Kyle Macdonald's party looked like it would probably be a carbon copy of the American Legion the night before, only minus the live bands, which was probably a good thing.  Out of season Christmas lights were hung on the eves and gables, illuminating a few small groups milling around in the front yard.  I could hear a steady stream of buzzing chatter over the music.  A dark sense of foreboding was forming in my chest, and I frowned, but Stevie clapped a hand on my shoulder and gave me a big smile.  I suppose it was meant to be reassuring.  "At least try to have fun.  Although, Laura likes emo boys, maybe you should go with that pouty face."

"It's not pouty," I said.  Oh believe me, I wasn't even close to pouting yet.

Inside, Stevie cornered Miss Laura Addams and I could tell by looking at her face just once that she would do anything he asked, even if it was sit with me all night while he went to mess around with another girl.  She had that kind of hopelessly devoted look in her eyes, like an eager puppy.  It was disgusting.  Stevie shepherded us over to a bay window seat and then left.  She didn't even look at me until he disappeared and as she did, I groaned internally, any hope I'd held for tonight plummeting straight out the bottom of my stomach.

"So, you're Stevie's friend?"

I narrowed my eyes.  She giggled.

I had no idea why Stevie thought I would like her.  Maybe it was because she was obviously in love with him.

She babbled about him.  He was such a great singer, didn't I think?  He was great.  She'd been to all their shows.  She thought they could be famous.  How long had I known him?  Oh, don't be ridiculous, I couldn't possibly have known him since infancy, he lived in California until he was in sixth grade.  I was his long lost cousin from Burbank?  Whatever, we didn't look a thing alike.  I took after my father's side of the family and I was in town so that I could... donate my bone marrow?  Oh no, what was wrong with him?  I had to be kidding.  Was it serious?  Well yes, terminal bone cancer does sound serious... Will he be okay?  Why hadn't he told anyone?  Oh, how brave he is to suffer all alone...

That went on for what seemed like hours, until I ran out of elaborately ludicrous lies and excused myself to go to the bathroom.  Of course, I had no idea where the bathroom was, and I didn't even need to go, but I figured the more time I wasted looking for it, the better.  Laura would probably have more fun talking to the curtains, anyway.

I needed a drink.

Oh look, there was Vanessa Alderete straddling Stevie's lap on an armchair.  Excellent.  Just what I'd been hoping to see.  Their faces looked glued together, and his hands were roving around her hips to her ass, pulling her down on top of him and...

I felt a red hot, indescribable emotion well up in me and my face probably could have fried eggs.

It was sickening.  Who the fuck did she think she was with her trashy skirts and nasty, greasy-ass hair.  You could see her split-ends from space.  She was making me ill.  Not because I was jealous or anything, just because she was so skanky it was gross.  What could Stevie be thinking?

I must have stood there staring incredulously for a little too long, because I felt a hand come down on my shoulder.  I started and my head snapped to the side so quick I managed to slap Andy Byrd in the face with my bangs.

He made a face and shook his head a little, but when he opened his eyes he was already smiling again.  "Wow, thanks."

"Yes?" I asked abruptly.  I could have been more polite, but that whore...

"You must be Dodge, right?  Stevie told me he was going to bring you."

"...Yeah that's me."  I furrowed my brow.  Whatever Stevie said about Andy, he'd always seemed intolerably annoying to me, and just plain too loud.

"Well, hi.  I'm Andy.  You're murderous."  He grinned and I wasn't sure why.

"Is it that obvious?"  Three guesses as to who was on the top of my hit list, currently.

"Yes, you should really work on smiling, it gives people less reason to suspect anything.  You want a drink, that would probably help."

"I think maybe I'll just go home instead," I said, making to turn for the door.

"Oh, don't do that.  The party is just starting."

"So it's better I leave before more intolerable assholes arrive."  It was much easier to be a jerk to Andy than to Stevie.

"Hey, what's the difference between you and a mallard with a cold?"

"What?" I snapped.  I really don't know why I didn't just stick my finger in his eye and run the other way.

"One's a sick duck and I can't remember the rest of the joke, but your mother's a whore."  He grinned.

"No, my mother's dead."  That oughta shut him up.

"Ouch, man.  Listen, you and I need to talk."  Shit, no such luck.

"What?"

"Just for a minute, okay?  Let's go outside."  He put an arm around my shoulder and steered me towards the door.  I shrugged him off huffily and walked forward on my own.  He laughed behind me, and I grabbed a cup of beer on my way out.

Right outside the door I turned around and crossed my arms over my chest.  "Okay, what?"

