Anything to Have You

by Paige Harbison

  She had that smile that looked real every time. She sounded interested, surprised, shocked, or however it was you wanted her to sound when you told her something. She made the people around her feel interesting, funny or attractive, and all the while it was clear that she was the most interesting, funny and attractive person in the room.

  I came off as the opposite. I didn’t want to take a shot, so I immediately felt like the prude. Which sucked. Because honestly, I simply didn’t want to.

  When I talked to people, I felt like I could never think of the right response or anything clever to say. I was fine with people I really knew. Smart, and even funny sometimes. But with strangers or acquaintances, I was a mess.

  “Ready?” asked Brooke, handing me my first two ounces of regret. “It’s not that bad, I promise.”

  “To senior freaking year!” screamed Alexa. Everyone cheered.

  I took the shot and was unable to play it cool, reaching for something, anything, else to shoot back afterward, but there was nothing. I became the unwilling center of attention as everyone around me, clearly unfazed by the sting, laughed or looked at me like I was their little sister or something. Someone even went, “Aww!”

  “Oh, God, was it really that bad for you?” Brooke hugged me. “I’m so sorry, Nat. Whoo!” She widened her eyes. “All right, that’ll probably do you for a while. I wanna play darts, come play with me!”

  She grabbed me by the hand and dragged me through the party, and up onto the stage that is her life.

  CHAPTER THREE

  THE SUN HAD ALREADY set completely, the promised snow had come and accumulated into inches and most everyone was well on their way to blacking out. You know, your typical “eight at night.”

  I had given in to the atmosphere and had a couple drinks. Which for me was enough. I was starting to remember that being drunk and a girl at a party wasn’t half-bad. For one thing, it was much easier to talk to people. I was joking and chatting without overthinking everything, or worrying about what everyone thought of me. I was pretty much only ever this comfortable with Brooke, Aiden and my dad. At one point I took an objective look at the scene I was living out and realized I was sitting with five guys, all of whom, I knew, would be happy to get in my pants.

  It was never going to happen with any of them, but it still felt good.

  At this particular moment, Brooke wasn’t in the room, and I was still holding up okay on my own. We had made our way to the basement, and she was outside with a group of people. How she was managing it I didn’t know, since it was about two degrees out there. Inside, though, was sweltering. I excused myself and went to the bathroom to splash my face with cool water. I looked good, I decided upon seeing my reflection and the makeup I had allowed Brooke to apply. I looked like a normal teenage girl. Right now—maybe it was the vodka, maybe the high of attention—I felt like one of them. Something I didn’t usually feel.

  I hadn’t locked the door, and Alexa burst through crying.

  “Oh, sorry,” she said, and started to back out.

  “No, no, Alexa, come in.” I opened the door and motioned for her to join me.

  She sniffed and came back. “Thanks.”

  I put the lid down on the toilet and shut the door. “What’s going on?”

  Alexa took a shuddering breath, the kind you have only after crying deeply. “It’s so stupid. The guy I’ve been kind of talking to was supposed to come over, but now he’s not, and I hate being so upset about it, but I can’t help it!”

  “And this was...Reed’s friend Sam, right? The guy who had the New Year’s party?” Again, obsessive detail-remembering.

  She nodded. “Uh-huh. I had met him before, and I thought it mattered when he invited me and Brooke—” she looked at me “—and you...you were supposed to come, too.”

  I started to give an excuse for not going, but saw that she didn’t care right now, so I shut my mouth again and listened.

  “Right, well, anyway, I thought it mattered, but then Brooke talked to Reed, and it turned out he invited us, not Sam, even though it was Sam’s party. And I was flirting some with Sam that night, and he seemed into me, and then I left when Brooke wanted to leave, thinking that it was good to play a little hard to get, you know? And we have texted some, and he said he might come tonight, but now he isn’t, and I feel like shit! I even went and got a Brazilian done and everything, because I thought I might...you know.”

  So much for hard to get.

  “Look, Alexa, he’s just some dumb guy. Guys are always talking about you and how pretty you are. I know that doesn’t make you feel better right now since you don’t want them, you want this guy Sam. But you’ll move past it, I promise. And I bet it won’t take that long. You’re going to be fine, and someone else will come along and actually get the fact that you’re awesome. I mean, who is this Sam guy to think he can treat you like any old nothing-girl?”

  I talked to her like I would have talked to Brooke. And apparently it worked. Her expression relaxed, and she said, “Yeah! Really. I am not some dumb bitch.”

  “No, definitely not. And just think, when he looks back on this, after you don’t talk to him anymore, he’ll remember that you left on New Year’s, anyway. So you totally didn’t even seem into him.”

  “Exactly!” She smiled. “Okay. How bad is my makeup?” She stood and looked in the mirror. “Oh, God, I’ve totally ruined it!”

  “No, you’re fine, come here.”

  She turned and looked up to the ceiling, allowing me to touch up the eye makeup with a Q-tip I had found in the medicine cabinet. Again, this was an activity usually reserved for Brooke’s breakdowns.

