Page 74 of The Way I Used to Be
There’s a buzz, a vibration in the air, as Mara and I, and Cameron and Steve, drive to this party at the dorm of a friend of a friend of a roommate of a friend who knows Steve’s cousin. Which is almost like being invited. And that’s good enough, because everyone has been trapped in small, confined spaces with their families for more than two days and is about to spontaneously combust. Or maybe that’s just me. We hold a one-two-three-not-it contest in the car to see who will be our designated driver. Cameron was the slowest; thus he must remain sober.
“I don’t care, I just want to be with Mara,” he announces. “I don’t have to get wasted to have a good time.”
Steve opens the damn car door for me. I ignore him.
“That’s nice, Cameron. I, however, do have to be wasted to have a good time, so can we just get in there already?” I start walking ahead, toward the music. Steve laughs. It wasn’t a joke, I almost tell him. In fact, I couldn’t fucking be more serious. Not only do I need to be wasted to have a good time, I need to be wasted to even be conscious right now, knowing I still have the whole weekend ahead of me before Caelin leaves, and Kevin along with him. I feel like I need to go shoot heroin or something. If only I knew where to get some, I just might.
Mara catches up with me. “All right. So, are you interested or not?”
“In him?” I nod my head back at Steve. “No, of course not.”
“Come on, Edy, why not?” she asks, looping her arm in mine so our elbows are locked.
“Because he’s so...” I glance behind us, and he waves an arm in the air at me. “He’s so—”
“What, so nice? He’s too nice for you, too smart, too adorably cute and sweet?”
I kick a loose chunk of pavement down the pathway in front of us. “Just don’t expect me to sleep with him, all right?”
“I don’t!” she shouts, rushing ahead a few steps to kick the rock before I can, jerking my arm, making me stumble forward.
“Yeah, well, he does!” I take a big step and give it one last good kick, launching it into a row of hedges lining the sidewalk and putting an end to our little diversion.
“He does not—” She stops, then whispering, pulling herself closer to me, says, “Expect you to sleep with him.”
“He expects something, I can tell.” I look back at him and Cameron again; they’re laughing, shoving each other’s arms as they catch up with us.
“You’re hopeless, you really are,” she says with a laugh. “He’s a nice, decent guy who’s interested in you. Can’t you just let it happen?”
Four and a half red plastic cups later, I’m standing in a crowded, alcohol-drenched, bass-filled hallway with Steve asking me inane questions about myself.
“So, have you decided where you’re going to school next year?” he shouts above all the other noise.
I’m not going to school next year, but it’s not worth saying. So I just take another sip and let Steve keep talking.
“Have you thought about going here?” he asks me. “I know it’s a state school and all, but it’s close to home—so that’s good, right?”
“Uh-huh.” I take another big gulp; it burns on the way down. Caelin could’ve gone here, stayed home. But he was too good for state school. He could’ve had a free ride—full scholarship and everything. I’ll never have anything like that, never know what that must feel like, but it wasn’t enough for him. He had to leave. Leave me here to rot. Leave me to take on Vanessa and Conner all by myself. Asshole.
“I’m stuck between...,” Steve begins. But I have no idea what he’s saying because two guys are running shirtless through the hall screaming at the top of their lungs, and he doesn’t even seem to notice. “So... basically...” I catch bits and pieces. “They have this amazing liberal arts program, but it’s just so expensive, so I don’t know. It’s not like my grades are that wonderful that I could get scholarships.”
I nod along, pretend I’m listening.
“So, do you like photography?” he shouts.
“Huh?”
“I said do you like photography?” he repeats even louder. I had actually heard him the first time, I just couldn’t figure out where that came from. Maybe it was part of what I missed before. I remember he did photography for the yearbook freshman year.
“Uh, yeah. Sure.”
“You should come by my house this weekend. I’ll show you my darkroom.”
I laugh. That’s a new one. He gets at least a couple of points for creativity.
“What’s funny?” he asks, his mouth in a confused smile.
“Nothing, it’s just—your darkroom—what is that supposed to mean?”
