English as a Second Language

by Megan Crane

  “To the dance floor!” Cristina cried, and dove right in.

  We’d been leaping around for some time when Toby commandeered a table and he and I dropped into the nearest seats.

  “Your housemates are mad,” he observed. His eyes were warm.

  I grinned. The normally sensible Melanie was like a wild thing on the dance floor, and the less said about Cristina the better. Together they’d made me laugh too hard to do much dancing of my own. Although I had made a small spectacle of myself to “American Pie.” If there was anything more surreal than listening to a packed bar filled with British citizens shouting, “Bye, bye, Miss American Pie,” I had yet to encounter it.

  “They’re both fearless,” I said to Toby. “But so is Jason.”

  “Jason is far beyond mad. He’s a complete nutter. Before you lot arrived he was narrating the entire evening. We would get a drink and he’d say, ‘Drinks in, thirst quenched’ in a very odd, low voice. As if he were speaking into a microphone in his armpit.” Toby shook his head. “I can’t work out if he’s putting it on or if he’s just a bit off his head.”

  “Both,” I said immediately. We relaxed into a companionable silence as the DJ began to play Spandau Ballet. The dance floor cleared but for the usual couples and a few very drunk groups who clung to one another and swayed, singing loudly.

  Since Toby’s altercation with Suzanne, everything had gone back to normal. Toby had never spoken of it again. He and I certainly never discussed any of the accusations she’d leveled at him or at me. I’d told him that she’d cornered me in my house the day following the scene in the pub and he’d just been disgusted. “She needs to sort herself out,” was all he’d said. Our relationship was as comfortable as it had ever been. And as platonic as it had ever been. That kiss, obviously, had been a drunken bit of silliness best forgotten and completely without meaning. Suzanne, I thought, could go to hell.

  Not that I’d really seen her since that early morning emotional drive-by. She had different classes this term and had stopped dropping by the house. Which suited me fine. I didn’t know who she was hanging around with, and if I was honest with myself, I knew I was only curious because I knew she required an audience and wondered who that audience could be. Was I the villain in her tale? I presumed so. Suzanne wasn’t the kind of girl who could make the guy his own person. If Toby had hurt her, I could be sure that it was considered my fault.

  “Why are you sitting?” Cristina descended on us. “Melanie is getting more drinks.” She perched on the arm of my chair. “There are many men on the prowl, Alex. I think it would do you good to prowl yourself.”

  I perked up. “I could do a little prowling. Who did you have in mind?”

  Melanie came over with very suspicious-looking drinks of indeterminate ingredients. They were in pint glasses, and they were pink.

  “It’s called a Snakebite,” Toby told me from where he remained slouched in his chair. “For reasons you will shortly discover if you drink it.”

  “Ugh,” I said, staring at mine. “Just tell me there’s no aniseed in here. I can’t stand it.”

  “No aniseed,” Melanie said. “But I’m not telling you what’s in it. Just drink it. You’ll be the better for it.” We all raised our glasses except Toby, who was looking mulish.

  “I’m not drinking that,” he said.

  “A wise choice.” Melanie laughed. We were all less wise, and drank.

  I watched Toby frown at his drink. He took a big gulp when he thought no one was looking.

  A very bouncy eighties anthem came on, and the three of us took to our feet, trolling for potential romantic candidates. Toby remained behind, claiming that he was tired and that he would rather wait and see if Jason reappeared from wherever he’d wandered.

  “We have to be careful, however,” Cristina said. “Because Yannis is here and he is not very pleased with my behavior.”

  “Yannis?” I stared at her. “But you haven’t even really spoken to him since your whole thing with him ended way back at the beginning of the year!”

  “I know this and you know this,” Cristina said, shrugging. “But Yannis has his own version, of course. It is better to just avoid him.”

  Melanie anointed herself the Chooser, which meant she pointed out eligible men and Cristina and I would go and try to act fetchingly in their proximity. This had mostly no results. Mostly the “chosen” men looked at us as if we were freaks or ignored us completely.

