“You wanna go to a party?” Alex says Friday afternoon.
“When have I ever wanted to go to a party?” I juggle my cell against my shoulder.
“Since … always?” he tries. Swing and a miss.
“For that matter, when have you ever wanted to?”
“Cindy’s gonna be there.”
“Ah.” My brain screams no.
“Please, bro.”
No. “I don’t know.”
“Please. You don’t have to enjoy it or anything. You can stand in the corner and be sad and stuff.”
“Wow. You paint a compelling picture.”
“I heard her talking to Crystal and planning how they’re gonna get drunk tonight,” Alex says.
“It’s a drinking party?” Double no.
“Crap … uh … yeah.”
Didn’t mean to let that little tidbit slip, there, did ya, buddy? “We don’t drink,” I remind him.
“Yeah, but Cindy does, and what if she needs, like, a knight in shining armor, you know? What if this is my shot?”
“Do you really want it to happen that way?” I want to kick myself for sounding like such a pompous stick-in-the-mud jackass.
“I pretty much just want it to happen,” Alex says. I imagine Matt, putting his hand on my shoulder, and all of the things I might want to do if he landed, drunk, in my lap.
“I actually can’t go with you. I’m not allowed to ride anywhere.”
“Let’s meet at Rallyburger,” he says. “We can walk from there. I mapped it.”
Damn.
“Please,” he says. I’ve known him a long time, so I know how bad he wants this. His crush on Cindy isn’t going anywhere anytime soon, and the fact of the matter is that I owe him, because I don’t know how I would’ve gotten through Sheila’s funeral if he hadn’t been right there beside me, being a general goofball and making me feel like things might actually be okay somehow.
“I have to be home by eleven.”
“Yessss,” Alex exclaims. “You totally will be.”