I was about to snap at him to hurry up when he continued, "Look, I've known Stevie long enough to know when he has a crush on someone and..." He scratched the back of his neck, suddenly recalcitrant as the dull Christmas lights sharpened the shadows under his eyebrows.  "Okay, so this is too weird, but I know he has a crush on you."

"He's gay?"  I put on my most authentic shocked expression and tried to sound utterly horrified.

"What?  No... I mean-" I couldn't tell very well in the dimness, but I thought his face was swelling with red.  "He's not... He didn't... Y'all didn't...?"

"No, I'm kidding.  He told me."

"Oh!" He laughed, somewhat uneasily.  "Oh, well then..."

"But you're not very good at keeping it a secret, are you?"

"You're quite hostile, aren't you?"  He just kept smiling.  Honestly, it was the most aggravating thing in the world.  "Anyway, the first thing is... If you know he likes you, what do you think about him?"

I hesitated.  I'd been such an asshole to Andy with no reprecussions that it would have been so easy to tell him to fuck off... But I didn't want it to get back to Stevie that I didn't like him.  I mean, I didn't care, obviously... But still.  I mean.  Few enough people liked me as it was, I didn't need to make any enemies.  "What business is it of yours?"  I asked finally, settling on only a moderately surly tone.  Well, other than Andy.  He could be my enemy.

"It's not," he said.  "I just wanted to warn you.  Stevie likes you, and he's going to try to do stuff with you if he hasn't already.  But just... Remember he's got a girlfriend.  And Karin is a nice girl who doesn't deserve to have it get out all over school that her boyfriend's cheating on her with another guy.  For her sake, at least, if you're going to do anything, keep it quiet.

"Why are you asking me?" I said defiantly.  "Why don't you ask your friend not to cheat in the first place?"

Andy made this indescribable noise between a laugh and a sigh.  "No, if I thought that would work... Well, anyway, Stevie is beyond reason.  I'm not going to try to stop you from doing... Whatever it is you do, I really don't want to think about it, just... Don't get too attached."

A harsh laugh came out of my mouth, and I was a little worried about how much I sounded like Sidney.  "You know, he's not that irresistible.  God, everyone thinks he's like a fucking Adonis or something - "

"A what?"

"Fuck, nevermind.  You people are all so retarded."

"Sorry, I wouldn't have said anything, but you looked like you were going to flip out and kill someone when you saw him with Vanessa."

"What are you talking - I was not - I... Shouldn't you be getting drunk somewhere?"

Andy grinned wide.  "You're right, I should and so should you.  Too much of this heavy shit can make anyone need a good drink."  He put his arm around my shoulder.  "C'mon, I promise it'll be funner than talking to Laura Addams."

"Oh, is that so?" I grumbled, looking down at the beer in my hand.

"Yeah, well, you really only have two options.  Sit there sober listening to Laura and watching Stevie make out with Vanessa, or you can get drunk and not give a shit about any of it.  Or you could walk home I guess, but..."

"Well shit, that all just sounds delightful."

"Well, I know I'm going to have fun..."

And have fun, Andy did.  He steered me back inside, and it turned out Stevie and Vanessa had mysteriously disappeared from the living room, so he cleared off a spot on the couch and plunked himself down, pulling me with him.

"Look at this," he said, reaching under the couch and pulling out an entire bottle of what looked like very cheap tequila.  "Yeah?"  He smiled and nodded at me, holding it up by the neck.  I grunted a little and refrained from making any noise that could be considered an affirmative, but it did look pretty inviting.  "Hold this," he said and went back under the couch, this time double-fisted.  He came back out with bottles of equally cheap vodka and whiskey and shoved those in my arms, too, then kept fishing around, finally pulling out liters of Coke and Sprite, and a package of Pixy Stix.  He deposited those on the coffee table and gathered together a group of used plastic cups.

"Gather round, children, one and all," he called happily, "and learn how to make the most fantastic mixed drink on all seven continents - The Sugar-Andy."

Jesus Christ.  I looked around for an opportunity for flight, but Andy's arm had once again latched around my shoulder and fuck there was Laura sitting down beside me and smiling like we were fucking best friends... There was no escape.

I can tell you this, though.  The Sugar-Andy might taste like total shit, but it sure as hell gets you drunk well enough.

*

I woke up on the floor, that much I could tell by the rough, scratchy carpet on my flesh.  I had sensitive skin.  I would probably get a rash.  Other than that, I had no idea where I was.  I cracked my eyes and matters did not improve.  I was on my stomach with the side of my face pressed on the floor and all I could see in front of me was a pile of dirty clothes, a pair of shoes, and a crate filled with magazines in front of an unfamiliar wall; all hanging sideways from my point-of-view.  At the very edge of my line of sight was the bottom sill of a window with Venetian blinds fully shut across it, allowing only tiny slivers of late-morning light in.

