Page 101 of How (Not) to Conjure a Boyfriend
“Oh, by Freyja, that feels amazing.” I exhale, letting the heat from the bonfire flow over my skin. “I could stand here all night.”
“I know,” Kaitlynn says. “You could be a bubbling human marshmallow and you’d be okay with it. No wonder you’re not afraid of hell.”
I shrug. The crackle of the fire blends smoothly with the sounds of voices, hoots, and yells, a mixture of people and wildlife in the surrounding forest. There are people everywhere in huddled groups, which is where most of the noise is coming from, mostly teens around my age gathered in big circles. Some have piles of smoke rising from their center, others just puffs of steam. I think I see Geraldine. Kaitlynn, she, and I were friends in middle school. Then she got to Mount Laurel and decided it wasn’t cool hanging with the enby. Her family isn’t exactly queer friendly. She’s in full conversation with Elana, her replacement for Kaitlynn and me. Most of the football team is in her huddle, some even in their numbered jerseys. If half of them weren’t gorgeous, I’d hate them for how much they think of themselves. It’s repulsive.
Still, I’m not finding what I’m looking for. No bottles or plastic cups. There are joints being passed around everywhere, and I think I saw a few soda and energy drinks in some hands, but not what I’m looking for. Where is the junk I always hear about? Are the parties not like I’ve been told?
“This sort of sucks,” I say.
“We just got here.”
“Still sucks,” I repeat.
“Oh my God, calm down,” Kaitlynn says. “You’re being dramatic.”
“Me? Dramatic?” I act offended. It’s the most sarcasm she’s getting from me tonight.
Someone yells, “It’s here!”
I jump and sweep my gaze in the direction of the voice.
“What’s here?” I ask Kaitlynn.
“How should I know?” She shrugs.
“Let’s find out,” I say, and start off.
“Fine,” Kaitlynn grumbles and follows after me.
There’s a truck, a rich kid’s big Chevy. The tailgate is down and a couple guys are lifting box after box from the back and handing them down a line. I follow the trail until it stops at a table where they’re stacking them under a tiny lantern next to a cooler. I step closer and see it’s filled with ice, and a stack of red plastic cups sits on the foldout table next to it.
“Jackpot,” I say.
“What?” Kaitlynn asks.
“Follow me.” I rush the table, but I’m still not the first.
Before we get there, one box has already been ripped to pieces and emptied. The person in front of me grabs another and ripsthe top off, revealing can after can after can. I grab one, and then grab one for Kaitlynn.
“What’s th—” she starts to ask but stops. “Seriously?”
“Yeah.” I shrug, but suddenly I’m feeling less certain about it.
“You’ve never drunk.” Kaitlynn eyes me, and then it hits. I might not have explained my full intentions for being here. My bad. “Oh. I…”
“You haven’t either,” I say. “Right?”
“No, I haven’t,” she says, and takes the can. “I hear it’s nasty.”
“Then why are they drinking it?” I wave my hand behind us.
Half the boxes are already empty and the sound of cans popping open is like a little musical cymbal being dinged across the field. They like it.
“I dunno. Maybe they just hate life so much they don’t care?” Kaity shrugs.
“Perfect, then.” I nod and pop the cap on the first can. “Me too.”
“Fine. A taste, but I don’t think I’m going to drink it,” she tells me.
