Chapter Two: Signs of Discomfort

June still has a smear of blue paint on her ankle, but I think it's endearing so I don't let her know. She arrived home today at ten o'clock (I was still sleeping) laden with about 30,000 paintings and six dresses, one for everyone. Leave it to June, she didn't even say anything about it.

I'm wearing mine now, and despite the fact that June didn't account for the growth spurt I told her about at least six times (and about time, too, I thought I would be stuck at 5' 1" all my life until I shot up three inches this year as if some sort of Miracle Grow had been spread all over my dorm room), I feel better dressed than I ever would have managed on my own.

Enduring only twenty-four hours in the house was torture, and her appearance has made me so happy to see her that I don't want to leave her side, ever, at all. It's a miracle that my father survived all year without the both of us, I barely managed my senior year and I had the ability to escape to Charlotte's or Becca's or Dan's whenever I wanted to (often). As much as I love college, June is the best sister I have and she loves me unconditionally despite my shenanigans, which is something that I cannot say about anybody else.

"Charlotte!" She's across the yard, but the moment she looks in my direction her eyes light up and I feel awful about not even bothering to call her yesterday. It must have been just as much of a hellhole here for her as it was for my father. Shunning all dignity, she runs towards June and I, and I accept her enormous hug as she jumps into my arms.

"I missed you so much!" We say simultaneously. She drops out of my arms and reaches over and hugs June, who taps her comfortingly on the back. "You got so tall!" I laugh, shaking my head.

"That's relative." I see a full glass of champagne on a tray left out by a neglectful waiter and grab it to sip.

"It's also the only thing that saved you from the Freshman 15," June quips, but she smiles so innocently after it that I can't even feign anger. She is quite possibly the sweetest person that has ever walked the Earth.

"Psh, I'm fit as fuck," I say, flexing my non-existent arm muscle. Across the lawn, a pair of over-40s cast a disdainful glance in my direction as if I am an unseemly blemish on the Earth. Of course, the posh attitude reminds me of why, exactly, we're here – "so where's the new Nether-bait for my mother to squeal over? I'd love to get a glimpse of my new marriage partner," I say, scanning the crowd as if I'll be able to distinguish who's new and who just got a haircut since I last saw them. "Or, more accurately, June's new marriage partner."

"Liz," she chides, but I don't even bother to listen to her, because if she hadn't been standing here talking to Charlotte and I, she would have been bombarded by one of the eight boys and counting that I've already seen ogling her.

Honestly, it's a miracle that June's still single. The only real explanation for it is that when it comes to males at art schools, they are 1) very sparse, and 2) gay.

"Ooh, fun," Charlotte says, sticking her tongue between her teeth as she clasps her hands together in a caricature of my mother. "Come on, I think they're inside. We met Charlie and his sister last night, he's adorable."

"And his sister?"

"Well, he has two, but the other one's off in, I don't know, Paris or something, getting engaged." She says this completely nonchalantly as we walk across the lawn and towards the big double doors of the function hall, thrown open to make the party more 'fluid', as my mother would say.

"She's what?"

"Oh, yeah," she says conversationally, and I drop my now empty champagne glass onto another abandoned tray. I search around for another one, and wish that Charlotte could take a brief detour so we could pass closer to the waiter. Maybe I could work up a decent buzz and this party would actually start getting interesting. "Don't worry, it's not a loss or anything. The boyfriend's old and on the fat side and she sounds like she has a real troll personality, so they probably deserve each other. He has tons of money, obviously… hell, I would do it."

"No you wouldn't, Charlie, come on."

"No, I totally would! I mean, why not?" I resist the urge to roll my eyes and shake her. She has one more year here, and she's getting really impatient when it comes to males… and people in general. I suppose if you get used to spending all your time with people you hate; it doesn't seem that bad to have to be living with one if you're at least loaded. Of course, I still have hope that once Charlotte's off at college and actually happy, she'll drop this ridiculous notion that having a boyfriend is a societal staple and it doesn't matter who he is, as long as she has one.

"Um, let's see," I say with a mocking air, "because you're dooming yourself to a life of misery with an ornery and ugly marriage partner?"

"Oh, hush. I really don't think it'd be that bad."

"That's where you and I differ, my friend," I say, and I grab another glass of champagne for myself off the tray of a passing waiter. This is good. Ten minutes haven't even passed and I'm on my second alcoholic unit. I might start having fun. "He'd have to be Steve Jobs, or something, before I go and marry for money. Or date someone for money."

Charlotte just shrugs, and we enter the high-ceilinged function hall silently, Charlotte scanning the crowd. "There they are," she says, pointing blatantly towards the front of the room. "The Carvells are the ones moving in—Pat's the blonde, and the girl with streaks in her hair is Claire."

"Okay," I say, noting that there is a third companion Charlotte hadn't mentioned, "first of all, Pat is definitely more ginger than he is blonde, you just know that I hate gingers so you—"

"He's way more blonde." She sticks her tongue out at me, and I raise my eyes to the ceiling.

"Okay, whatever. Who's the other guy?" He's slightly taller than Pat Carvell, with dark hair that has absolutely no traces of ginger in it whatsoever. He may actually be hook up material, and I may not be sexually starved over the summer, if he turns out to be interesting.

"That's his friend Seb McCail. He—"

"Seb?" June asks.

"Short for Sebastian," Charlotte explains quickly, "apparently they've known each other since high school and decided to go to college together. And, get this, Liz, he's Steve Jobs rich."

