After she’s gone, I wait for Millie to say something about how horrible Hannah is, but she keeps whatever thoughts she might have to herself.
The three of us stay there for a while longer. Millie tells us how she used the piggy bank she’s had since first grade to order a dress from Cindy’s.
“I had sleeves added, but at the last minute, decided to have them made with organza instead of satin so it’s almost see-through. I’m kind of nervous about how it’ll turn out.”
“I’m sure you’ll look amazing,” I tell her.
She smiles and nods. It’s dark, so I can’t know for sure, but her eyes look watery. I want to wake her parents up and tell them that their daughter is competing in a beauty pageant, and that she’s going to win. At least she would if it was up to me.
FIFTY-ONE
I take the couch for the night to give myself some quiet. I slip in and out of sleep the way you do when you’re sleeping in a house that isn’t your own. Except at El’s. I could always sleep.
Maybe it’s thirty minutes or two hours, I don’t know, but the house creaks as someone walks down the hallway. I turn over so that I can catch a glimpse of whoever it is. Slipping through a sliver of moonlight, Hannah makes her way to the kitchen. Without thinking about it, I pull back my blankets and follow her.
She stands in front of the fridge, the white light turning her into a silhouette.
I flip the overhead light on.
She jumps a little and turns around, but the tension in her shoulders eases when she sees it’s me. “I’m looking for a bottle of water.”
“Then what’s up with the beer?” I ask, pointing to the can of Miller in her fist.
“Found them in the garage fridge. Thought I’d see if there were any more in here.” She opens the fridge door wide to show me nothing but bottled water and Diet Dr Pepper. “No one’s going to miss these, though.” She points to several cans on the counter. “You want one?”
“Yeah,” I say, surprising myself. I bet Millie’s mom isn’t too thrilled by the idea of beer in the house, so technically we’re doing Mr. and Mrs. Michalchuk a favor. “Sure.”
We sit in the dark on the couch, sipping our beers. The moon shines against the windowpane, casting a shadow on the carpet.
“So what’s up with that guy who dropped you off tonight?” asks Hannah.
“What guy?”
“I’m trying to be nice, okay?” It’s true. In the dark, she seems like a less hostile version of herself. Like, maybe, she’s most comfortable when no one can see her. “I heard Amanda and Millie blabbering about him when they came to bed. Peachbutt, huh?”
“Bo.” If she’s willing to put the claws away, I can give her a few ounces of truth, I guess. “Bo Larson. We work together. We’re, uh, friends.”
“Ah.” She takes a long slurp from her beer. “Bathroom Boy. I remember now. He’s in my study hall. Dude’s like an eight. A solid eight. I don’t even like guys and I like looking at him.”
I search for her in the darkness. Did Hannah just come out to me? I don’t know what to say or do, but I do know that I don’t really care whether Hannah likes boys or girls. So I decide not to say anything. “Yeah, he’s a little too delicious.” And a ten, I think. Definitely a ten.
“Friends, huh? Didn’t look like friends when I saw you two.” I can hear her smiling. “In the girls’ bathroom no less.”
I shrug. Which is dumb because she can’t see me. “Friends who sometimes make out.”
She whistles.
My cheek and chest burn. I hope it’s the beer.
She pops the tab on a second beer. “How’d that happen?”
“It’s been on and off, I guess. I don’t know. It’s starting to become more and he wants to be something official. And it’s so stupid because, yes, obviously that is everything I want but . . .”
“But guys like Bo don’t date girls like us.” The way she says it. It’s not mean. Or rude. It’s true.