I stomp up the steps and into the party. “Toby!” I bellow.
“Yo!” he shouts.
“Beer me!”
“Yes, ma’am!” he says, handing me a can. I drink it as fast as I can, the noxious liquid sliding down my throat. And then, when I’m done, I have another.
I lose track of how much time passes, but eventually I find myself in the kitchen, eating handfuls of potato chips. That whole thing with Derek did not go how I wanted it to, I think as I lick salt off my fingertips. I can’t stop his words from tumbling through my mind, over and over. He’s liked me since we were kids? That can’t be true. I shove another potato chip in my mouth.
“Jolie.”
I spin around and see Evelyn, arms crossed, looking angrier than she did when we were in elementary school and her mom wouldn’t let her go to New York to see the Alexander McQueen exhibit at the Met.
“What?” I snap, then take a swig of my beer.
“What are you doing?” Evelyn asks. “Are you drinking? Who gave you that?”
“What’s this, twenty-five questions?” I roll my eyes.
“It’s twenty-one,” Evelyn says flatly. “And you can just answer one: Who?”
“Toby.”
“Don’t drink something a guy gave you, let alone Toby.” Evelyn widens her eyes in alarm.
“Toby’s not dangerous,” I say, finishing my drink and throwing the can on the floor. “He’s just an idiot.”
“Hey.” Toby comes up behind me with two beers in his hands. I grab one of them. “That’s not very nice.”
His face does look the slightest bit wounded, but I don’t really care.
He sees Evelyn and gestures toward her with the other beer. “You want this?”
“I’m not drinking Natty Light.” Evelyn says this as if someone just asked her to wear yoga pants in public.
Toby shrugs, and I grab the other can from him as I drain mine. “Fine. More for me,” I say.
“I heard about what you—” Evelyn stops and looks at Toby. “I’m sorry, could you let us talk privately?”
“Hey.” I throw an arm around Toby. “Whatever you have to say to me, you can say in front of Toby.”
Toby, for his part, doesn’t seem at all surprised by my sudden loyalty. He looks at Evelyn expectantly.
“Fine.” She sighs, then looks straight at me, avoiding Toby. “I ran into Derek as he was leaving.”
“Oh, yeah?” I lift my chin.
“Is Derek your boyfriend?” Toby asks.
“No!” I shout.
“Yeah, that much is clear,” Evelyn huffs. “What the hell, Jolie? Why did you treat him like that?”
“What are you talking about?” I take another swig. It’s starting to taste better.
“I don’t care who you like, or who you date, or who you make out with, but you couldn’t at least let him down easy? He’s crushed.”
A tiny shard of panic and remorse is poking through my drunken haze, so I do my best to push it back down.
“This isn’t you, Jolie,” Evelyn says, her words swirling toward me. “You’re nicer than this.”
I crush the beer can in my hand.
“Whoa,” Toby says.
“Yeah, well, maybe I’m tired of being the nice one,” I say. “Maybe I want to be the fun one, or the weird one, or the slutty one!”
Toby backs away from me.
“What is it, Toby?” I yell. “There’s nothing wrong with being slutty! Stop being such a slut shamer!”
Toby shakes his head and whispers, “I don’t care how slutty you want to be, dude, it’s just that everyone’s staring.”
He’s right, but I can’t stop. I don’t even care that everyone’s looking at me, because I’m confused and I’m scared and I’m starting to think that drinking I-don’t-know-how-many beers was a bad idea.
“Maybe I’m just trying to grab life by the ovaries, Evelyn!” I shout, throwing my can on the floor and then grabbing a bottle from a dude walking by.
“Hey!” he says, making a grab for it.
“Do not mess with me right now, hat boy!” I snarl. He touches his hat self-consciously and backs off.
Toby picks my crushed can up off the floor. “You’re not being very chill right now.”
“Maybe your face isn’t being very chill,” I mutter to Toby. I can feel myself losing steam.
“Come on.” He puts an arm around me again. “Let’s go sit down somewhere and get you some water. You’re gonna fall and hit your head on my mom’s glassware collection, and then we’re gonna have to call an ambulance and she’s gonna be mad and it’s gonna be a whole thing.”
“I’m watching you!” Evelyn calls out as Toby asks two girls to move off the sofa (“There are pigs in a blanket in the kitchen and I swear to God they’re so dope,” he says). I flop onto it and Toby sits down beside me. We’re surrounded by people, but they all seem to be pretty caught up in their own conversations. I catch tiny fragments of what everyone’s saying and see some guy still wearing his pig costume, but I’m feeling too queasy to focus on anything.
“Here.” Toby hands me a plate with some pigs in a blanket and potato chips. “When’s the last time you ate something? You’re gonna feel hella nauseated soon.”
I look up at him, impressed. “You’re right. It’s nauseated. Not nauseous. Everyone says nauseous.”
