A/N: First of all, thank you so much for your reviews. Love y'all.

Disclaimer: Not mine, okay? Unfortunately.

Even though it's barely past noon, the party is in full swing by the time we arrive at Adam's place. Connie and Guy are making out in Mr. Banks's easy chair, completely oblivious to everyone else. Luis and Goldberg are having a spirited discussion about...something. Looking through the doorway into the kitchen, I can see Julie, Charlie, Averman, and Adam playing quarters. I turn to Fulton. "Where's Portman?"

"Out back," he responds. "Where we should be." He takes my arm and leads me into the kitchen.

Charlie sees me first. "Maggie!" he exclaims, jumping up to give me a hug. He smells like Bacardi, and I can see from the empty shotglasses lining the counter that the liquor cabinet has definitely been broken into. "It's about time!"

"You guys started drinking way too early," I tell him, making a face as I push him off of me. I look at the others seated around the table. "Hey, guys. Um, Averman," I greet them with a nod.

Averman smiles, and Good God Almighty, I'm getting the butterflies again. "Hey, Maggie," he says. "Hey, I need to talk to you, okay?"

I sigh inwardly. I should have known I couldn't put it off forever. "Yeah, that's cool," I answer. "Uh, find me later," I call over my shoulder as Fulton drags me through the back door and onto the porch.

Dean looks at us as we pop through the door. "It's about fucking time," he says, taking a long drag off a joint. "I thought I was going to have to smoke this thing all by myself." He offers the joint to Fulton, who takes two hits off it before passing it to me.

"Thanks," I say. I hit the joint hard, coughing as the smoke fills my lungs. On my second hit, I'm able to hold it longer, and I don't even cough as I exhale.

"So, have you figured out what you're going to do?" Dean asks me as I pass him the joint. "I mean, about Averman?"

I shake my head. "We're supposed to talk later, though." I take another hit off the joint as it makes its way back around. "I think things are going to work out tonight."

"Really?" Fulton sounds more surprised than I'd like him to be.

"Yeah, you going to finally hook up?"

I hit the joint one last time, nodding as I put it out against the porch railing. "I hope so. I'm going to put it all on the line and try not to mess it up this time." I'm pretty stoned by now, and I tell them that. "Guys, I'm stupid now."

Portman opens the back door. "You need a beer, then," he decides, ushering us inside.

No, actually, the last thing I need is a beer. If I drink and smoke at the same time, I get incredibly wasted, and I don't want that to happen if I'm going to talk to Averman later. I ignore my better judgment and take a sip as a cup is thrust into my hand.

Julie and Adam have wandered off into the living room, and Charlie quickly recruits Fulton and Dean to play quarters with him. "Maggie, you can play, too," he insists. "Averman says he's done."

"No, thanks." The Bashes have claimed the two available chairs, and there aren't any others in sight. "I don't have a place to sit."

Fulton winks at me. "You can sit on Averman's lap."

Hey, thanks. I give Averman an apologetic smile as he scoots his chair out from the table. "Thank you," I mumble as I sit down.

I think this might be the closest I've ever been to him in my whole life, and I love it. I lean against his chest, focusing on the feel of his heartbeat against my back, and I don't even notice that Portman has bounced a quarter into his cup until he's telling me to drink. He makes it in again, making Fulton drink. On his third bounce, he misses and passes the quarter to Charlie.

By the time it's my turn, I know I've got too much beer in my system to bounce the quarter into my cup. I attempt it anyway and fail miserably, draining the rest of my beer as I slide the quarter back over to Portman.

"I'm done," I announce, three rounds and four beers later. I stand up too quickly, swaying slightly, and have to hold onto the table to steady myself. I turn to look at Averman. "You wanted to talk, right?"

He looks at me and blinks behind his glasses, like he's trying to decide whether or not this is a good idea. Better judgment must be working against him, too, because he nods in agreement and follows me out of the kitchen.

I'm nervous again, as we walk through the living room, and I think that maybe this isn't good. I interrupt Goldberg and Luis to ask if they can do me the hugest favor in the world by grabbing me another drink. Goldberg does, and whispers a "Good luck" as he hands me the cup. I wonder, momentarily, if everybody knows about our non-relationship, but don't have time to dwell on the matter. Averman is looking at me, beckoning me to come closer, to follow him. And I do. I always will.

