took a sip of the beer he’d been pouring.
I shook my head in response, putting my hands on my hips. He gave away his smile so easily.
“You’re really cute,” he said, reaching for my arm and pulling me into him. “Come here.” I was in his arms before I had a chance to protest.
“Impulse control issues much?” I laughed, my voice muffled by his shoulder, my hands still on my hips as he held me around the shoulders.
“Impulse control issues,” he repeated softly, pulling me closer.
Hudson was hugging me. He was hugging me in front of people. Actually, he was squeezing me … a little too tightly. I laughed and tried to wiggle out of his hold. God, he smelled good.
“What the hell,” Michael yelled from across the room. “Lady. Asshole. Can we play, please?”
16
Monsieur, S’il Vous Plaît
“Waiter, another drink, please?” I called to Michael, my arm stretched toward him as he stood over me and Serena. After our tragic loss at beer pong, we’d found our way to the love seat and hadn’t moved since.
“I’m not being your waiter tonight. I already told you.” He stood tall over us, his arms crossed.
“You’ve already gotten me, like, five beers. You are our waiter,” I said, shooting him my cutest smile. Which, to be honest, probably looked pretty ridiculous. “And you don’t want us getting drinks from strangers, do you?”
“She’s right. We could get drugged or something. And then how would you feel?” Serena said, draining her cup and lifting it toward him.
I turned my empty cup upside down. “You tell him, boss,” I said, encouraging her. “Also, just as a pointer, you’ve been superslow with the drinks, so you might wanna—” I snapped my fingers repeatedly.
“Hear, hear!” Serena agreed.
Michael uncrossed his arms and then recrossed them. “Sometimes I really wonder how I put up with the two of you,” he said.
“Oh, yeah? You won’t be saying that to me in a few hours,” Serena said, shooting Michael her best attempt at sultry in her current state, which included her awkwardly biting her bottom lip.
I covered my mouth, a laugh bubbling up as I watched Michael look at Serena. He was frozen, one cup in each hand. He had some decisions to make.
“Why a few hours?” He dropped our empty cups on the floor. “Why not now?”
“You’re gonna have to be a little more convincing…,” she prodded playfully.
Michael left the room swiftly, returning with a tall, squared glass vase full of fake cream-and-light-pink dahlias. It was the kind that looked like it was filled with water, but it was squishy clear plastic, like something you’d see in the waiting room of a dentist’s office. He presented the flowers with a dramatic flourish and a goofy grin.
I folded over onto myself, my nose to my knees as I laughed. The look on her face was priceless.
“Oh my God, stop it,” she laughed, her hand over her mouth as Michael continued to stand there, arms stretched toward her, vase in hands.
I threw myself backward into the couch. I couldn’t watch this. I was going to pee my pants if I kept laughing like this.
Serena extended her arm, and Michael hoisted her off the couch, tucking the vase under his free arm like a football.
“I can’t,” I said, trying to catch my breath. I held my s
tomach. Michael holding that vase full of fake flowers under his arm was entirely too much for me. How had that thing even gotten into their house to begin with?
“What’d I miss?” Hudson stepped into the small clearing around the couch. He looked at me, but I couldn’t talk.
“Nada,” Michael said, handing the vase to Hudson. “You watch this one.” He pointed at me as he hooked his arm around Serena’s shoulders.
“I don’t understand this,” Hudson said, spinning around the room looking for a place to set down the vase. He looked between me and the flowers he held with both hands.
“Which part?” I asked, finally curbing my laughter. “The vase itself or the fact that they even own something like that?”
“Both, I guess,” he said. He set the vase on the coffee table across the room that had been pushed to the side to make space in the living room.
“Same,” I said. “Sit?” I wiped away the tears of laughter from my eyes.
“Yeah, definitely.” He smiled, plopping down next to me. His knee immediately started bouncing.
“That is gonna need to stop,” I said, pointing to his leg and feeling like my movements were exaggerated by the alcohol.
“That doesn’t stop,” he said.
I watched him for a moment. His cheeks were rosy from the beer, and his hair was a mess from running his hands through it. I wanted to run my hands through it, just to see what it was like. This was only the second time I’d seen him without the beanie.
“Where’s your hat?”
“I told you I forgot it.” He touched his hair, confused.
“It’s your most redeeming article of clothing.… Well, I guess it’s more like an accessory.”
“You noticed my redeeming accessory?”
“I mean, your sense of style is all over the place,” I said, flicking at his blue-and-white-checkered button-down. “This has potential, but you have the sleeves rolled down like a nerd.” I ran my finger over the cuff he’d been pulling at in the basement. It was evident that it was well fidgeted with over the years. The cuffs were worn and fraying in spots.
“Then roll them up,” he said, offering me his arm.
Meet Me in Outer Space Page 8