“Yeah.” Toby looks frustrated. “Just because I like to have a good time, everyone thinks I’m not smart. Like, you can call people ‘bro’ and still be in the top ten percent of your class. It’s not inconceivable.”
He shrugs, then burps.
“Truer words,” I say, toasting him with my bottled water.
“So, are you okay?” he asks, leaning back on the floral sofa.
I’m suddenly touched by how kind he’s being, and how good these pigs in a blanket are. “Toby,” I say with my mouth full. “I’m sorry I misjudged you. I shouldn’t have said you were a shallow bro child.”
He furrows his brow. “When did you say that?”
I keep going. “I just want to be honest, Toby. For once in my life, you know? To have a real conversation.”
Toby nods enthusiastically.
“It’s just … I know Derek likes me. But we’re friends, you know? Friends don’t make out! Do you make out with your friends?”
Toby nibbles on a pretzel. “Not usually.”
“Exactly!” I spread my arms, vindicated. “That’s all I’m saying! Like, is Derek hot? Yes. Do I want to make out with him? Maybe. Should I? Probably not.”
Toby looks at me skeptically. “It kind of sounds like you like Derek.”
I shake my head, my hair flying back and forth. “Nope. Nope. Nope.”
Toby shrugs. “Okay.”
I sigh heavily. “How are you always so happy all the time, Tobes? Can I call you Tobes?”
“I guess.” Toby takes a sip from his water bottle. “I’m not, though. Happy all the time, I mean.”
I snort. “What are you talking about? We’re having a party right now at your amazing house…”
“Yeah, but … I know I should be happy that my parents are out of town because it meant I could have everyone over, but, like … isn’t it kind of weird that they skipped town on the one weekend I was starring in the musical?”
“You’re not the star,” I remind him.
“One of the stars. Still. It’s hella uncool.”
I pat him on the arm. “I’m sorry, Toby. That’s not very nice. But if it’s any consolation, your parents might suck but everyone else loves you. Just look at everyone who’s in your house right now.”
To prove my point, I shout, “Hey! Let’s hear it for our man TOBY!”
Everyone around us cheers.
Toby gives a little laugh and starts to look more like regular Toby, not this strange, sad, phantom Toby I’ve been getting to know.
Toby sighs as we watch someone shove an empty beer can into a potted plant. “This is gonna suck to clean up.”
As bad as I feel for Toby and the eventual cleanup he’ll have to do, I’ve got other things on my mind. “Do you know where Noah is?”
Toby shrugs. “He went outside for some air a little bit ago.”
“Okay.” I stand up. “I’m gonna go kiss him.”
Toby narrows his eyes. “Wait, are you guys, like … a thing?”
“Not necessarily,” I say.
“Because he hasn’t mentioned anything,” Toby says, still skeptical.
“Okay, well,” I say, starting to lose my nerve. “I’m going to kiss him anyway, okay? Stop trying to hold me back!”
“I’m not trying—”
“I get it,” I snarl. “You don’t think I’m pretty enough or perfect enough. You don’t think I could get someone like Noah Freakin’ Reed to kiss me.”
“Do you want some more water?” Toby asks. “I think you might be dehydrated.”
“I’m not dehydrated!” I shout, even though I’m pretty sure Toby’s right. I’m getting a combo head/jaw ache from talking, singing, and yelling so much all night, and I’m pretty sure all the alcohol I just drank isn’t helping. But I don’t have time to focus on hydration right now because I know what I need to do. I turn around and stomp through the party, bumping into some guys still in their black stage crew shirts (all of them impressively solid) and one girl still in her pig makeup.
“Have you seen Noah?” I ask a kid wearing a space helmet and no shirt. He points toward the front door.
I know I’m walking, but I don’t even feel like I’m lifting my feet. All I know is that I have to do this now, while I have the nerve. Time’s running out. Derek probably hates me, Evelyn’s mad at me, I think I might’ve offended Toby, but who cares? If I really, seriously die on the operating table, do I want to die without having my first real non-playground, unscripted kiss? This is what I wanted, I mean want, and I’m going to get it.
I push through the door and onto Toby’s porch. I see Noah on the lawn, staring off into the trees that line the property. He’s alone.
“Hey,” I try to say intriguingly, but it comes out as a shout. My volume control button seems to be broken, or maybe just drowned.
Noah turns and lifts his hand with a smile. A good sign. “Oh, hey, Jolie.”
I skip down the steps, past a few people whose faces are just blurs, and cross the lawn toward him. “What are you drinking?”
He lifts his cup in my direction and rolls his eyes. “Orange soda. Alcohol and caffeine dehydrate your vocal cords, you know.”
He sniffs the air as I get close to him. “Or, uh, maybe you don’t know.”
“I just had a little,” I say, attempting to stand up straight with a hand on one hip.
Noah smiles and takes a sip. “Right. Was the party too much for you, too?”
“What?” I ask.
