I went down to the kitchen to find David and Mickey. A bunch of February Flood’s friends were eating at the table. They’d thrown away our leftovers and were having their own feast of food that had been ordered in from Odeon—roast chicken and fish and plastic dishes of spinach and carrots. February had taken over one side of the table. She was wearing a spiked dog collar and picking her teeth with a bone from what looked like the remains of a trout.
“Sit down, Jonathan,” she said.
“Why?”
“Do it.” And her friends suddenly got up, chicken legs and tuna steaks in hand, and drifted away. So I sat down across from February, and started eating some of someone’s sweet potato fries.
“What’s up with you and Flan?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Because when she called just now she said she wasn’t coming home if you were here.”
“Where is she?”
“She didn’t say.”
“But I didn’t do anything,” I said, as if that were true or relevant.
“And I’d thought you went out with Liza, but when I came downstairs, Liza was looking all upset, and she says it’s because she got with that moron Arno, which I don’t really think she would’ve done if she were with you. So from that I figured out that you lied to my little sister.”
“Um,” I said.
“You certainly hang out with her a lot,” February said.
“But she’s in eighth grade. We’re like—buddies.”
“Buddies? Because she’s in eighth grade? What are you talking about? When I was in eighth grade I was sleeping with the drummer from the Strokes.”
“That’s you, February,” I said. “Flan is different.”
“That’s what I’m worried about.”
Then we just stared at each other. February took a sip of Jack Daniels from the bottle. I suspected this would be the last coherent conversation she had tonight.
“Anyway, it’s no big deal, I heard some other guy is after her,” February said.
“Other guy?” I asked.
“Like that’s an alien concept? You and your bunch of idiots aren’t the only ones in this town who know how to get girls.”
By then a few people had drifted into the kitchen, including Mickey, who seemed sort of unfocused. But he was smiling. Philippa was with him. They were such a good couple—they were always happy when they were together.
“Hey, February,” Mickey said. She handed the Jack Daniels to Mickey. He took a long hit.
“Listen,” February said to me. “Here’s an idea. I’ll put in a good word for you with my little sister if you get the hell out of here and go find Patch. How’s that sound?”
“Why do I need help with Flan?” I asked.
“Oh, believe me,” February said. “You need help.”
“Let’s go get Arno and David,” Mickey said.
We went up the stairs to the main room. They were blasting the new Nas up there, and February’s friends were slam dancing.
We heard some high-pitched girlish yelling coming from the back porch.
“Sounds like Arno aggravated another girl,” I said.