Lys pretends to vomit. “What did I say?” she says. “He is totally obsessed with you.”
“I still can’t get over the fact that I got Gavin Davis. How the hell did that happen?”
Nat frowns. “The real question is, how was he so lucky to get you?”
*
PETER’S HOUSE IS in the country, about fifteen minutes outside of town, a sprawling ranch-style home on a couple of acres of land. When we get there all the lights are on in the house and the music is just short of blaring.
“If my parents find out I’m here, they’ll kill me,” I say.
“What they don’t know won’t hurt them,” Lys says, adjusting the pink wig she’s wearing. “How do I look?”
“Fabulous,” I say. “Me?”
I’m wearing 1950s capri pants, ballet flats, and a 1940s blouse.
“Very Audrey Hepburn,” Nat says.
Lys leans forward. “I’d just like to point out that Nat’s wearing her sexiest dress.”
It’s still conservative—J. Crew, neat and tidy—but it hugs her Cuban hips and booty.
“That has Kyle written all over it,” I say.
Nat turns pink. “It’s not too short?”
I pat her on the arm. “It’s just short enough.”
There are maybe fifty people here and I know most of them—fellow drama geeks, choir kids, and random friends from school. For just a minute I stand in the doorway, basking in the glow of being a normal teenager. For once I’m not spending Saturday night babysitting Sam or doing chores.
“Hey, you guys made it!” Kyle says when he catches sight of us. He’s wearing a top hat and his bow tie, signature Kyle party wear. “Drinks are in the kitchen.” He turns to Nat. “Can we…”
“You two go make out. We’ll see you later.” Lys grabs my hand and pulls me away, both of us giggling at the shocked look on Nat’s face.
The kitchen counter is covered with bottles of liquor and a nearby cooler is filled with beer. I grab a Coke while Lys mixes herself what looks like a particularly stiff drink involving tequila and Sprite.
We head into the living room, where an impromptu dance-off has started, drama geeks against choir nerds.
Peter catches sight of us and waves us over. “These little choir fuckers are kicking our asses. I hope you guys have some moves up your sleeves.”
Lys hands me her cup as Beyoncé’s “Single Ladies” starts playing. “I’m on it.”
I squeeze onto the couch, half sitting on Peter’s lap as Lys struts onto the floor and proceeds to kill it. I had no idea she had the whole dance memorized. I’m laughing so hard I’m crying. She steps back to let the choir girl who’s challenging her go for it, but Peter just shakes his head.
“No contest,” he shouts. “This one’s ours.” Peter holds up his phone. “Selfie time!” He and I press our cheeks together and smile. “Posting this shit right now. Caption? Hot Motherfuckers.”
I laugh. “Nice.”
Lys comes over to us, doing the running man. “Don’t hate me cuz I’m awesome,” she says, sweat dripping down the sides of her face.
I laugh, handing back her drink. “That was hella hot.”
She grabs it and takes a big swig. “Your turn.”
I set down my drink and pretend to do some serious stretching. “Baby Got Back” comes on and I throw myself onto the dance floor. Peter comes with me and we bust out our best moves—something between disco and hip-hop. We look like total idiots, shaking our asses, trying to go as low as we can to the floor without falling over. Peter pretends to spank me and I look scandalized. Just as we go to sit back down, I see you. You’re standing in the ring of people that had been watching the dance-off, staring at me.
“Gavin!”
I run to you but when I throw my arms around you, you don’t hug me back. I don’t notice, not right away, because I’m still buzzing from dancing and a night away from The Giant.
“I had no idea you were back in town!” I murmur against your cheek. “Why didn’t you call me?”
I pull back, grabbing hold of one of your hands. Did I ever tell you how much I used to love your hands? Strong, thin guitar-playing fingers that fold over mine, that twirl locks of my hair, that caress me in all kinds of goose-bump-inducing ways. I didn’t know then that those hands would hurt me. I was so used to you touching me like I was made of glass—so careful, so gentle.
“I thought you were spending the night at Lys’s,” you say. Now I can hear the accusation in your voice, but I still don’t know why you’re so upset.
“I was. But then Kyle told Nat that Peter was having a party. What’s wrong?”
“What’s wrong?” you growl.
I’ve never seen you pissed off before. It throws me, this other Gavin, his mouth an angry slash, eyes cold. This Gavin who looks at me, furious.
“Gav, I—”
You grab my hand and pull me away, upstairs. You, Kyle, and Peter practically live at one another’s houses—you’re as comfortable here as if it were your own. You go into what must be Peter’s parents’ room and shut the door. A small bedside lamp is on beside a king bed. The room is decorated with country kitsch—wooden hearts and little plaques with Bible verses on them. A stenciled quote covers the wall above the bed—I wish I’d paid more attention to it:
Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails.
“What the fuck, Grace?” you say.
I am so confused.
“What? Why are you so pissed off?”
“I saw you—sitting on his lap, fucking dancing with him like you’re about to have sex.”
“Wait, this is about Peter?”
If you weren’t so upset it’d be funny. Peter, who’s basically been like a brother to me ever since I met him. Peter, whose wardrobe consists of free promotional T-shirts. Peter, who has serious acne problems and talks with his mouth full. And you, Gavin Davis, are jealous of him?
“Yes,” you explode. “It’s about Peter. About the fact that my fucking girlfriend is going behind my back—”
“Whoa, Gav.” I take a step closer to you, put my hands on your shoulders. “Peter is just a friend. And I wasn’t going behind your back. I had no idea you were in town. Plus, I didn’t know about this party until, like, a few hours ago.”
You shrug me off, then cross to the other side of the room, hands on your hips, eyes on the floor.
“I don’t know if I can do this, Grace.”
The words cut deep. You have no way of knowing this, but that’s exactly what my father said to my mom before he walked out the door for good.
It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails.
“Gavin.” My voice breaks. In just a few weeks, you’ve become my center. The thought of having to face The Giant and my mom without you there to sing me to sleep at night or kiss the tears away threatens to gut me. “I’m … I’m so crazy in love with you. This … it’s nothing. Nothing.”