At any rate, three weeks seemed to be about as long as this had ever been able to last. Whenever my friends brought it up, I pointed to my relationship with Travis Friedman, which had lasted five weeks and change, but I was always told this didn’t count, because two of those weeks were over winter break. But this was the way I liked things. I ended it (or he did), I had a few weeks’ getting over it and listening to lots of girl-power music and eating ice cream, and then, before too long, I’d start to crush on someone new and would begin the whole cycle over again. It worked for me. And honestly, I’d never understood the point of getting too serious with anyone you met in high school. It was high school. Best to keep it light and date seriously in college or med school, with people who were actually going to end up mattering.
“Wait a sec. Why are you even scoping out prospects?” Palmer asked, turned her head to look back at Toby. “What about Wyatt?”
Toby shook her head. “He’s not back in town yet.”
“He might be,” Bri said. “I saw he posted a picture yesterday that looked like downtown.”
“Wait, what?” Toby asked as she stopped short, nearly causing a pileup as she dug in her purse for her phone and then frantically started scrolling through it. “That should have been the lead item! Why didn’t you guys tell me?”
“I didn’t know,” I said, holding up my hands and giving her a don’t blame me face.
Wyatt Miller went to boarding school in Massachusetts during the year, but his family lived here in Stanwich, and he came back for summers. We’d met him last year when he’d been working the beach concession stand, and started giving us free fries and unlimited soda refills. We’d all started hanging out—Wyatt and my summer boyfriend, Nick, had gotten along really well—and it hadn’t taken Toby long to develop a massive crush on him. He’d still been with his girlfriend from boarding school then, so nothing happened over the summer. But when Toby saw that they’d broken up right around Valentine’s Day, she was sure that her moment had arrived. She’d asked him to our junior prom and was thrilled when he accepted—even though he kept making it very clear that they were just going as friends. At the after-party, when I’d been breaking up with my date—I hadn’t loved prom—Toby and Wyatt had tipsily made out. Toby was sure this was proof of his feelings for her, despite all of us gently—and then not so gently—telling her that it was probably just the effect of Jägermeister and power ballads. Toby had tried to keep things going when he went back to boarding school, but Wyatt had reverted to treating Toby the way he treated all of us—totally platonically.
“Oh my god, I think you’re right,” Toby said, squinting at the brightness of the screen in the darkness, her voice rising with every word. “Why hasn’t he gotten in touch? Oh my god!”
“Shh,” I said, glancing around, not wanting to draw any more attention to us than we had to.
Toby nodded, then looked back at her phone. “Oh my god,” she said again, in a whisper this time.
“Okay,” Palmer said, stopping in front of a white house that I was relieved to see looked like any other house on the block, no sign of a party unless you were really paying attention to what kind of music you could hear faintly coming from it. “Are we ready? Andie?” I nodded and reached into my purse, then handed over my bottle of Diet Coke—three-quarters full—to her. “Any preferences?”
“Anything but brandy,” I said, making a face. “That did not mix well.”
Palmer nodded and led the way into the house. I knew Kevin enough to nod at in the halls, but I didn’t think I’d ever actually had a conversation with him, so I was happy to let Palmer go first. I heard Bri and Toby laugh about something as I followed Palmer inside. I looked around and realized it was like pretty much every other party I’d been to. There were groups of people standing around talking or lounging on the couch, and the dining room table had been commandeered for what looked like a pretty major game of beirut. The kitchen counter was covered with bottles and mixers and a half-filled blender, and through the open doors to the patio, I could see a keg. The people who always headed to the edges of people’s yards to smoke were smoking, and I could already see two people standing in the shadows of the living room, talking close, only minutes away from starting to hook up.
Palmer headed directly to the liquor bottles, and Toby and Bri headed outside to the keg as I scanned the room. I hadn’t texted him that I was coming, but I had a feeling he might be here. From what I’d heard, he and his last girlfriend had ended things around when I’d dumped Zach, meaning we would both be unattached at the same time, which hadn’t happened in a while. I was about to give up looking inside and see if he was by the keg when a girl I recognized from my AP Chem class stepped aside. And there he was, leaning against the kitchen counter, looking bored. Topher Fitzpatrick.
My pulse kicked up, the way it always did when I saw him. I took him in for a moment longer, since I was sure he hadn’t spotted me yet. There was a petite girl talking to him. I didn’t recognize her, and she was laughing, smiling up at him while he gave her a smile she probably thought was genuine, and an invitation to keep talking. I knew better. But then, by this point, I probably knew him better than most people.
He looked away for a second, scanning the room, and his eyes met mine. I held his gaze for just a second, but it was enough to know my evening had just taken a turn for the better.
“Here,” Palmer said as she appeared at my elbow with the Diet Coke bottle, the top firmly on. “It’s rum. I mixed it up.”
“Thank you,” I said, giving her a smile as I took the bottle. It was the only way I let myself drink at parties. If any pictures from the night got posted, the only thing I would be drinking, or even holding in my hand, was a Diet Coke. I knew only too well that all it would take was someone’s cell phone picture on their profile, with a picture of me in the background, holding a beer or even a glass with liquid in it that couldn’t be identified, and suddenly it would be a story. I unscrewed the cap and took a long drink, feeling the kick of the rum.
“Oh, look who’s here,” Palmer said flatly, her eyes straying to the kitchen. She sighed and looked at me. “Andie.”
“I know.” Topher was still talking to the petite girl as he drank from a Sprite bottle that I would bet money didn’t just contain Sprite—after all, he was the one who’d taught me well.
“What?” Toby asked as she joined us, sipping a beer that appeared to be mostly foam. Toby had never been great at tapping kegs. She followed Palmer’s glance and then looked at me. “The Gopher surfaces?”
“Stop it,” I said.
“You know we don’t approve,” Palmer said in her best serious voice.
I nodded. “Noted.” I’d given up defending Topher to them years ago. He could be charming when he wanted to be; he just never seemed to want to be around my friends.
“Speak for yourself,” Toby said, taking another long drink. “I think it’s romantic. Like Harry and Sally, circling around each other until they can admit how they feel.”
Palmer shook her head. “I really don’t think that’s what’s happening here.”