He tips his drink toward the porch. “Honestly, I can’t stand these things. Why do I want to watch Marcus Brennerman puke into a space helmet, you know? That’s why I came out here.”
Oh, geez. Noah really is a nice guy. I may have only picked him for my kiss plan because of his looks, but it turns out he’s actually kind of great. He’s pretty much the cutest guy in school, just like I’ve always thought. Unless you count Derek, which I don’t, because Derek’s my friend. Or at least he was, before tonight. Either way, maybe kissing Noah will be all it takes—maybe once we lock lips, the ensuing chemistry will take over and we’ll fall in love and everything will be perfect.
A late-spring breeze blows past us, and I hear the leaves rustle. Noah’s hair lifts up slightly. We’re still just looking at each other, and I don’t know how long it’s been, ten seconds or ten minutes or ten years. I can’t let this moment pass. I push all the other thoughts out of my mind—my confusion, my fear, Evelyn, Derek, Toby—and launch myself toward Noah.
I close my eyes, my hands grabbing his (just as soft as I imagined) hair as I press my lips into his. This is what I’ve been waiting for. What I wanted when this whole thing started a month ago. I want to be feeling it all right now—fireworks and soda bubbles and full-body tingles and that red convertible speeding down the highway.
But what I feel right now isn’t soda bubbles. It’s more like a flat, warm Diet Pepsi. And I can’t help thinking about all the little moments I’ve had with Derek over the past month, and how just touching his arm feels more exciting than kissing Noah. I’ve been so worried about not getting a chance to kiss someone before my mouth possibly goes numb, but it might as well be numb right now.
I pull back quickly and wipe my mouth. “I made a mistake.”
“Wow,” Noah says, looking away from me. “Uh, Jolie…”
“Oh, no. Oh, I’m sorry,” I say, covering my face with my hands.
“I didn’t know you—I didn’t think we—” he stammers.
“That was a bad kiss, wasn’t it?” I say from behind my hands.
“I think if you tell the other person it was a mistake, that’s a pretty good sign it wasn’t a great kiss,” Noah says, and I look between my fingers to see him smiling.
“It’s just … I wanted to kiss you before I even knew you, because you’re all cute and tall and you’ve got that hair, but then it turned out you’re nice, too, so I thought you’d be the perfect person for my first kiss because I’m about to have surgery and I’m afraid I’m going to die or have a numb mouth and not know when I have corn on my lips and—”
“Hey.” Noah reaches out and grabs my shoulders. “Maybe just take a breath.”
I inhale deeply and relax.
“I think,” Noah says, looking directly into my eyes, “that you’re a great person. But I didn’t … I didn’t even know … Well, I thought you and Derek were a thing.”
Derek. The name shoots into my heart like a spear. “Oh, no,” I groan, because now I get it. I get it that I didn’t want to kiss just anyone, not even a very cute anyone with soft and voluminous hair like Noah. I wanted to kiss a very particular someone. And the realization pokes through my boozy fog that this may be, in fact, a pretty big problem. Because I don’t want my friendship with Derek, one of the few people who actually gets me, to change. But also because I may have already screwed up that friendship or relationship or whatever-ship by openly rejecting him on the steps of Toby’s house right before I had what may be the worst kiss in the history of the world.
Suddenly, I remember the last thing Abbi said to me when she was describing how a kiss felt: That’s what it feels like when you’re kissing the right person.
“I think … I’m going to…”
I lean over and puke right on Noah’s shoes, then sit down on the ground. I run my fingers through the grass and sigh. “I’ll just rest here for a while.”
“I’m gonna help you get home,” Noah says, picking me up with his hands under my arms. “You’re obviously not driving anywhere tonight.”
I can’t argue with that, so I let him put an arm around me as he helps me toward his car. “Noah,” I say sleepily. “I feel a lot better now.”
“I’m glad,” Noah grunts, straining to drag me along with him.
“Sorry about the puke. But I have to … I have to ask you something. What would you do if you thought you might like someone, but you didn’t want to mess up your friendship?”
“I don’t know,” he says. “I don’t have romantic feelings for any of my friends.”
“No, I’m not talking about you,” I say, struggling to piece my thoughts together in coherent sentences. “I’m talking about…”
“Hey, Derek!” Noah says, and my eyes snap open.
“Hey,” Derek says. I can’t fully focus on him. I just see his disappointed eyes. His pursed lips. His keys jangling in his hand.
“I, um … I came back. To make sure you were okay. I wanted to make sure you didn’t try to drive. But it looks like you managed pretty well on your own.”
Oh no. I think about how this looks: Noah’s arm around me, my smudgy, too-bright lipstick, Noah’s rumpled hair.
“We’re not—” I start.
Derek holds up a hand. “Save it, Jolie. I’ve gotta get home. Have a nice night.”
He walks away, and I just watch him go.
“He seemed angry,” Noah says slowly. “Did I do something to him?”
“You didn’t do anything,” I say, leaning against him. “I did.”
And then I puke. Again.