I probably should have been concerned about waking up in alien surroundings, but I was really more worried about my head exploding if I tried to move it and... for some inexplicable reason, that little strip of skin between my bottom lip-proper and my chin hurt like all fuck. I closed my eyes again, deciding that it was best to utilize only one sense at a time, and dragged my hand out from underneath my stomach to gingerly brush my lip with my fingertips.

Oh.  Damn.  The tips brushed against metal not once, or even twice, but three times.  Either there were some heavy duty leeches attached to me (which I did not discount as a possibility, mind you) or I had somehow managed to get my lip pierced.  Three times.

Well, not like that was any mystery, I'd probably forgotten I'd already had it done each time and kept coming back for more.

The floor I was lying on smelled a little like cat piss and, taking a personal inventory, I was almost certain all I was wearing was underwear (thank heaven for small favors, at least).  In fact, I thought some of the clothes in the pile in front of me were mine.

It took a lot of mental coaxing to get myself to sit up, and when I did it felt exactly like a toilet had just fallen out of the sky and smashed into a million shards of jagged porcelain in my skull.

"Shiiiit," I groaned and pulled my knees to my chest, burying my forehead in my hands.  Even those skinny bars of light through the blinds felt like fire.

I turned away from the window and, keeping my eyes open as little as possible, scanned the room.  Thank god, there was a bathroom connected to it, not ten feet away.  That was the only thing I took in, really, and I struggled to my feet and managed not to be violently ill while I took a piss and found a bottle of aspirin (conveniently right beside the sink) to down half of.

While the eight to ten pills I swallowed were sliding single-file down my throat, I exited the bathroom and finally realized where I was, due entirely to the big bed I'd somehow failed to noticed even as I stumbled around it (and probably used it as support) on my way to the bathroom.  Not that the bed itself was all that telling, but Stevie was lying on it, sleeping like an angel, if angels drool on their pillows and get morning-wood.

Presently, I ran into a dilemma.  Fuck if I was going to go lie back down on that goddamn scratchy cat piss carpet, but what else was there to do?  It was only natural to assume that I was confined to these two rooms - the bathroom and the bedroom - at least until Stevie woke up, and I could ask him exactly what was going on.  I contemplated doing something to speed up this process, like stuffing a sock in his mouth, but then I'd have to listen to him talk (after he extricated the sock, anyway), and I honestly didn't think I could handle that without murdering him.

It was then that, sighing deeply, I noticed the cat piss smell had rubbed off onto my skin (or else, the smell had originated on me and rubbed off onto the carpet, which didn't seem out of the realm of the possible).  I decided to take a shower.

It took me a long time to satisfy myself that I had removed the scent of small mammal urine from my person, and then I had to dry my hair and dig around in the cabinets for the styling products I required to make myself look presentable.  Fortunately, I was in just the place.

I sat cross-legged on the counter and while I got ready (got ready for what, I didn't really take into consideration) my mind wandered off... I had woken up in Stevie Bell's bedroom in my underwear.  This much was true.  Now, on account of my ass feeling perfectly normal and me being on the floor rather than the bed, I thought it was safe to assume that we had not done anything improper.  But the last thing I remembered from the night before was Laura Addams trying to convince me to do body shots off her stomach.  And she hadn't been wearing a shirt (or a bra), but... I wouldn't have done anything with her.  I didn't even like her.  But I was so drunk... Well, that was one thing.  If I were that drunk, I didn't think I would have been able to get it up properly anyway.  Right?  But what if I hadn't been that drunk then, and only a little drunk then maybe I did and couldn't remember anyway.  But maybe if I didn't remember then she wouldn't remember either, and it would be just like it never happened...

I didn't feel any less virginal, anyway.

Only, it was all just a little distressing.  I had never been drunk before, and I didn't even know what I might have been capable of doing.  And I knew that I didn't get my lip pierced three times at Kyle Macdonald's party.

I had checked, by that time, and sure enough, there it was.  Three little metal studs.  Part of me felt sick to my stomach and part of me thought they looked kinda badass, but either way there was nothing to be done about it.  Even if I took them out, there'd be little pinprick holes in my skin, and that was never a good look.

So I left them alone and concentrated on my hair.  It took me nearly twenty minutes to do a really makeshift styling job, and when I came out of the bathroom (still in only my underwear, the state of which I felt invalidated the exhaustive cleansing job I'd just performed) Stevie was just waking up, stretching and yawning and looking content as all get out.  I wanted to slap him hard across the face and see how cheerful he was then, but he cracked his eyes when he heard the bathroom door open and smiled at me.

"Morning, Dodgeball."