LITMIR.BIZ

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over in the corner, wrapped around Warren. I don’t have to look around to know there’s more than one girl in this room staring in envy. Warren’s a senior, star of the basketball team, tall with broad shoulders and just enough stubble to make him look older and more mature than he is. And Kristen is—well, Kristen. Blonde, blue-eyed, curvy in all the right places and skinny in all the others, so pretty it hurts. Standing next to her is always a blow to the self-esteem.

      I’ll never know exactly why Kristen made me her project, but she did. All through middle school I’d been intimidated by her from a safe distance, until eighth grade, when the seating assignment for biology designated us as lab partners. Not only did Kristen acknowledge my existence, but somehow over the course of the year, she started inviting me over to her house and to the mall, passing me notes between classes, saving me a spot at her lunch table, and before I knew it we were friends. Not just friends, but best friends.

      Being Kristen’s best friend has its benefits—everyone knowing your name, invites to just about every social gathering (or at least all the ones worth attending), and a built-in social circle. The same social circle that includes Brendon Ryan, who could easily be my soul mate. That is, if I could get him to notice me.

      I turn my head and there he is, refilling his cup of beer at the table with Natalie Thomas glued to his side. Ugh, I can’t stand Natalie. She used to be Kristen’s best friend, before I came along; she’d never say it to my face, but I know she secretly resents me for that. She’s such a hanger-on, one with a notorious habit of flirting with all the guys within a five-mile radius—regardless of whether they have girlfriends or not.

      Tonight she’s donned this bright neon-green glittery dress that would cause irreversible retinal damage to look at directly, and it comes down only to the very tops of her thighs. So, so trashy. She makes me want to vom.

      Brendon Ryan is too good for her. Brendon Ryan is classy. He wears preppy polo shirts and button-downs with sweaters over them and styles his dark blond hair perfectly so it looks messy, but in a purposeful way. He’s student council president and always raises his hand in class before speaking, and instead of chewing gum he prefers mints, which he carries around in this tiny tin case. I’ve been in love with him ever since the first week of freshman year when he turned around in the seat in front of me in homeroom and offered me one, flashing that dazzling smile of his. Everything about Brendon oozes effortless cool. Unlike all the try-hard jocks Kristen and I tend to associate with.

      If Natalie thinks she has her sights set on Brendon, she has another think coming.

      I march right up there and position myself between the two of them. It’s a tight squeeze, but one I manage to pull off by pretending I am in dire need of more pretzels.

      “Hi!” I say to Brendon.

      “Hi,” he says, smiling. “How’d that phone call go?”

      “I managed to pull it off. Thanks to you.”

      Natalie leans over to me as I pop a handful of pretzels into my mouth. “You’re really pigging out there, aren’t you?” she comments. “Try and leave some for the rest of us.”

      “I see someone left the gates open,” I mutter under my breath. I study her botched blond dye job, as tacky as the rest of her look, and add, “Wow, Natalie, I didn’t know brassy roots were in this season. Is trailer-trash chic back in style?”

      Natalie scowls at me in return. “I’m surprised you have an opinion,” she says. “Aren’t you supposed to just be Kristen’s little mouthpiece? Enjoy it while you can—she’ll throw you away like she does everyone else soon enough.”

      “Hmm, shouldn’t you be stocking up on more hooker heels?” I shoot back. I let my eyes travel down to the ones she has on and smirk. “Leopard print? Keeping it classy, I see.”

      She glares and makes an annoyed sound in the back of her throat, but it does the trick—she spins around and stalks off, wobbling. Whether that’s due to her drunkenness or the height of her stupid heels, I can’t be sure.

      Brendon looks at me, miffed. “That was kind of rude.”

      “Me or her?” I ask.

      “Both, actually.”

      “She started it,” I reply. “Besides, maybe I’d be nicer to her if she dressed a little better.” It would also help if she stayed away from Brendon and didn’t get her slutty germs all over him. Natalie is the kind of girl who can give you an STD from eye contact alone.

      “I think she dresses just fine.”

      Warren’s voice from behind me makes me jump a little, and I whirl to see him standing there with Kristen and his friend Joey Morgan. Kristen smacks him hard on the shoulder, and Warren in turn grabs her in a greedy kiss, which she readily reciprocates. Gross. Those two are always slobbering all over each other. Get a room already.

      “I don’t know, man,” Brendon says. “Personally I prefer something left to the imagination.”

      He winks at me, and the surge of butterflies in my stomach is so strong I think I may throw up right there. I need something to calm my nerves. The most obvious remedy is more alcohol. They don’t call it liquid courage for nothing.

      Two Jell-O shots later and I’m thinking about what Natalie said—about me being Kristen’s mouthpiece. I know that’s how I’m seen, and if I’m being honest with myself, it’s kind of true. It’s no secret that Kristen is the ringleader of our social group. The real thing that’s bugging me is what she said about me being tossed aside. Being Kristen’s friend is a balancing act, yes, but it’s one I’ve pulled off for a few years; if she wanted to get rid of me, she would’ve by now.

      I don’t know why Natalie’s stupid comment is annoying me so much. After all, it’s Natalie; her opinion doesn’t matter.

      Brendon hands me another shot, and I notice his outstretched arm is a perfect golden tan.

      “God, you’re tan,” I tell him, running my fingers over his wrist and marveling at the deep red-brown shade. His skin feels hot to the touch, and the butterflies in my stomach flutter again.

      “Yeah.” He laughs. “I spent Christmas in Miami with my grandparents.”

      “Oooh, nice!” I look at my own arm and cringe. “I’m so pasty,” I moan, and Kristen laughs.

      “You’re such a ginger,” she says. She lowers her voice like she’s confiding a secret. “Still, it could be worse. So I’m in the locker room before P.E. the other day, right? Steph Lidell comes in and starts changing right next to me, and she takes off her sweater, and I am, like, blinded by orange.”

      This isn’t news to me. Steph sits in front of me in Geometry, and whenever she passes back papers, I get a full view of her streaky orange hands. Still, I know better than to point out that it’s totally old news. Kristen doesn’t like being one-upped when she’s telling a story.

      “It’s already bad enough that she has that fried, bleached-out hair, but a gross spray tan? Really?” Kristen shakes her head sadly. “It was horrible. I mean, she’s like seven feet tall! So she’s just this giant orange giraffe who smells bad. Like some weird combination of mustard and sweat or something. Seriously, I almost passed out.” She laughs, then sighs and adds, “I swear, it was tragic.”

      “Seriously tragic,” I agree, tipping the Jell-O shot back until it slides down my throat, weirdly warm and cold at the same time. These things are like ninety percent vodka. As it hits my stomach, I shake my head hard and grimace.

      Joey claps me so hard on the back I nearly choke. “You drunk yet, Chelsea?”

      Yes, actually, I am. More than a little. I turn around to face Joey, and the room spins around me. Maybe that last shot wasn’t such a good idea. I’m really feeling it now.

      Joey slides his hand up and hangs his arm loosely over my shoulders. I hope he doesn’t think we’re hooking up tonight. I’ve made out with him a few

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