Anything to Have You

He nodded. “Okay, so probably not an IPA, then.”

“I don’t even know what IPA means.”

“India Pale Ale. It’s really hoppy.” He leaned down into the fridge.

“That still means nothing to me.”

He pulled out a green bottle, which he opened and handed to me. “My uncle owns a brewery and made me learn about all this stuff. It’s pretty interesting, actually. I’m thinking about working for him after I get out of school.”

“That’s cool. What is this?” I read the label. Stella Artois. A woman my dad used to date drank this.

“It’s a Stella. Nothing special, but you’ll probably like it more than other ones I’ve got in here. Pretty mild.”

I took a sip and nodded. “I do like it. It’s better than Miller Lite, or the awful shots Brooke and Alexa keep doing.”

He grimaced. “Yeah, not much of a shot guy myself.”

“Yuck.” I leaned against the fridge.

“Hey...do you remember when we were in English class together in seventh grade, and we read The Outsiders?”

“I remember that you didn’t read the book, and you called me at five o’clock in the morning the day of our test so I could meet you before school and brief you on the plot. Is that what you mean?”

He laughed, looking shy. “Yeah. That’s what I mean.”

“Yes, I remember.” I sipped from the green bottle, needing to do something.

“I have a confession.” He gave a nervous laugh before looking down at the ground. “I had read the whole book. Twice, actually. It’s one of my favorites.”

I stared at him. “What?”

“I had a crush on you, and I wanted to see you.”

I laughed. “No way.”

“Yep...I was afraid you thought I was stupid or something, since all I did was play sports, and you were so smart and everything.” He shrugged. “Twelve-year-old-boy logic.”

I laughed, my heart giving the skip that was unavoidable with a Brad Pitt type. “Well...I guess that explains how you got an A on the test. I knew I didn’t brief you that well.”

“You remember that?”

“Yep...”

His gaze caught mine again, and I laughed once and then looked around, feeling kind of awkward.

“So shall we...” I gestured at the door that would lead us back to the party.

“Of course, yeah, sorry.”

I felt bad dismissing him, so I continued talking to him as we went out into the hall. “So. How’s lacrosse?”

“Good, looks like we might be pretty strong this year.”

He might as well have said something more about IPA beers.

“Cool. Good for you guys.”

I looked up and saw Brooke, who had just sauntered inside and onto the stairs. She wasn’t alone.

Oh, no.

The telltale signs of a drunken Brooke:

1. She has her sexy, suggestive eyes on full blast.

2. She’s with someone who isn’t Aiden.

3. She’s swaying ever so slightly.

“Hey, Brooke!” I shouted to her. She waved at me without looking and kept talking to Justin, who was wearing an exceptionally douchey flat-brim hat and no shirt. That part, I don’t blame him for. He’d worked hard for that six-pack. Or maybe he hadn’t. I didn’t know.

I called her name again, but this time she didn’t acknowledge me. Which brings me to:

4. She is belligerently only interested in what she wants to do, and even I cannot easily pull her out of it.

“So have you gotten any acceptance letters back yet? I’m sure you got into a bunch of places with your GPA.”

“Uh—”

Brooke was grinning at Justin and biting her lip. He took a step closer to her. If I said anything more she would yell at me and keep talking to him somewhere else.

“I have to go upstairs,” I said to Eric. “I’ll see you in a few.”

I went up the steps and whispered sharply as I walked by her. “Stop, Brooke.”

She pretended not to hear me. I went into the kitchen, where a group was letting out a shout. They were playing some game, and clearly Aiden had just gotten eliminated. He pounded his beer, to the cheering of those around him, and then slammed it flat on the counter. He straightened up, smiling, and was intercepted by Bethany. She pointed behind her, toward where I had just come from. He took off his hat, tossed it on the table and strode toward the stairs. I could only hope Brooke hadn’t pushed the limits beyond what I had seen by the time he got to her.

“Brooke, what the fuck?” Aiden’s voice carried from where we were, down into the stairwell, and the crowd around us froze.

Everyone in the kitchen was alert now. The music still thudded loudly, the house still vibrated with the normal party sounds, but all of us surveying the scene were silent.

A moment later, Brooke stomped up the stairs, holding her hands up in a what? motion, and they started fighting. Justin seemed to have jumped ship the second Aiden approached.

Smart move.

“You are so fucking controlling!” And there’s the last drunk-Brooke sign:

5. She has messed up and is now being a bitch about it.