“You’re too busy looking out for Callie and other people’s feelings is all,” Dave says. “Which is why it’s our job to keep tabs on this kind of stuff.” And once again I feel like a terrible human because I don’t know how to let this sweet boy, who says all kinds of sweet things, into my life.
And instead of saying that out loud, I just give in. “Well. I guess we’d better get ready?”
SEVEN
MIMI WASN’T KIDDING—I’m pretty sure everyone I’ve ever met in my life so far, plus about two dozen strangers, is currently inside my house. Callie’s in the greenhouse, and Dave, Mimi, Mimi’s brother Mark, and I are going to check on her in shifts. I set alarms on everyone’s phones, because I’m basically the world’s best and most reliable big sister. Mimi’s with her right now, which is why I’m out here in the living room, relaxing and having fun, because everybody knows I am the queen of going easy on myself.
And then I spot a major party foul: This boy I don’t know is in the corner of the dining room, singing a cappella to some girls I do know, and this move just won’t fly.
“Dave!” I call out, to no response. “DAVE!” I call again, still seemingly in vain. “Will someone please get my man? There’s a party foul that needs attention!”
That got his attention—though whether it was me calling him “my man” or saying “party foul” I can’t be sure—because here he is now. “Dave! And you’re wearing a . . . football helmet?” Where did he find a football helmet?
“Babe,” he says to me.
“Man,” I say to him, and I grab the face cage and pull it down, and I kiss the top of his helmet like they do in shows about football on TV. He grins at me, and I point to the sans-instrument-crooning offender in the corner.
“Mother of God,” Dave says. “I had no idea it was this bad. Wait here.”
“Dude,” Dave calls to the boy as he makes his way toward the dining room. But the boy keeps on going, like he maybe thought Dave was talking to someone else, but then Dave just stops and stands there right in between him and the girls.
“What?” says the boy, pausing his song because he finally gets it now, though still not completely, because it’s clear by what we’ll call the tone of his voice that he’s pretty sure that this interruption is super unwarranted as regards his performance.
“Dude. Buddy. There is no a cappella serenading at this party unless it’s a joke or you’re asking your girlfriend to dance. And maybe not even then. It’s just the policy. And anyway, Lorna says you should leave.” He points to me, and I point to the boy, and I do the thumbs-down.
“What? Who’s Lorna?” the boy says, still incredulous.
“This is Lorna’s party, you jerk! Ugh!” says one of the girls he was singing to, and then another one steps forward and dumps her drink on his head.
“Oof,” says Dave. “Buddy, you should maybe consider going home and changing into some dry clothes and maybe thinking about your life and the choices you made that led you here.”
“Here?” the boy says.
“Here,” says Dave. “Where you got a drink dumped all over you. And where you are now leaving. Come on, let’s go.” Then Dave moves to pick up the boy and sling him over his shoulder.
“Hey, man, there’s no need for all that,” says the boy, trying to dodge Dave and flinging his eyes around the room in what I recognize as embarrassment.
“Yes,” says Dave. “Yes, there is.” But before he can reach again to hoist him over his shoulder, the boy is gone, out the door and into the night. The only music in the house now is coming from my parents’ fancy speakers, and I sigh in what is actually sweet relief.
I chance a look at the rest of the party.
Two of my high school’s most famous couples are sitting on the staircase. Both couples are arguing pretty intensely, but I can tell that only one of the pairs, Gordie and Eve, will be broken up before the party’s over.