Then Natalie leaned toward him, and he leaned toward her, and they kissed.
Dec. 31, 2013, almost midnight
Noel was standing on the arm of the couch with his hands out to Mags.
Mags was walking past him, shaking her head.
“Come on!” he shouted over the music.
She shook her head and rolled her eyes.
“It’s our last chance to dance together!” he said. “It’s our senior year!”
“We have months left to dance,” Mags said, stopping at the food table to get a mini quiche.
Noel walked down the couch, stepped onto the coffee table, then stretched one long leg out as far as he could to make it onto the love seat next to Mags.
“They’re playing our song,” he said.
“They’re playing ‘Baby Got Back,’” Mags said.
Noel grinned.
“Just for that,” she said, “I’m never dancing with you.”
“You never dance with me anyway,” he said.
“I do everything else with you,” Mags whined. It was true. She studied with Noel. She ate lunch with Noel. She picked Noel up on the way to school. “I even go with you to get a haircut.”
He touched the back of his hair. It was brown and thick, and fell in loose curls down to his collar. “Mags, when you don’t go, they cut it too short.”
“I’m not complaining,” she said. “I’m just sitting this round out.”
“What’re you eating?” he asked.
Mags looked down at the tray. “Some kind of quiche, I think.”
“Can I eat it?”
She popped another one in her mouth and mushed it around. It didn’t taste like tree nuts or strawberries or kiwi fruit or shellfish. “I think so,” she said. She held up a quiche, and Noel leaned over and ate it out of her fingers. Standing on the love seat, he was seven-and-a-half feet tall. He was wearing a ridiculous white suit. Three pieces. Where did somebody even find a three-piece white suit?
“S’good,” he said. “Thanks.” He reached for Mags’s Coke, and she let him have it—then he jerked it away from his mouth and cocked his head. “Margaret. They’re playing our song.”
Mags listened. “Is this that Ke$ha song?”
“Dance with me. It’s our anniversary.”
“I don’t like dancing with a bunch of people.”
“But that’s the best way to dance! Dancing is a communal experience!”
“For you,” Mags said, pushing his thigh. He wavered, but didn’t fall. “We’re not the same person.”
“I know,” Noel said with a sigh. “You can eat tree nuts. Eat one of those brownies for me—let me watch.”
Mags looked at the buffet and pointed to a plate of pecan brownies. “These?”
“Yeah,” Noel said.
She picked up a brownie and took a bite. Crumbs fell on her flowered dress, and she brushed them off.
“Is it good?” he asked.
“Really good,” she said. “Really dense. Moist.” She took another bite.
“So unfair,” Noel said, holding on to the back of the love seat and leaning farther over. “Let me see.”
Mags opened her mouth and stuck out her tongue.
“Unfair,” he said. “That looks delicious.”
She closed her mouth and nodded.
“Finish your delicious brownie and dance with me,” he said.
“The whole world is dancing with you,” Mags said. “Leave me alone.”
She grabbed another quiche and another brownie, then put Noel behind her.
There weren’t that many places to sit in Alicia’s basement; that’s why Mags usually ended up on the floor. (And maybe why Noel usually ended up on the coffee table.) Pony had claimed the beanbag by the bar in the corner, and Simini was sitting on his lap. Simini smiled at Mags, and Mags smiled back and waved.
There wasn’t any booze in the bar. Alicia’s parents put it away whenever she had a party. All the barstools were taken, so Mags got a hand from somebody and sat up on the bar itself.
She watched Noel dance. (With Natalie. And then with Alicia and Connor. And then by himself, with his arms over his head.) She watched everybody dance.
They had all their parties in this basement. After football games and after dances. Two years ago, Mags hadn’t really known anybody in this room, except for Alicia. Now everybody here was either a best friend, or a friend, or someone she knew well enough to stay away from …
Or Noel.