Disclaimer: No ownage, as per usual.
Chapter 4 – Gimme Some Lovin'
Sarah swore and dropped the card back onto the pile she'd gotten it from.
"Watcha doing?"
Tilting her head back to address the familiar voice above her head, Sarah saw a smiling Itey looking down at her. "Playing solitaire. What are you doing? Isn't this, like, a seperate dorm for girls?"
Itey laughed. "Nah, we don't have enough girls here for them to bother with a whole separate dorm for them. But that aside, what's a girl like you doing playing solitaire all by her lonesome on a night like this?"
"What's a girl like me?"
"Pretty."
Sarah narrowed her eyes. "And what's a night like this?"
"Friday."
"Yeah, and how old are you?"
"I'm a sophomore," Itey said. He sat on the arm of Sarah's chair and grinned. Then he reached out and took her hand.
"And I'm a senior. Too old for you," she replied witheringly. She took her hand back. "Try my brother. He's more your age."
"He's a junior."
"Which is more your age than a senior. Now go away. I've got a boyfriend in Wisconsin, anyway."
"Long-distance relationships never work out," Itey said hopefully.
Sarah snapped, "This one will." Then, allowing a hint of pride to color her voice, she added, "We're gonna get married when I graduate from college."
Itey paused, then said, "Well, I wasn't necessarily asking to be your boyfriend..."
"Oh, yeah?"
"...Well, maybe I was a little bit."
Sarah watched Itey walk away, then called, "Hey—what's your real name?"
"Nick Lopez."
---
A frazzled-looking employee stood behind a tall counter, piling dishes from the dishwasher into a cabinet near the cash register. Her frizzy red hair hid her face—Racetrack didn't think that was very sanitary. The café was mostly empty; apart from him, there was a handsome man reading a newspaper in the corner, an old woman sipping a tea and babbling quietly at her lapdog, and a college-age couple kissing near the window. The glass door swung open occasionally to admit someone new, but mostly it was just a quiet, cozy place for Race to drink his coffee and finish has pre-cal homework before heading off to the off-campus party at Bumlets's parents' house.
Normally Racetrack wouldn't be caught dead with Bumlets, but this was different—his parents were in Rome for a week, and it was really Bumlets's younger brother's party, and there was probably going to be lots of expensive booze. Plus Spot and Jack had begged him to go—the whole school was invited.
Beep.
Racetrack glanced at his phone, which proclaimed 1 NEW TEXT MESSAGE. He flipped it open and read:
FR: 726-8233
Jack, Race thought. Pressing the down arrow, he read:
Where r u? ur comin 2 the party bums, rite? SANTA FE
Rolling his eyes, Race hit 'reply' and typed:
I'm away from u n spot, doing my precal. Yeah, I'll be there. 9:00, right?
He barely had time to sip down the last dregs of his coffee and hail the waitress for another before his phone beeped again.
FR: 726-8233
No it starts 9, so meet me n spot the subway station by that dumb café u go 2 all the time 9.30 SANTA FE
Race didn't even bother to reply. The clock by the counter read 7:30, so he figured he had just enough time to finish his precal, drop it and his car off at the school, and make itback to the station down the street by 9:30. He thought, Maybe I oughta eat some dinner before the party, but quickly followed it with, Nah, screw that—an empty stomach makes for a quicker drunk.
---
David sat with his feet on the windowsill, surfing the net on his laptop. He had just finished his homework for all his classes and he had no plans for the rest of the night.
"David! You ready to party?"
Jake's beaming face filled David's view.
"What the heck are you talking about?" David asked. Then, when Jake backed up slightly, he wrinkled his nose and added, "More importantly, what the heck are you wearing?"
The offending item was a chunky, rainbow-striped sweater with a black lightening bolt inlay on the chest.
"Oh, do you not like it? Is it too much? Should I change before the party?"
"What party? And yeah, you definitely need to change."
"You don't know about the party? Jordan's party?"
"Whose?"
"Jordan—remember, Bumlets's brother? Sophomore here?"
David thought, then said, "Squinty eyes? A bit bulkier than Bumlets? Used to have a lisp?"
"That's the one. Their parents are in Rome, so the whole school's invited to a party at their house. It's at nine and you should come. There'll be lots of expensive alcohol and easy chicks."
David looked slightly sick. "Um, I think I'll pass. Thanks, though."
"Aww..." Jake's entire face fell and he seemed so crushed that David just had to give in.
"Fine, whatever, but don't you dare try to hook me up with anyone."
---
Sarah checked the number on the door twice, then knocked firmly right below the gold '12.'
"Yeah?" A thin black boy wearing nothing but Elmo boxers stood in the doorway. From the depths of his dorm room came a complicated-sounding guitar riff.
"Uh, is this Nick Lopez's room?"
The boy laughed, then called over his shoulder, "Ites, there's a babe at the door for you."
The guitar riff stopped and moments later Itey was pushing past his roommate, muttering, "Thanks, Snapper," and shutting the door behind him.
Itey and Sarah stood awkwardly in the hallway. Itey waited, and finally Sarah said, "Listen, I heard there's a party at Bumlets's. You going?"
"With you?"
"...Sure. But just as friends."
"See you at your car at nine."
---
"Mr. Bloedschande, you're failing precalculus, and I've spoken to your other teachers as well—you're precariously perched on the edge of failing science, and badly failing Spanish. I suggest you get your act together. You were a straight-A student last year—what happened? Is there something you'd like to talk about?"
Dutchy sighed. "No, sir. I'll try harder, sir. May I go, sir?"
