Brandon sighed as Heath himself appeared in the kitchen doorway. He was still wearing his lame green suspenders and the Santa hat, although now his white T-shirt was covered with smudges of varying shades of red and pink, clearly left by eager female lips. A pair of girls’ sunglasses was perched on his nose. “What up?”
Brandon shrugged and stared at the dirty-cup-covered linoleum table. “You give up asking everyone to sit on your lap and tell you what they want for Christmas?”
“Had to take a break. My lap hurts.” Heath set one of his full cups on the yellow kitchen counter, already sticky with spilled punch. “Great party, huh?” He beamed proudly. “Another success.” He held a cup in the air, toasting himself.
“Yeah, you can add it to your fucking résumé,” Brandon said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. He leaned against the cold edge of the sink. Outside the fogged-up window, the night looked dark and windy.
Heath didn’t notice. He let out a loud whinny and a girl across the room echoed it. Heath glanced in Kara’s direction, probably hoping it was her. Brandon had caught Heath staring at her when she was on the dance floor with Alison Quentin, her tight-fitting floral-print silk dress swishing around her knees.
“Duuuddde,” Heath said, drawing out the word as he slung an arm across Brandon’s shoulders. His sweaty stench rose up to Brandon’s nose. “I’m sorry about that male stripper.”
Brandon nearly stopped breathing. He shoved Heath’s arm off, fighting the urge to twist it behind Heath’s back and break it in two. Or maybe he should grab one of the black pots hanging over the food-crusted stove and smash it into Heath’s smug, grinning face? “I
knew
it was you.”
Heath raised his eyes to heaven and drunkenly made the sign of the cross. “And I feel very, very bad about it.”
“What about… all that other shit?” Brandon asked, too furious to actually say the words
male pole-dancer alarm clock
and
sperm piggy bank
out loud.
Heath held up both hands, spilling a little Hell Fire on his fuzzy red pants. They made him look more like Elmo than Santa Claus. “Guilty as charged.” He took a long swallow, finishing his first cup, which he dropped to the floor. “I kept all the stuff from your real Secret Satan,” he added.
“You’re fucking kidding me.” Brandon clenched his hands into fists.
“Lame stuff. Some kind of plaid scarf—right up your alley.” Heath picked up his second cup. “But I’m keeping the
Fletch
DVD
,” he continued. “It’s a classic.”
“You’re a dick,” Brandon said flatly. He’d always half-hated Heath, but he’d never expected Heath to go so far out of his way to make someone miserable.
“Dude, I just had to be sure.” Heath shrugged and snapped his suspenders. “It was kind of a test. To know once and for all that you weren’t, you know…”
Brandon grabbed a black frying pan from the rack and held it like a baseball bat.
“Kidding, kidding!” Heath held up his hands in self-defense. “God, relax. It’s a party. I said I was sorry, didn’t I?”
Brandon knew he was lucky to get that much contrition from Heath, but something made him blurt out exactly what he was thinking. “You sure you didn’t do all this because I hooked up with Helga and you struck out with Gretchen?” The morning after Thanksgiving, when he and Heath had walked home from Dunderdorf’s house, Heath had admitted that despite Gretchen’s hotness, he hadn’t sealed the deal. It felt good to stick this verbal knife in Heath’s gut and turn it. He was prepared for Heath to deny it and move on, taking his stupid silly grin with him, but to his surprise a frown spread across Heath’s face.
“Fuck you! I could have totally had her if I wanted.” He drank half his second cup and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his eyes still scanning the party, probably looking for Kara. “Fuck you,” he said again, a little weakly.
Brandon barely had time to gloat before Heath slapped him on the shoulder.
“Dude, before I change my mind, here’s your real present— straight from Santa Claus.” Heath reached into the back pocket of his ridiculous pants. Brandon was expecting another packet of synthetic sperm, like the one he’d found in his mailbox this morning. But instead Heath handed him a long envelope. He turned it over in his hand.
“What? Coupons to the gay bar in Poughkeepsie? You shouldn’t have,” Brandon said sarcastically. He opened the envelope, surprised to find a voucher for an airline ticket to Switzerland in his name.
He looked at Heath, unsure of what to say. Heath Ferro? Going out of his way to buy his roommate an expensive airline ticket? So that he could visit his Swiss girlfriend? That was actually… really nice.
