Page 81 of Nobody in Particular

“Santi?”

“Yeah, she’s talking to him.”

“When was this?”

“Like, five minutes ago.” Then I think a bit harder. “Or maybe half an hour ago.”

“Give or take, huh?”

I grin. “I don’t usually drink. But I’m really glad I came.”

“I’m glad you came, too.”

God, I feel so warm and fuzzy. All the sadness and bitterness is gone. I have friends here. People I can rely on. I can hang out at a party without anyone else without feeling weird, or even being alone too long. Peoplelikeme, and I like them. I wish I could go back in time to months and months ago and tell past-Danni that she didn’t have to worry about coming to Henland at all, because there are good people everywhere.

I’m so fuckinghappy.

“Everyone here is so awesome,” I say, and I lean against the brick wall and let my head fall back against it. “Eleanor’s awesome, and Rose and Molly, andyou’reawesome. You’re really, really nice. I’m so lucky.”

“You’rethe awesome one.”

“No, you are. You’resuperawe—”

I swear, I don’t notice. I don’t notice her leaning in until she’s right in front of me, because the world’s sort of swimming, and my eyes aren’t really focused, and suddenly she’sthere,and she is kissing me.

And it all happens at the exact same moment. She kisses me, and her hand is on my jaw, and she’s pressing me against the wall. She kisses me, and a group of guys come around the side of the house, and all I’m aware of is her lips on mine and the sound of their banter. She kisses me, and I pull away, the very second I catch on to exactly what’s happening.

“Harriet,” I whisper, and she knows right away, and she’shorrified.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I thought… I thought you…”

The guys, laughing, stop in their tracks and make a big deal of backing away from us. I don’t even get a good look at who they are, because I’m still trying to process the fact that Harriet just kissed me.

Wait, did I just cheat on Rose? Does that count?

“No,” I say. “I like you a lot, but not like that.”

“You do like girls, though, right?” she asks. “Youdo. Just not me.”

This cannot be happening. It doesn’t make any sense, and I think I’m going to throw up. Everything blurs and then morphs backtogether, and I press my palms against the wall to steady myself. Did I get drunker?

“Shit, I’m so sorry, honestly,” Harriet says, and I can tell she means it. “I assumed, and I—shit, I shouldn’t have assumed. I’m drunk, and I think I thought you were saying one thing, and you weren’t, and, please, I’m really sorry.”

“I need to be alone now,” I say, and Harriet nods.

“Do you need me to get someone? Do you need anything?”

“No. I just need space, please.”

So, she leaves me. I take several deep breaths until I feel calm and focused. And that’s when the anger and bitterness pours in, like I’m a lifeboat with a puncture in the middle. Fuck this. Fuck all of this. Fuck people thinking I’m queer, and fuck the fact that I can’t even tell them I am, and fuck the fact that I can’t even be by my own girlfriend’s fucking side when all I want is to be with her. Fuck everyone’s staring eyes, and their little theories, and their incessant obsession with our lives because their own lives are too fucking empty to satisfy them unless they’re fucking up mine. Especially fuck Harriet for kissing me without any warning.

And, unfair as it is, fuck Rose for being twenty feet away from me when I need her. Ineedher. Fuck her for not magically knowing that.

I stalk through the garden and slam the back door, Eleanor’s vodka tucked under my arm. I don’t know where Eleanor is, or Rose, or Molly, and I don’t give a damn. Upstairs, I find an empty room—a bedroom, with a pristine king-sized bed and a bookshelf full of classical novels that look like they’ve never been opened. I kick my shoes off, climb onto the bed, and pour vodka straight into my mouth. It’s basically like a shot. It reminds me of Rachel pouring her bottle in our punch that night at the winter dance. Wait, Rachel.RachelI want to talk to.

I text her, and she doesn’t reply. Then I look it up and realize it’s the middle of the school day in Boulder. Of course it is. Fuck everything, including time zones. I’ll make myself feel better. I already know drinking enough can make me forget things, because I can’t remember the entire second half of the tenth-grade winter dance. So, my goal is to forget I ever spoke to Harriet tonight.

How many shots could that take?

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