"You may go, but I strongly suggest you study instead of going to the party at Mr. Conte's tonight."
Dutchy opened the classroom door and, pausing before shutting it behind him, said, "I'll keep that in mind, sir."
Outside, Dutchy collapsed against the wall. Looking up at Specs, who'd bee waiting for him for moral support, he asked, "Would it be really rude to go to a party already stoned?"
---
9:17.
David groaned. He'd only been at the party for seventeen minutes? He could barely believe it.
David and Jake had been among the first guests to arrive, preceeded only by Bumlets's elitist friends and a gaggle of freshman (Boots, Crutchy, Slider, and Snipeshooter) standing around nervously. They were in the room with all the alcohol, eyeing it like they'd never seen it before and thought cops—or worse, parents—would materialize out of nowhere if they touched it. When they showed up, Jordan Conte appeared to give them a quick tour. David noticed that his eyes were just a little too bleary and his voice just a little too loud, and the sick feeling in the bottom of his stomach increased.
Now there was a steady stream of guests arriving—most of the freshman and sophomores were there, and a lot of the seniors, but almost none of David's friends had shown up yet.
David didn't know where Jake had gotten off to, and now he was stuck talking to a sophomore he didn't recognize, who was already buzzed.
---
"Come on, Blink, can't we just go in?" Skittery whined. He, Snitch, Mush, and Blink were crouching behind a huge bush on the edge of Bumlets's property, with their backs pressed against the fence seperating Bumlets's lawn from his neighbour's.
Blink's eyes were glued to his watch. "Just three more minutes, Skittery. We hafta be fashionably late."
Skittery groaned.
---
At 9:30, Jack was making out with Spot on a subway.
By 10, he was guzzling beer from the keg, occasionally adding a few shots of something harder.
By 10:30, he was totally smashed and talking to a noteably sober David.
By 11 he was naked in the bathroom, blowing someone he was too drunk to recognize.
By 11:30, he was puking in a potted plant.
And by 12, he was at the keg again.
---
10:47.
Oh, fuck this, David thought. He grabbed a bottle of whiskey and tossed back a shot. And another, and another, and another, and finally one more.
In the morning, the last thing David remembered was leading Jack to the bathroom with one hand while undoing his pants with the other.
---
BEEP BEEP BEEP.
Race rolled over and slammed a hand on the top of his alarm clock. He opened one eye, then blinked three times to clear the image. The angry red numbers burned 8:10 AM into his aching retinas. His head throbbed and his mouth felt like cotton. He couldn't remember anything from the previous night, or where he was, or what day it was.
He pushed himself out of bed and was immediately overcome by a wave of dizzy nausea. Race flopped back on his bed and shut his eyes, concentrating on not throwing up. A few moments later, he opened his eyes and looked around. He was lying in his own bed—an unusual occurance; he suspected it meant Spot and Jack had been having sex last night—and Oscar Delancey was glaring at him from the other bed. Race tried for a smile, but the effort made him feel faint. His head hurt so badly he could barely breathe.
Oscar could easily tell that Racetrack was hungover, of course, so as much as he felt like bitching him out for forgetting to switch off his alarm the previous night, he just said, "If you puke in here, I'll fucking castrate you," and vowed to get back at him later.
Using all his energy, Race bent down and picked up a bottle of water and a bottle of Ibuprofen off his floor. He dumped about half the bottle of Ibuprofen into his hand and gingerly swallowed them. Half an hour later, Race's hangover had ebbed just enough for him to get up and stumble into the bathroom—although not enough that he didn't immediately throw up in the toilet.
After a shower, he felt slightly better, but he still had a worse hangover than he remembered ever experiencing before. He put on a clean t-shirt and boxers, then passed out again on his bed.
---
"Shit."
Sarah lay in her bed with a warm, damp washcloth over her forehead and a hell of a hangover—yet somehow she remembered the events of the previous night... At least, she remembered a locked bedroom at Bumlets's house, all of her clothes on the floor, and Itey... she tried to remember if they'd used a condom or not, but it was a lost cause.
"Shit."
---
Dutchy, Pie Eater, Snoddy, and Swifty sat on Swifty's bed, waiting for Bumlets to wake up. They knew he, like everyone else in the school except Swifty, would be sporting a violent hangover the size of Russia and fully planned to get him through it with as little pain as possible. (Admittedly, it was more in self-interest than anything else—an uncured, hungover Bumlets was a bitch to deal with.)
Dutchy snapped his gum. Pie Eater filed his nails. Swifty plucked his eyebrows. Snoddy reorganized the Hangover Helper box. All four waitied.
"Gahfuggendamn," Bumlets finally groaned. He didn't move or even open his eyes, just said through a thick, sour-tasting tongue, "I fuggen 'ade pahrdies..."
"Hungover?" Dutchy asked brightly.
"Fugged iv ahm nod..."
Pie Eater nudged Dutchy. "Be gentle, Dutch."
Dutchy stuck out his tongue. "You weren't gentle waking me up!"
"Fuggen shuddup..."
Bumlets rolled over and vomited loudly on the floor.
---
There had never been a more popular phrase than "What the fuck happened last night?" was that day.
A/N: Myezzz... there's another chapter for you all. Not much of consequence happened in this one, but then, when does it ever? So... I had this chapter sitting around for ages, already written out (handwritten). I just finally got around to typing it. I already have about half of chapter 5 handwritten, as well. Something actually happens in that chapter! Although, actually, stuff did happen in this chapter. I'm wondering how much of it you, as readers, will notice, as you don't have the same information about the story as I do.