  “That’s so much better,” she said, looking at her reflection, and then to me. “You want to go get mani-pedis sometime this week? I’ve got about three hundred dollars in credit for Red Door Spa from birthday gift cards.”

  She shook her head like this was actually a problem.

  “Sure, that would be fun.”

  “Okay, do you still have the same number?”

  “Yep, same old one.”

  She exhaled and looked cheerfully at me. “All right, let’s kill these drinks.”

  She held up hers, and I copied. Clearly we were both going to finish our drinks right now. I knew it was stupid. I had already had a lot. But this was the bonding kind of drinking that was hard to say no to without coming off like a complete bore.

  “All right, here’s to not taking shit from asshole guys!” she said.

  “Cheers to that.”

  We chugged, and then she put her cup up in the air. “Whoo! Oh, Natalie, I’m so glad you’re hanging out again. This is going to be awesome. We’ve all missed you.”

  She pulled open the door, and we rejoined the party.

  “Oops, sorry, Eric.” Alexa pushed past Eric Hornby, who was rounding the corner toward us. He was one of the most sought-after guys, the Brad Pitt of our school. It didn’t hurt that he looked like an Abercrombie & Fitch model, and he was as rich as you could get. The guy who everyone had a crush on. It was a given.

  “Sorry,” I said, too, giving him a brief smile and making to move past him.

  “Your drink is empty. I have some in the fridge down here if you want one. It’s better than the crap they’ve got upstairs.” He gave one of his half smiles that made all girls’ legs turn to jelly. I was no particular exception.

  “Oh, sure, what’ve you got?” I would rather hold a full drink than keep being offered more.

  I followed him into the next room, which was unfurnished and held storage boxes and the laundry area. He opened a refrigerator, a normal white one that looked like mine at home, unlike the expensive one upstairs. That one had a screen and Wi-Fi. God knows what for.

  “I’ve got some Goose Island beer. What kind of beer do you like, do you know?”<
br />
  I made a face. “Basically...no beer.”

  He nodded. “Okay, so probably not an IPA, then.”

  “I don’t even know what IPA means.”

  “India Pale Ale. It’s really hoppy.” He leaned down into the fridge.

  “That still means nothing to me.”

  He pulled out a green bottle, which he opened and handed to me. “My uncle owns a brewery and made me learn about all this stuff. It’s pretty interesting, actually. I’m thinking about working for him after I get out of school.”

  “That’s cool. What is this?” I read the label. Stella Artois. A woman my dad used to date drank this.

  “It’s a Stella. Nothing special, but you’ll probably like it more than other ones I’ve got in here. Pretty mild.”

  I took a sip and nodded. “I do like it. It’s better than Miller Lite, or the awful shots Brooke and Alexa keep doing.”

  He grimaced. “Yeah, not much of a shot guy myself.”

  “Yuck.” I leaned against the fridge.

  “Hey...do you remember when we were in English class together in seventh grade, and we read The Outsiders?”

  “I remember that you didn’t read the book, and you called me at five o’clock in the morning the day of our test so I could meet you before school and brief you on the plot. Is that what you mean?”

  He laughed, looking shy. “Yeah. That’s what I mean.”

  “Yes, I remember.” I sipped from the green bottle, needing to do something.

  “I have a confession.” He gave a nervous laugh before looking down at the ground. “I had read the whole book. Twice, actually. It’s one of my favorites.”

  I stared at him. “What?”

  “I had a crush on you, and I wanted to see you.”

  I laughed. “No way.”

  “Yep...I was afraid you thought I was stupid or something, since all I did was play sports, and you were so smart and everything.” He shrugged. “Twelve-year-old-boy logic.”

  I laughed, my heart giving the skip that was unavoidable with a Brad Pitt type. “Well...I guess that explains how you got an A on the test. I knew I didn’t brief you that well.”

  “You remember that?”

  “Yep...”

  His gaze caught mine again, and I laughed once and then looked around, feeling kind of awkward.

  “So shall we...” I gestured at the door that would lead us back to the party.

  “Of course, yeah, sorry.”

  I felt bad dismissing him, so I continued talking to him as we went out into the hall. “So. How’s lacrosse?”

  “Good, looks like we might be pretty strong this year.”

  He might as well have said something more about IPA beers.

  “Cool. Good for you guys.”

  I looked up and saw Brooke, who had just sauntered inside and onto the stairs. She wasn’t alone.

  Oh, no.

  The telltale signs of a drunken Brooke:

  1. She has her sexy, suggestive eyes on full blast.

  2. She’s with someone who isn’t Aiden.

  3. She’s swaying ever so slightly.

  “Hey, Brooke!” I shouted to her. She waved at me without looking and kept talking to Justin, who was wearing an exceptionally douchey flat-brim hat and no shirt. That part, I don’t blame him for. He’d worked hard for that six-pack. Or maybe he hadn’t. I didn’t know.

  I called her name again, but this time she didn’t acknowledge me. Which brings me to:

  4. She is belligerently only interested in what she wants to do, and even I cannot easily pull her out of it.

  “So have you gotten any acceptance letters back yet? I’m sure you got into a bunch of places with your GPA.”