We end up alone in a guest bathroom. I down my beer and the nervousness goes away. It's replaced with a slight feeling of nausea, which abates as soon as I sit down on the floor. Beer is for bravery, I think. Oh, great. I'm hammered. I open my mouth to speak. "Leeeester," I sing, drawing out the first syllable. "Les. Aaaveeermaaan." I speak slowly and deliberately, trying not to slur my words. An old seventies song pops into my head and I hum it to myself, stopping as soon as I realize what, exactly, I'm humming. The Partridge Family. "I Think I Love You." Great. I open my mouth again, and it occurs to me that I have little control over the sounds coming out. "You know who you used to remind me of, when you talked? Pauly Shore." I try to imitate him. "The Conniemeister. The Velvet Hammer."

"Maggie," he interrupts.

"That's my name, don't wear it out," I giggle. Note to self: Never drink again.

"Maggie," he says again. He sounds impatient this time, and it's enough to make me shut up and listen. "You've been avoiding me lately." It's not a question, though his voice rises slightly at the end.

"I was thinking," I say in response.

"About us?" When I answer in the affirmative, he asks, "Did you figure it out? I mean, what you want to do?"

I close my eyes and take a deep breath, desperately wishing I had another beer. For bravery. I clench my hands into fists at my side and unclench them. "I think," I begin, my eyes still closed, "that you should kiss me now, before I lose my nerve." I open one eye, slightly, to sneak a peek at his reaction.

I can't quite tell, because I'm squinting and I can only see out of one eye, but I think he looks slightly stunned. His hand goes to his face, and I think he's turning away.

I open my eyes. "What's wrong?" I suck my lower lip into my mouth and start to chew on it. "What did I do wrong?"

"You're drunk," he replies, after a long pause. I can't tell if he's saying this because it's true or because it's a problem. I can't help feeling it's both.

I lean against the wall. "There is something I can--" I stop, thinking, and start over. "There is nothing I can do about that now," I correct. I close my eyes again and wait for his response.

I can feel him staring at me for what, in my drunken state, feels like forever. "I don't want you to do this because you've been drinking," he finally says.

"That's not why!" My eyes snap open again. "You know it's...I told you three days ago and you know that's how I feel!"

"Then why didn't you want to talk to me before today?"

"I told you; I was thinking."

"And drinking," I can hear him mutter.

"That's not...you're not being fair," I protest.

"Look," he apologizes, "I'm sorry." He slides down against the wall until he's sitting on the ground next to me. "I'm sorry, okay? Come here."

I lean into him as his arm goes around my shoulders. "This is what I wanted," I whisper.

"What?"

I shake my head. "Nothing."

"One more day," he tells me. "Wait one more day, okay? I'll call you tomorrow and we'll talk."

Arguing would do me no good, I realize, so I give in and agree. Averman stands up, and I watch him walk out of the bathroom.

I think that there's nobody in the world as stupid as I am. That was the second time I almost had him, and, because I'm an absolute moron, the second time I lost him. In this moment, I'm more than thankful that I'm sitting on the ground, because I'm hit with a sudden wave of nausea. It takes everything I have just to lift the toilet seat so I can vomit. I swear to myself that I'm never drinking again -- well, at least not until I'm old enough, anyway. I pick up my phone and check the time. Four-thirty. Four-thirty in the afternoon, and I'm wasted. I hit my speed-dial.

"Hello?"

"Fulton, hey."

"Where are you?"

I have to glance around, because it's only taken me two minutes to forget my surroundings. "In the bathroom."

"At Banksie's?"

I nod.

"Maggie?"

"Yes. I was nodding."

"Good thing you said something," he teases. "I couldn't hear your head rattle."

I make a face. "You're mean."

"Sorry, but you're drunk dialing me from inside the same house that I'm in."

"Come get me," I plead.

"You okay?"

Well, let me think about that for a minute. Let's see: I'm completely smashed, I got rejected by the boy of my dreams, and I'm puking in someone else's toilet. "Yeah, I'm fine," I manage to say, before I'm sick again. I can hear him telling Portman he'll be right back; he has to go check on me. "Bring Portman, too," I request.

"We'll be there in a couple minutes," he answers before hanging up.

"Thank you," I say to the dial tone.