Page 17 of Better Than the Movies
I looked over at his smirking face. “You are seriously disgusting.”
“You’re the one who likes that seriously disgusting song.”
If my mom had been right about the whole your-eyes-are-going-to-stay-that-way rule, spending time with Wes was going to leave me visually impaired for the rest of my life.
“You’re not going to knock?”
Wes stopped with his hand on the front doorknob and looked at me like I was from another planet. “Why would I?”
“Because it isn’t your house?”
“But it’s Ryan’s; I’ve been here a hundred times.” He pushed open the front door. “And we’re going to a party in the basement, not a wine tasting in the formal dining room. The butler doesn’t need to announce our arrivalthistime.”
“I know that, you jag.”
He grinned and gestured for me to go ahead of him.
I stepped inside the fancy foyer, with marble on the floor and a glass chandelier overhead, and it was quiet. Too quiet. My stomach was full of butterflies, and I kind of wanted to go home, despite knowing that Michael was likely already here.
“Relax, Libby.”
Wes was looking at me as if he knew how nervous I was, and the tone of his voice told me he was actually trying to make me feel better. That seemed like a stretch, though, when he was probably just thinking how hilarious it was that I was such a nerdy mouse.
“No one calls me ‘Libby.’?” My mom had, but since she wasn’t there anymore, I couldn’t count her, right?
“Aw—then I have a perfect pet name for you already.”
“No. I hate it.” I hadn’t always, but I did now.
“Oh, you do not.” He nudged my arm with his elbow. “And you can call me ‘Wessy’ if you want.”
I couldn’tnotlaugh at that; he was so ridiculous. “I will not want to do that, like, ever.”
He walked over to a door and opened it, and noises came up from the bottom of the stairs. “Ready to party?”
Not at all.“Hey—don’t ditch me until I find Michael, okay?”
“Call me ‘Wessy,’ and I totally won’t.”
I snorted. “Fine. If you ditch me,Wessy, I will stab you with the keg tap.”
“My little Libby is such a savage.”
“Where is he?”
Wes gave me a look as we stood near the keg. “We’ve only been here ten minutes—chill. He’s here somewhere.”
I held the red SOLO cup between my hands and looked around. “Up All Night” by Mac Miller would be the perfect choice if a camera were to pan out and capture the energy of the party. Because there were alotof people in that unfinished basement, yelling and laughing and guzzling warmish beer. A small group sat around a table in the corner playing Presidents and Assholes, which appeared to be a game involving cards, drinking, and sporadically yelling, “Ooh-wee baby!”
But I didn’t care about any of that. I only wanted to see Michael. I wanted my reunited-and-it-feels-so-good moment with him, our childhood-coming-full-circle moment, and everything else was just background noise.
“Maybe you should relax and try having fun.” Wes pulled his phone out of his front pocket, checked messages, then put it back. “You do know how to do that, don’t you?”
“Of course,” I said, taking a sip of the beer and trying not to look like I found it as disgusting as I actually did. But I really had no idea how to have fun at a party like that; he was right.
Wes fit in, though.
Since the minute we’d walked downstairs, his name had been shouted no less than ten times. Our entire high school class seemed to adore my annoying neighbor. Weird, right? What was even weirder was that so far, he hadn’t turned into the dude-bro I imagined him to be in a party situation.