  “I think you suck at this,” I told Melanie.

  “Me?” She gave me a look. “You’re the one who keeps doing Saturday Night Fever moves in front of your potential boyfriends. Perhaps that has something to do with why they look at you with fear rather than passion.”

  “Passion, fear, it’s all the same,” Cristina exclaimed. She made a grandiose, sweeping gesture with one arm. “You must bring them to their knees.”

  “Go on then,” Melanie challenged her at once.

  “That one right there,” I said, pointing to the nearest male—who looked to be still in his teens and who was sporting a feather boa and a bowler hat. “Bring him to his knees. Melanie and I will stay right here and watch and learn.”

  Cristina never could resist a challenge.

  “I am a Latin lover,” she informed us very seriously. “You watch.”

  And off she slunk, the light of battle in her eyes, to grab the feather boa.

  “She just busted up to this complete stranger and grabbed him!” I laughed. “Poor kid. He didn’t know what to do, but, being a man and facing Cristina, he just surrendered.” I laughed again, at the image. “She practically snapped a whip and had him jump. It was amazing.”

  “Whatever,” Toby snapped. I eyed him.

  “And your problem is?”

  “I don’t have a problem,” he retorted. In a tone that quite clearly contradicted that statement.

  We were walking back home together. The music and the mayhem had all proved a little too much for me, so I’d left Melanie and Cristina to further adventures among males and had accompanied Toby when he’d announced he was going to bed. It was already after one. I always felt all turned around when bars had late licenses and stayed open past eleven. It was so disconcerting.

  “Right,” I said to Toby, in a wry tone. “You were sulking at the disco and now you’re storming around, snapping my head off, but you don’t have a problem.”

  “I was hardly sulking,” Toby snapped.

  “You were sitting in the corner with a pissed-off look on your face for the better part of the last two hours,” I said. “What would you call it?”

  “Maybe,” Toby said snidely, “I didn’t think it was the biggest laugh of all time to watch you and your mates throw yourselves at every man in the place.”

  “Excuse me?” I was stunned.

  “You think you’re so funny, you know, but you’re not. You have no idea how you appear sometimes.” Toby snorted. “I was embarrassed for you.”

  I stopped walking and stared at him. Realizing I wasn’t keeping up with him, he turned around and glared at me.

  “You know what?” I glared at him. “If you were so embarrassed you should have left. And fuck you anyway.”

  “Oh, that’s very nice,” he sneered. “Of course, nothing could be wrong with your behavior, because you’re always right.”

  “Who asked you to comment on my behavior? If I’d known you were sitting in the corner monitoring everyone’s actions I would have told you to leave myself. As if the way you behave stands up to any scrutiny.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with my behavior,” he snapped. “I’m not the one throwing myself at strangers.”

  “No, you like to throw yourself at people you know!” I snapped right back. “What makes that any better?”

  Toby scowled at me. “Exactly what are you talking about?” he demanded. It occurred to me that I really, really didn’t want him to think that I was talking about anything or anyone but Suzanne. I scowled back.


  “I’m talking about the mess you made with Suzanne,” I snarled at him. “The mess you don’t have to deal with yourself, naturally.”

  I stamped on, headed for home. As I passed the intersecting path that led around to Sean’s house, I gritted my teeth. Toby stormed along behind me. When we reached my house, I made to go in but he grabbed me by the arm.

  “We have to talk,” he said. Why did people keep saying that?

  “I don’t want to talk!” I practically shouted, incredulous. “What are we going to talk about? How you just attacked me for no reason? How you’re an immature little shit who can’t deal with—”

  “Don’t you call me immature!” he interrupted. “You’re the one who doesn’t act your age!”

  Asshole. “Let me rectify that,” I hissed. “Please remove your hand from my arm, and please leave. I have nothing else to say.”