  “Uh—”

  Brooke was grinning at Justin and biting her lip. He took a step closer to her. If I said anything more she would yell at me and keep talking to him somewhere else.

  “I have to go upstairs,” I said to Eric. “I’ll see you in a few.”

  I went up the steps and whispered sharply as I walked by her. “Stop, Brooke.”

  She pretended not to hear me. I went into the kitchen, where a group was letting out a shout. They were playing some game, and clearly Aiden had just gotten eliminated. He pounded his beer, to the cheering of those around him, and then slammed it flat on the counter. He straightened up, smiling, and was intercepted by Bethany. She pointed behind her, toward where I had just come from. He took off his hat, tossed it on the table and strode toward the stairs. I could only hope Brooke hadn’t pushed the limits beyond what I had seen by the time he got to her.

  “Brooke, what the fuck?” Aiden’s voice carried from where we were, down into the stairwell, and the crowd around us froze.

  Everyone in the kitchen was alert now. The music still thudded loudly, the house still vibrated with the normal party sounds, but all of us surveying the scene were silent.

  A moment later, Brooke stomped up the stairs, holding her hands up in a what? motion, and they started fighting. Justin seemed to have jumped ship the second Aiden approached.

  Smart move.

  “You are so fucking controlling!” And there’s the last drunk-Brooke sign:

  5. She has messed up and is now being a bitch about it.

  The scene played out like a soap opera on mute, and I knew the characters well enough to write in the dialogue myself. Brooke crossed her arms and said something to him, probably about how it wasn’t a big deal and she was just messing around. Aiden showed every physical sign of exasperation as he told her, I was sure, that it was not okay. She railed something back at him and pushed him on the shoulders despite the fact that he is a good six or seven inches taller than her, and he reared back his head, clearly angry. She looked challengingly up at him, but he looked away. She said one more thing, and Aiden raised his hands and then walked down the stairs. Even from his back, I could see that he was pissed.

  Brooke’s confident posture melted a little as she put one hand on her hip and one over her mouth. I went over to her.

  “You okay?”

  “No! He’s being such an asshole.” Her last word was muffled by the coming of tears.

  I hesitated. It never goes well when I tell her that Aiden is not actually wrong and that she is, in fact, being a bitch. Her embarrassment gives way to anger every time. I told myself to wait until tomorrow, when she would be sober and an iota more accepting of criticism.

  The other girls from the kitchen, including Bethany, came over to comfort her. Ha, really, Bethany? As if she hadn’t been the one to rat Brooke out! I knew I never liked her.

  We went into a nearby guest bedroom, where Brooke sat sniffling at the end of the bed, surrounded by supporters, and started complaining.

  “Like, I get that I was kind of close to Justin, but it’s not like I was going to do anything! Aiden should know me well enough to know that. You know? I was just messing around!”

  I didn’t even know how she was getting through this with a straight face. She and I both knew damn well that she was flirting with Justin so that he would want her. Which is the only reason anyone flirts, so...was she really claiming that she was just kidding?

  “It’s so rude,” said one of the girls. “Like, you’re your own person, you don’t have to do what he wants you to do. You know what I mean? He’s being so bossy.”

  “Exactly,” chimed in another. “He is seriously domineering.”

  I almost laughed. That was such an inaccurate descriptor for Aiden.

  The first girl continued. “It might even be emotionally abusive.”

  Oh, for God’s sake.

  “Maybe,” said Brooke. “I mean, like, I get it, but he’s so jealous all the time.”

  No wonder she messed up almost nightl
y. She had a chorus of dumb girls telling her she was in the right.

  I was witness to this pity party, hosted by and for Brooke, for another half an hour. She complained, bitching about Aiden, defending Aiden, pretending to be overly sorry for her actions, then suddenly playing the victim again. The girls handled the emotional waves like pro surfers, supporting her sycophantically with every ebb and flow.

  She shook her head violently and then obviously regretted it. “Bethany, can you find me some headache stuff? I have to go out there, anyway—I just remembered I’m on the beer pong list.”

  Bethany scurried off, and the team of ladies-in-waiting dispersed, each giving Brooke a hug as if she had been through a train wreck and made it out alive or something.

  Brooke reported for duty at the beer pong table. She became very busy with everyone else at the party then, and I knew she was trying to save face and look like she didn’t care about the drama that had just happened. I had nothing to contribute to that cause, so I went downstairs to look for my phone. I found it on a bookshelf where I had been talking to people earlier. I texted my dad to tell him everything was fine and that we were staying there for the night. He answered after only a few seconds, telling me to have fun and be careful.

  “Nattie, come here, girl.”

  I clicked off the screen and looked up to see Aiden beckoning me over to him.

  He was sitting with a bunch of people, including Eric. It was a much different scene than the weepy girl-fest that had occurred upstairs. Everyone down here was in perfectly high spirits.

  Aiden, like most of the guys, now had his shirt off. Why Brooke felt the need to get attention from anyone in the world besides Aiden, I could not imagine. How does a relationship get stale when you’re dating that?