“Have a good time, buddy,” Heath said, slapping him on the shoulder again. A devious grin spread across his face. “Thought you could use some holiday cheer, after all my hazing. Bring me back some chocolate or something.”
Brandon struggled to find the words. “Thanks, dude.” He coughed into his fist.
“You can thank me by getting laid and shutting up about it.” Just then, a couple of squealing senior girls grabbed Heath by the suspenders and dragged him away.
“Come on, Santa,” Evelyn Dahlie cooed, grabbing Heath’s hat and sliding it onto her bleached blond head. Brandon watched as Heath swung his arms around the girls. So Heath wasn’t such a bad roommate/friend/person after all. He’d have to think about that more later.
For now, all he could think about was showing Hellie how much he missed her.
“Y
ou look really sexy tonight, by the way,” Sebastian whispered into Brett’s ear as they stood on the dark porch of Cambridge House. “With your hair up like that.” He touched his fingers gently to the back of Brett’s neck, and she shivered, though not from the cold outside. That, she barely noticed.
“Thanks,” she murmured, enjoying the touch of his other hand against the small of her back. She could practically feel the heat coming through her black-and-white checkered Betsey Johnson coat.
Part of her was tempted to pull Sebastian into the backseat of his Mustang and spend a few hours steaming up the windows. Sebastian had spent the walk over from the Prescott Club holding Brett’s hand and casually convincing her that the failed Holiday Ball wasn’t her fault. Already she felt a teensy bit better about the whole thing.
But she knew there was something she had to do first, even though the last place she wanted to go was inside the party. “I’ve got to find Callie.”
Sebastian sighed heavily and ran his hand over his hair. “I should talk to her too.”
As soon as she opened the door, Brett was hit with a warm whoosh of beer-and-cigarette-scented air. So
this
was where everyone was. The living room was a pulsing dance floor, bodies pressed against one another in the tinted red light. Kind of tacky, Brett thought with a wave of bitterness, eyeing the floor-to-ceiling bookcases covered with red cellophane— her Holiday Ball decorations had been way better than this. Especially these gross lip-shaped mistletoes. But people were laughing and hugging each other as they found their Secret Satans, and she had to admit, they looked like they were having a lot more fun than they would have had with Dean Marymount and the stuffy Waverly alums breathing down their necks.
Everyone’s eyes turned toward her and Sebastian. Her classmates all had sheepish grins on their faces, as if embarrassed for her. But Brett took a deep breath, stuck her chin in the air, and handed Sebastian her coat to hang on the overflowing coatrack. She wasn’t about to let anyone feel bad for her because of the lame party. What the fuck did she care, anyway? She smiled smugly at the faces that turned to see her.
“Busted!” Heath yelled from where he was sitting in a high-backed leather armchair, a Santa hat tilted rakishly on his tousled blond head. “How was your party, captain?”
Brett smiled sweetly at him and flipped a plum-manicured middle finger in his direction.
“Glad you could make it!” He winked as some senior girl with her hair in pigtails sat down on his lap. “Tell me what Santa can bring you for Christmas, baby,” he cooed at the girl.
Brett spied a familiar pink satin dress with puffy tulle skirt over by the stereo. “Hey,” she said, touching Sebastian’s arm. “Could you get me a drink?”
Sebastian looked up and saw Callie, then turned his eyes back to Brett. “I should go apologize to her, too, I guess.”
“No,” Brett replied, squeezing his hand. “Let me.” She cut through the crowd and approached her friend, who was staring at the rows of bookshelves as if memorizing the titles. From the rigid way she was holding her neck, she had clearly already seen Brett and Sebastian enter together.
Brett took a deep breath. “Please don’t be mad.” She raised her voice to be heard over the sound of a Dandy Warhols song.
Callie planted a hand on her hip and narrowed her eyes at Brett. Her lips were pressed together tightly. “Don’t be
mad
? You stole my
boyfriend
.” Her voice was tinged with bitterness.
Brett did feel guilty about kissing Sebastian, but… “I wouldn’t have kissed him if I thought you were serious about him,” she said honestly, twisting her watch nervously. “You weren’t, were you?”
Callie paused. “He was a bit of a work-in-progress,” she answered petulantly, running her fingers over the iPod stereo. “But that doesn’t mean it feels good to have him taken away.”
