I lean over to whisper to Olivia about it, but then there’s a nudge on the toe of my flat.
“Hey,” Will says. “You never wrote back to my text.”
“Oh. I didn’t . . .”
He laughs. “I’m just kidding. It’s fine.”
“I didn’t know it was you,” I say.
Cassie snickers, and I realize she and Mina are both listening.
“Well. Now you know.” His blue eyes meet mine, and I feel myself blush.
I clear my throat. “Is there any more schnapps?”
As it turns out, Will’s man-purse is full of fifty million miniature bottles of booze. No more schnapps, but he dumps an entire tiny bottle of rum into my Coke.
“Um, okay, that’s . . .”
Cassie leans over to steal a sip. “Wow, that’s strong.”
To be honest, I don’t have much to compare it to—I don’t think I’ve ever had more than a sip of anything. I’m not supposed to, with my pills. But I just need something tonight. I need to not feel like myself for a minute.
I’m wavy hair Molly. Cardigan-less Molly. Rum and Coke Molly.
“I think the street is tilting,” says Cassie. “Do you guys see that?”
“Oh,” Mina says, “you are not sober.”
“Nope.” She nudges her head into the crook of Mina’s shoulder.
My head’s a little fuzzy, and my chest is warm, but it’s a cozy feeling. I like it. And when I look up, I see that Will is watching us and smiling. Oh my God. I could sit for five million hours and analyze the angles of his smile.
“Are all of you drunk?” he asks.
“Maybe,” I say. But out of the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of Olivia, who suddenly looks like a kid dragged to a cocktail party. She’s shuffling her feet on the edge of the bench and fidgeting with her napkin.
I turn toward her to say something, but Cassie flings an arm around me. “Drunk Molly. I never thought I’d see the day.”
“I like Drunk Molly. She’s cool,” Will says.
“I know, right?” says Mina.
“Need a refill?” Will asks.
And Cassie gives me this look like she wants to mention the Zoloft.
I ignore her.
“Yeah, okay,” I say, and Will tilts his head and smiles down at me. He has a really bright smile. And I kind of like the way he’s looking at me. I can’t believe this messy-haired hipster boy in skinny jeans is looking at me like that. I feel this little surge of adrenaline or attraction or alcohol or something. It makes me nervous.
“Why are you making zombie faces?” he asks.
“What?”
“Just relax!”
“Zombies are relaxed.”
He laughs. “You are so freaking funny.”
I feel like this conversation is spinning too quickly, but maybe that’s a good thing, and when I look up at Will again, his smile is smaller but better. More intimate. And I’m blushing so hard, I think my face is burning off.
So, maybe Cassie was right about the cardigans, and maybe this is how it happens. Maybe this is actually happening. But I don’t see how it could be. Because Will is so cute and so cool, and I’m just me. And I’m way out of my depth. It’s like trying on a dress that doesn’t quite fit.
“I’m telling you. It’s on,” Cassie whispers. Except it’s not really a whisper. Because, oh my God. Drunk Cassie. Is so fucking loud. I’m 100 percent positive Will can hear her, and Max can hear her, and all of 18th Street can hear her and probably people in Antarctica can hear her. If there even are people in Antarctica. Are there people in Antarctica? Maybe a small settlement of explorers. I feel like Reid would know this. I have no idea why I think that. And I don’t know why I’m even thinking about Reid. Especially when I’m sitting in the glow of Will Haley’s tiny sunbeam smile.
“I like him so much,” Cassie adds, not so quietly. “He’s your best crush yet. I approve. Team Will.”
“Cass. Stop.” I cut my eyes toward her. I feel so self-conscious. I feel like I’m naked on a giant circular stage with an audience extending out to infinity in all directions. It’s a little unbearable. More than a little. “Yeah, I think I’m gonna go,” I say.
“What? No!” Cassie says. “Don’t leave. I’m not ready.”
“You can stay. It’s fine.”
“And you’re just going to Metro home by yourself?” Cassie asks. “Molly, you’re drunk.”
“So are you.”
She stares me down.
“I’ll go with her,” Olivia says, after a moment.
Cassie narrows her eyes at both of us, but I know she’s not going to argue. She wants to stay too badly. “You better text me when you get home,” she says, squeezing my hand.
“Sure,” I say, trying not to laugh. Because the protective sister thing is cute, but I’m pretty sure Cassie’s not going to be sitting here waiting for my text. It’s probably hard to check your phone when you’re suctioned onto Mina’s face.
“We’ll leave soon, okay?” she says. “I’ll see you at home.”
Another thing I’m not sure I believe.
The farther we walk from Adams Morgan, the more Olivia relaxes. “Sorry. I’m just feeling kind of off tonight,” she says as we approach the bridge. “I think I just need to get home and into pajamas, so I can Netflix and chill with Titania.”
Titania. The dog.
I press a hand to my mouth. “Olivia, you cannot Netflix and chill with Titania. That does not mean what you think it means.”
“Wait, I’m confused,” she says.
“I think you Netflix and chill with Evan,” I say, letting my eyebrows explain the rest.
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
“I mean, I just want to watch Netflix.” She looks slightly traumatized.
“I know. Oh God. Me too.”
And it’s true. Even hearing the word Netflix has a way of centering me. Netflix means not having to suck in your stomach or think of anything smart or adorable to say. It means a whole night of not wondering what people think about you. No alcohol, and no flirtation, and no confusion, and every organ calm and settled.
Perfect.
Exactly what I want.
Except there’s this tiny, perverse part of me that wants to run back down 18th Street to hear Will Haley say I’m so freaking funny. Even though that’s the quickest way to unsettle my organs. And it’s the literal opposite of Netflix. But that’s me. I always want opposite things.
“Um, Molly?” says Olivia. “You’re sort of zigzagging.”
“Oh! Oops.”
“You sure you’re okay?”
“I’m totally okay.”
“Okay . . .” She bites her lip. “Hey, do you mind if I call Evan really quickly? I want to catch him before he goes to bed.”
Here are the facts about Evan Schulmeister: he falls asleep at ten thirty, with earplugs and a retainer, and wakes up at five to run three miles. Every day.
“Totally, totally fine,” I say. I think I’m saying totally a lot. I’m totally saying totally a lot. This must be a special feature of Drunk Molly. Just like regular Molly, but with 150 percent more totallys.