  “Fine,” Toby snapped, and he stormed off toward his own house.

  I shoved my way inside and nearly tripped over the prone body of George, who appeared to be unconscious as he lay sprawled across our entry hall. I prodded him a few times with my foot, but elicited no response. I made sure he was facedown, so he wouldn’t choke on his own vomit if there was any vomiting, and then stepped over him and marched up to my room.

  I was so angry I didn’t know what to do. I threw off my clothes and threw on my pajamas but was far too furious to actually get into bed. I was standing in the middle of my room, quietly raging, when the doorbell rang.

  “Asshole,” I hissed, and stamped back down the stairs.

  Yanking open the door, I glared at him. “What?” I asked rudely.

  Toby just brushed me aside and came into the house. He stopped to stare at George. “You’re not just leaving him there?” he demanded in an accusatory tone.

  “What would you suggest I do, Toby?” I asked acidly. “Pick him up and carry him? He might not be the largest guy in the world, but I assure you he’s too heavy for me to carry up a flight of stairs. But you go right ahead, since you’re such a big, tough guy. And why are you even here? How could you possibly have anything else to say?”

  He stepped over George and headed up the stairs. “You don’t want to wake up your whole house,” he said.

  “Because I’m sure they’re all sleeping soundly now, after you rang the doorbell at one-thirty in the morning?” But I followed him.

  Inside my room, he slumped on my bed and I sat in my desk chair and crossed my arms over my chest.

  “What do you want?” I demanded. “Do you have any more insults? Or maybe you can tell me all the other occasions upon which my behavior embarrassed you?”

  Toby just looked at me, for a long moment. Then he reached over to my windowsill and picked up one of the bottles of wine I kept on hand for late-night sobriety emergencies.

  “Let’s have a drink,” he said.

  “Surely there’s been enough drinking tonight.”

  “Maybe for you.” Toby went over to my sink, where I kept some glasses, and poured two full to the brim. He handed me one.

  “I’m very angry with you,” I told him, taking it.

  “I’m not too pleased with you,” he replied.

  It was like a toast. We each took a big gulp.

  “I never meant for you to deal with Suzanne,” he said. “I don’t know why she’s obsessed with you.” For a moment, it looked as if maybe he was going to say something else. Our eyes held. But he looked down.

  “It’s one of the great mysteries of our time,” I said lightly, to break the spell.

  By the time he opened the second bottle, we were both laughing.

  And when I woke up the next morning, he was in my bed.

  Eleven

  Fully clothed, I hasten to add. “Oh my God!” I practically shouted.

  Without moving, Toby muttered, “There’s no need to shout.”

  “That’s easy for you to say.” I climbed over him and dove as far away from him as it was humanly possible to get in the confines of my little cell. Which was about three feet.

  Toby stretched as if he hadn’t a care in the world and grinned cheekily. “Come on, Brennan,” he said. “Surely you’ve woken with more horrible things in your bed.”

  “Out.” I pointed at the door.

  “I’m just saying, all things considered, at least you needn’t worry about your virtue—”

  “Out!” I yelled at him.

  He sighed and swung himself into sitting position. He rubbed his face with his hands. “That’s the last time I try to fulfill your needs,” he said.

  “I don’t even want to know what you’re talking about,” I said. “Nothing happened, no needs were fulfilled.”

  “Certainly not mine,” he agreed, looking disgusted.

  “Nothing happened,” I repeated. A small pause. “Did it?”

  A delighted grin spread across his face. “Why, Alex,” he said. “You can’t remember, can you? Don’t worry; I don’t think anyone saw too much when you ran naked through the courtyard.”

  “I hate you.”

  “Of course nothing happened,” he said, sighing, but he still looked delighted. “I’m sure we both just passed out.”

  “So you don’t actually know,” I said. I scowled at him. “Jerk. You’re just as much of a lush as I am.”

  “And just as hungover,” he agreed. “Step aside, Alex. I need water.”