“But he was a project to you, not a
person
. And that’s not fair.” Brett placed her hand on Callie’s thin forearm and squeezed it gently. “You liked the person you thought he could be if you got rid of his Bon Jovi. And bad cologne.”
Callie considered this, glancing away while chewing the corner of her lip. “He has terrible taste in music.”
“I know.” Brett grinned goofily, just thinking about the ride home from New Jersey with Sebastian, when they both sang along to the lame lyrics of “I’ll Be There for You.” “But I like him despite the bad taste. Or maybe because of it. I don’t know.”
Callie twitched her nose and arched her well-plucked eyebrows. “That’s impressive.”
“I know.” Brett laughed. “And don’t take this the wrong way, but I kind of think you were… just looking for someone to help you get over Easy.”
Callie sighed. Brett was right. Callie hadn’t really been interested in Sebastian at all. She just liked the idea of having someone to keep her mind off Easy. As her eyes strayed briefly from Brett’s face, she caught the gaze of Parker Dubois’s pretty blue-gray eyes from across the room, and a surge of electricity shot through her. That definitely wasn’t a look a gay guy gives a girl.
Suddenly Callie remembered why she’d broken up with Easy. Because she wasn’t ready to be with the love of her life. Not yet, at least. Not when she was so young, and there were still so many boys to kiss. Ones who looked like Parker Dubois.
Finally, she dragged her eyes back to Brett and gave her a sheepish grin. “I guess you’re right.”
“Right about what?” Tinsley asked, sidling up next to them.
Brett looked at Callie and threw an arm around her shoulder. “Right about needing another drink.” Callie giggled.
“I’ll get it.” Brett caught Sebastian’s eye in the drink line and held up two fingers. “You want one?” she asked Tinsley.
“Julian’s getting me one.” Tinsley shrugged and tugged at the top of her sunshine yellow dress, which was sliding down a little. “But thanks.”
“What are we going to drink to?” Brett asked, watching Benny Cunningham try to flirt with Sebastian as he poured a couple cups of punch. He smiled politely at her before turning back to Brett and winking.
“How about… starting over?” Tinsley asked, flashing another smile at Brett. Brett just stared at her. They’d been civil to each lately, sure… but was Tinsley actually saying she wanted to be friends again? Real friends?
“Did you just get high or something?” Callie asked, pressing the back of her hand to Tinsley’s forehead.
Tinsley rolled her eyes. “No. I’m just saying… it’s practically a new year, turning over a new leaf, et cetera, et cetera.” She made a “blah, blah, blah” motion with her hand.
“I think she’s high on Juuuuulian,” Brett teased, kicking away an empty plastic cup that had rolled into her foot.
“Fuck you,” Tinsley shot back, but it was one of those friendly fuck-yous that you can only say to people you love. All the skirmishes of the past four months flashed through Brett’s mind, but she realized that none of them mattered as much as having Tinsley’s friendship back. She could be a manipulative bitch, sure—but that was what made her so much fun.
Sebastian strode up balancing three cups of Hell Fire in his hands. Brett and Callie each grabbed one. Sebastian glanced at both girls, relief registering on his handsome face when he realized they’d made up. “Cheers,” Brett cried, holding up her glass and planting a big kiss on Callie’s cheek.
“Knock it off.” Callie shoved Brett away affectionately. “I’ve got work to do.”
“Those girls suck,” Tinsley proclaimed, watching a couple of sophomores fall off from their perch on the coffee table. “Come on.” She grabbed Brett and Callie by the hands and jumped up on the hand-carved coffee table as catcalls went up around the room. Sebastian cranked the volume as the girls danced, holding their cups over their heads.
Callie could feel the music moving through her as she gyrated above the crowd, all eyes on her. She flashed a smile at Tinsley, who turned and smiled down at Julian. She caught Brett winking at Sebastian, who gave a hearty thumbs-up from the back of the room. She wished she had someone to smile at, or throw a wink at… but then she realized that at least half a dozen guys—maybe more—were staring right at her.
It felt good to have fun again. Not fake fun, like she was trying to have with Sebastian. She finally admitted to herself that her last good time had been spent with Easy—she wasn’t totally over him yet.
But she’d get there. She moved her body in time to the music that made the whole room vibrate, closing her eyes to feel it in her bones.