Georgi is Bulgaria, Dmitry is Romania, Mogens is Netherlands, Abel is Denmark.
Oh, God, what was Georgi doing here? Well, he knew he was 'putting himself out there,' and 'trying to make friends,' but he was pretty sure that Mogens had hired at least one stripper. And there was drugs—legitimate, jail time drugs—and Georgi's stomach turned when he drankchampagne.
Currently, he was sheltering in the kitchen, watching the French exchange student compete against the British kid. Compete being a general term, because they were seeing who could down more Jell-O shots. They were screaming at one another, mouths smeared in colorful liquid.
Gerogi swirled his beer can, wondering when he should actually open it. He could ask for a Jell-O shot. He should, probably, try to have some fun. But he felt too out of place here. He couldn't dance to the deafening music, he couldn't drink, and most of his friends were playing Monopoly at one of their houses.
Finally, the strong fog of weed smoke was too much. Georgi escaped out the door into the back yard, breathing in a lungful of night air. It was too chilly, so there were only a few stragglers passed out in the bushes.
"Oh, I don't know mother, why should I go to the party?" Georgi grumbled, collapsing on one of the lawn chairs. "A fun time? No, I won't have that. Why can't I just stay at home, do some homework? Friends? I have plenty—and theydon't like to get so drunk they forget their name."
Only the crickets responded. Georgi blew air through his lips, running a hand over his face.
"Plenty."
"Palm reading?"
Georgi screamed, hurling himself sideways and trying to look behind him at the same time.
"When did you even—" Georgi swallowed. "How long—well, how long were you… How…"
Dmitry stood over him, a leering grin on his face. Dmitry, who was rumored to have spray painted the football field with Satanic messages. Dmitry, who had supposedly summoned the Devil. Dmitry, whose teeth were pointed.
"Palm reading," Dmitry repeated, holding out his hand. "Or good luck charms, I can do those, too."
Georgi was lying on the ground, feet tangled in the chair. "I, um, no, I was, uh I was leaving. I was, I…" He kicked the chair away, smiling awkwardly.
He shook his head. Well, he meant to shake his head. Instead, he nodded and watched, horrified, as Dmitry took a seat next to him on the grass. Was Dmitry wearing eyeliner? It didn't matter, because now he was holding Georgi's hand.
"My Grandpa taught me how to do this stuff," Dmitry said, leaning over Georgi's palm. "Everyone back in Romania used to call him a witch—at least, that's what he said. He used to collect dead crows and hang them from the rafters."
"Oh, well, uh, that's a—that's a nice story." Georgi should have stayed inside and asked for a Jell-O shot. "I'm sure your grandfather was a very nice man."
This seemed to be taking a little too long. Silence fell. Dmitry kept running his thumb over Georgi's palm, and he seemed really, really focused. He was probably drunk, and having trouble seeing the creases.
"You're very loyal when you've made a friend," Dmitry finally spoke. "And you're impulsive. Is that why you came here tonight? Or was it purely your mother?" A grin.
Georgi attempted to steal his hand away, but Dmitry held it firm.
"Uh, well, it's nothing like that. I was—I was heading toward my friend's house and, well, I knew Mogens was having this," Georgi waved his hand toward the house. "So…"
Dmitry tilted his head, and the light caught on that sharp tooth of his. "I don't think you were having much fun, were you? Mogens can throw a good party, but only if you like hooking up in bathrooms. Not that I judge…"
"Why are you here?"
Dmitry's smile fell slightly. "Well, I came here with Arthur and Lukas, if you know them. But they've—it doesn't matter. Want to see something cool?"
Georgi wasn't sure, but the silence had his mouth speaking before his brain could comprehend the question.
"Sure."
Dmitry reached into his pocket; Georgi almost ducked. But instead of a gun, all he pulled out was a small red and white ribbon. Dmitry placed it in Georgi's hand, closing his fingers around it. Georgi looked at the knot, twirling the string. It was pretty, red and white, tied in a neat bow around a piece of paper.
"Oh, uh…"
"It's for good luck, among other things. Anyways, I have to find my friends, see you!" Dmitry grinned and jumped up, waltzing away.
Georgi was alone once again, one bow richer. With nothing else to do, Georgi unwrapped the piece of paper. And then he laughed. Apparently, big, bad Dmitry wanted Georgi to 'call him.' Georgi flexed his fingers, smiling faintly down at his hand.