Liam was aware, for once, that there was a party going on that night. It was at Joshua Willis’s house, and (since Joshua was the head senior stoner) it was going to be near the upper end of the wildness gradient.
The only reason he knew was because he lived a block away. Gossip reached Liam slowly; usually by the time he heard about parties, they were over. But on that night, in the quiet darkness of his bedroom, he was close enough to hear the screams and laughter.
Staring at the invisible ceiling, he wondered what it was like at these parties. He wondered what it was like to get drunk and not care.
That night, not for the first time, he yearned to be a part of it.
Normally, Liam was quite content to be a misfit. He did not particularly care that he sat in the outer ring of the cafeteria during lunch. He was not concerned with what people said about him. A lot of bullying was indirect and a lot of bullies didn’t know they were bullies, and maybe some of them didn’t even mean to be—he could see this quite clearly, and it no longer bothered him. He knew who he was.
There was a certain freedom in being on the outside. He watched instead of being watched. After Liz had shredded his reputation during freshman year, Liam surrendered to things he had earlier resisted for the sake of appearance. He read Thoreau in public, stopped spending money on uncomfortable clothes, took down his posters of bikini-clad models and covered his walls with song lyrics and quotes. He embraced his weirdness, and it was nice.
But sometimes—tonight—he wanted more.
The noise kept him awake until about two in the morning, when someone finally called the police and the party dispersed, and in the silence left behind, Liam heard someone puking.
He tried to ignore it, but—God, those were some awful retching noises. He sighed and got out of bed and pulled his curtains aside to see a figure walking unsteadily through the park, which was really more of an overgrown field with a tetanus-ridden playground, by his house. Dammit. He had to be a good person now, didn’t he? He put on a jacket and went out to investigate.
He found Liz Emerson lying on the wood chips, shivering.
Liam just stared at her for a moment, wondering what the hell he had done to deserve this, a very drunk girl whom he’d had a crush on since fifth grade, half asleep and all alone beside his house.
Almost alone, he thought, and crouched down beside her.
Liz Emerson was generally a pretty person, but with her eyes bloodshot and dribbles of vomit still hanging on her chin, she was decidedly not tonight. She was not pretty, but there was something beautiful about her all the same.
“Damn it,” he said under his breath. “Damn it all. Liz?”
“Jake?” she asked groggily, and tried to kiss him.
Liam had spent many hours devoted to fantasies of kissing Liz Emerson, but in none of them had she smelled of puke and alcohol, and in none of them had she believed that he was Jake Derrick, so he declined. He propped her upright and held her by the shoulders when it became evident that she could not sit on her own.
“Liz,” he said. “Did you drive?”
“No, silly,” she mumbled. “Julia.”
“Damn it,” Liam muttered, looking closer at her eyes. “You’re not high too, are you? God. You are.”
Liz laughed muddily and tried to get to her feet. “Julia went home ’cause she’s too goody and stuff, an’ I told her Kennie’d take me home . . . but Kennie and Kyle are swallowing each other . . . so I’ll walk . . . s’all right . . .”
“Right,” said Liam, and pulled her up. “Okay. I’m going to drive you home.”
She made no reply, only leaned into his shoulder and passed out.
“Damn it,” Liam said again.
He walked a few steps like that, dragging Liz behind him, and then he gave in and picked her up. I am holding Liz Emerson, Liam thought, and then he thought it again because he couldn’t quite believe it. Liz Emerson is in my arms.
She was warm, and smaller than he’d thought she’d be.
He put her in the front seat of his beat-up LeBaron and briefly considered going inside to tell his mom about his late-night trip across town, but decided against it. She wouldn’t wake up, and he didn’t know how to explain, anyway.
“You . . . kidnapping me?” Liz mumbled as Liam backed out of his driveway.
“Depends,” he replied. “Are you going to puke in my car?”
She did.
“Damn it.”
They drove the rest of the way in silence. Liam knew where Liz lived—everyone knew where Liz lived. This, however, was the first time he had ever seen her house up close, and he didn’t know why the idea of going inside made him so uncomfortable.
He cleared his throat and said, “Liz, do you have your keys?”