  “I can’t believe you had such a fit last night,” I said as we walked downstairs. It was barely nine in the morning, but I could tell from the size of my headache that sleep wasn’t an option. I needed caffeine and grease. George, I was pleased to note, was no longer in the entryway, which cut down on the possibility that he was dead.

  “I did not ‘have a fit,’” Toby retorted, yanking open the door.

  “What would you call it, then?” I shivered in the frigid entryway. It was gray and misty outside.

  “Expressing some concern about a friend,” he said primly.

  “Oh come on. You totally flipped out.”

  “How very American.”

  “How very snotty.”

  We were grinning at each other when a complete stranger strode down the stairs and into view. Toby and I looked at him, then each other. The guy was tall and attractive and clearly very hungover. He paused when he saw us.

  “All right,” Toby greeted him, expressionlessly.

  “Morning,” the guy said. He stepped between us to get out the door, and glanced around for a moment before setting off in the direction of campus.

  Toby laughed. “What was that all about?”

  Which is when Cristina came rushing down the stairs. She stared at us in horror. She had to visibly collect herself.

  “Good morning,” she said with dignity, and swept into the kitchen.

  I shrugged. “I guess that’s what that was all about.”

  “That Cristina,” Toby said, shaking his head. “Mad.”

  “That’s our Cristina,” I said affectionately.

  “Well,” Toby said. He grinned at me. “I really enjoyed sleeping with you, Brennan. It was the highlight of my life.”

  “You can’t even remember it,” I reminded him. “For all you know it really was.”

  “Your morning-after routine could stand a little work,” he retorted. “Shouting is generally frowned upon in polite circles.”

  “You can deal,” I said, smiling up at him. “You’re pretty tough.”

  “Well,” he said.

  “Yeah,” I said. “Well.”

  “Yes,” said a third, much less amused voice. “Well.”

  Surprised, Toby and I turned.

  Suzanne stood there, freshly showered and on her way to an early morning at the library. Her eyes were narrow and nasty, and Toby and I just stared at her in shock.

  “I hope you’re very happy with each other,” she spat at us, and stalked off.

  “Can you imagine?” I moaned. “And there Toby and I are, looking all rumpled and half asleep as i
f we’d just rolled out of bed. Which we had, but in a million years that girl is never going to believe that nothing happened.”

  “We are all having some difficulty with that one,” Cristina said archly.

  She and I were sitting on her bed, tending to our hangovers.

  “I suppose I’m going to have to tell her what really happened,” I said, considering.

  “Why bother?” Cristina lit a fresh cigarette. “She won’t believe you anyway. She will take it as an opportunity to say more horrible things to you.” She exhaled. “And the truth is that she is right: Toby prefers you. It’s not your fault. Nor is there anything that she or you can do about it.”

  “Whatever.” I sighed. “It’s your turn. Who was that guy?”

  “Oh,” Cristina said in a low voice. “Him.”

  “Yeah, him,” I said. I looked at her. “What’s wrong? He was very good-looking.”

  “Yes.” Cristina met my eyes. “He is also David the Physicist’s housemate and friend.”

  I covered my mouth and stared at her. “Oh no,” I whispered.

  “Oh yes,” she said. Her eyes were miserable. “It seemed like a good idea last night, of course.” She shrugged. “Possibly I also spent the night platonically, but I don’t think so.”

  “He had a big hickey on his neck,” I said. Cristina glared. “I’m just saying that it’s probably not a platonic—” I stopped myself. “Who cares, anyway?” I demanded, getting myself riled up. “David has no claim on you. If he wanted one, he had a million opportunities to do something about it.”

  “That is not the point,” Cristina said. “And you know it.”

  “It’s not necessarily a big deal,” I countered.

  “It’s not a big deal at all,” she agreed. “It just means that any chance there was of anything ever happening with David is now gone.”

  “Hey,” I said. “You never know. He might never mention it.”

  “Please,” she said.