Marcie cupped a hand on her hip and looked ready to slam the door.
“Okay, calm down, we’ll pay,” said Vee, reaching into her back pocket. She stuffed a wad of cash into the bowl, but it was dark and I couldn’t tell how much. “You owe me big-time,” she told me.
“You’re supposed to let me count the money first,” Marcie said, digging through the bowl, trying to recapture Vee’s donation.
“I just assumed twenty was too high for you to count,” Vee said. “My apologies.”
Marcie’s eyes went slitty again, then she turned on her heel and carted the bowl back into the house.
“How much did you give her?” I asked Vee.
“I didn’t. I tossed in a condom.”
I lifted my eyebrows. “Since when do you carry condoms?”
“I picked one up off the lawn on our way up the walk. Who knows, maybe Marcie’ll use it. Then I’ll have done my part to keep her genetic material out of the gene pool.” Vee and I stepped all the way inside and put our backs to the wall. On a velvet chaise in the sitting room, several couples were tangled together like a pile of paper clips. The center of the room was filled with dancing bodies. Off the sitting room, an arched entryway led to the kitchen, where people were drinking and laughing. Nobody paid Vee or me any attention, and I tried and laughing. Nobody paid Vee or me any attention, and I tried to rally my spirits at the realization that getting inside Marcie’s bedroom unnoticed wasn’t going to be as hard as I’d thought.
Trouble was, I was beginning to think I hadn’t come here tonight to snoop through Marcie’s bedroom and find evidence that she was with Patch. In fact, I was dangerously close to thinking I’d come because I knew Patch would be here. And I wanted to see him.
It looked like I was going to get my chance. Patch appeared in the entrance to Marcie’s kitchen, dressed in a black polo shirt and dark jeans. I wasn’t used to studying him from a distance.
His eyes were the color of night and his hair curling under his ears looked like it was six weeks past needing a cut. He had a body that instantly attracted the opposite sex, but his stance said I’m not open to conversation. His hat was still missing, which meant it was probably in Marcie’s possession. No big deal, I reminded myself. It was no longer my business. Patch could give his ball cap to whoever he wanted. Just because he’d never loaned it to me didn’t hurt my feelings.
Jenn Martin, a girl I’d had math with freshman year, was talking to Patch, but he looked distracted. His eyes circled the sitting room, watchful, as if he wasn’t about to trust a single soul there. His posture was relaxed but attentive, almost like he expected something to happen at any moment.
Before his eyes made it around to me, I shifted my gaze.
Best not to be caught staring with regret and longing.
Anthony Amowitz smiled and waved at me from across the room. I automatically smiled back. We’d had PE together this year, and while I’d hardly said more than ten words to him, it was nice to think somebody was excited to see me and Vee here.
“Why is Anthony Amowitz using his pimp smile on you?” Vee asked.
I rolled my eyes. “You’re only calling him a pimp because he’s here. At Marcie’s.”
“Yeah, so?”
“He’s being nice.” I elbowed her. “Smile back.”
“Being nice? He’s being horny.”
Anthony raised his red plastic cup to me and shouted something, but it was too hard to hear over the music.
“What?” I called back.
“You look great!” A goofy smile was plastered on his face.
“Oh boy,” Vee said. “Not just a pimp, but a smashed pimp.”
“So maybe he’s a little drunk.”
“Drunk and hoping to corner you alone in a bedroom upstairs.” Ugh.
Five minutes later, we were still holding our position just inside the front door. I’d had half a can of beer accidentally sloshed on my shoes, but luckily, there’d been no vomit. I was about to suggest to Vee that we move away from the open door
—the direction everyone seemed to run moments before spilling the contents of their stomach—when Brenna Dubois came up and held a red plastic cup out to me.
“This is for you, compliments of the guy across the room.”
“Told you,” Vee whispered sideways.
I stole a quick glance at Anthony, who winked.
“Uh, thanks, but I’m not interested,” I told Brenna. I wasn’t very experienced when it came to parties, but I knew not to accept drinks of questionable origin. For all I knew, it was tainted with GHB. “Tell Anthony I don’t drink from anything but a sealed can.” Wow. I sounded even dumber than I felt.
“Anthony?” Her face twisted with confusion.
“Yeah, Anthony Pimp-o-witz,” Vee said. “The guy who’s making you play delivery girl.”
“You thought Anthony gave me the cup?” She shook her head. “Try the guy on the other side of the room.” She turned to where Patch had been standing only minutes ago. “Well, he was over there. I guess he left. He was hot and wearing a black shirt, if that helps.”
“Oh boy,” Vee said again, this time under her breath.
“Thanks,” I told Brenna, seeing no choice but to take the cup.
She faded back into the crowd, and I set the cup of what smelled like cherry Coke on the entry table behind me. Was Patch trying to send a message? Reminding me of my flop of a fight at the Devil’s Handbag when Marcie had doused me with cherry Coke?
Vee pushed something into my hand.
“What’s this?” I asked.