"Ooh la la, Steve Jobs rich," I say, pretending to fan myself. "I don't know, Charlotte. He doesn't seem to be talking much."

"Maybe he's the quiet type."

I'm not exactly into 'the quiet type.' More often than not the quiet type is quiet because he's stupid and can't think of anything to say as opposed to being mysterious and deep and tortured and intelligent. Those types only exist in books, and let's be honest here, said books aren't even that well-written.

"Maybe you find him more attractive because he's Steve Jobs rich."

"There's nothing wrong with that!" And we both smile widely at each other, Charlotte beaming with such force that I'm hit with another pang of guilt about the fact that I did such a bad job keeping in touch. "Well, want me to introduce you?"

"Oh God, yes, please, if Mom did it I'm sure her ovaries would explode mid-introduction and all would go to Hell." June looks like she's about to disapprove, but I shake my head. "Don't say anything, you know it's true." Thankfully, Mom's too busy making the rounds to notice us, otherwise June and I would be the center of Mrs. Hooper's Social Destruction 2011. And there's no way I'm going to say that this won't happen.

At the present moment, thankfully, she's taken to parading Lynnie around like she's some sort of prize with her concave stomach and awful fashion sense. Not that I'm complaining. Ever since June decided on Art school and I went the liberal arts road, mother has been a lot less keen on us because she thinks we're going to be jobless and husbandless when we leave college. Which is true, sure, but at least we're happy.

Lynn, at least, is currently on the road to husband-hunting, following almost exactly in good ol' Mum's footsteps. On the varsity cheer squad and only a sophomore. Does wonders for Katie's self-esteem, who still made J-V even though she'll be a junior, but no one seems to care. Katie almost even looks up to Lynne, I think , which almost makes me throw up in my mouth. Somehow I suppress.

As for Carrie, God knows what will happen to her. She's supposed to have started the college search and she just… hasn't. She never was very independent, even though she tries so hard to pretend to be.

From the front of the room, Patrick Carvell has noticed us approaching. He waves to Charlotte and smiles widely, and I can already tell that he's the type who has never had to worry about anything in his entire life, and won't understand it when other people do. My college is filled with them, beaming boys whose pockets are so full of money that they don't need to fill anything else, let alone their minds. Although I'm sure they wouldn't mind filling vaginas, at the expense of being vulgar.

"Hello Charlotte," he says, his eyes darting from her to me to June, where he rests his gaze. Naturally. However, his voice is so genuine and kind that I have to temporarily take back the 'vagina' comment. He's probably a tad better than that. "It's good to see you again."

"It's good to see you too," and she gestures swiftly to June and I. "I just wanted to introduce you to some friends of mine."

"I'd be delighted."

Behind him, Sebastian McCail shifts his weight from one foot to another and the Carvell sister – Clarissa? – reaches up and whispers something in his ear that he doesn't react to.

Cute couple.

"This is Liz, my best friend here who made my life bearable before she ran off to college," and I smile just a little as more guilty feelings wash over me and I promise to be absolutely doting of Charlotte for the rest of the summer, if not longer. "And this is her sister, June. I think she's your age."

Pat nods to each of us and shakes our hands, but of course his attention has already turning in favor of June, everyone's favorite blonde beauty, despite the fact that Charlotte introduced me as her One and Only Savior, essentially. "It's a pleasure to meet you." It's not that I mind. It's just that June has an enormous propensity to get herself hurt by charming boys who she think she's in love with, and I hate to see her hurt.

Finally, Pat decides that he's devoted enough time to eye-flirting with June to introduce us to his two companions. "This is my younger sister, Claire, she'll be a senior once school starts," he says, and I snort to think of her in some classes with Carrie. Sebastian's eyes fly to mine with my laugh, which surprises me, because I thought I had kept it indiscreet. "And this is my friend Seb, he's just here with us for the summer. We've been in school together since middle school, he's a great guy."

"Thank you, Pat," is all he says, and he looks away from me to scan the room again.

"I'm pretty much just one of the boys," Claire adds with a weird giggle, her eyes glancing up at Seb before coming back down to look at us. "Girls can be so… augh sometimes, you know?"

No, I don't know, seeing as you, yourself, are a girl. However, I restrain myself and limit my critique to rolling my eyes and saying, "I'd assume so."

And that's all the agreement she needs. "Yeah, well, you know. I'm more of a video game girl. And I love sports. And I'm not afraid to talk dirty or whatever, but I'm just not interested in clothes or fashion or gossip or, whatever."

'Whatever.'

She keeps glancing at Sebastian, as if to check to see if he's listening, but he's not at all interested. Pat, who has been talking in an undertone to June for the duration of Claire's self-promotion, leads her away to the dance floor. Seeing as I have no real desire to continue my acquaintance with Claire the self-proclaimed "girl-hater" (whatever that is, honestly, have people not heard of feminism?) or Seb the Surly Wallflower, I say a quick, "actually I prefer books" before grabbing Charlotte and high tailing it to the dance floor myself.

(+)

Several hours later, with June and Pat taking a brief break from their dancing which looks like it's going to last all night and my mother in the corner loudly espousing how happy she is that they've "hit it off so well" and have "such nice beginnings to a relationship" and other bullshit, I lean up against the wall by the slowly diminishing food table. Dinner was put out an hour ago and has already been halfway demolished, and I wonder briefly who pays for the annual dinner. Whoever throws this party probably shits rainbows in my mother's eyes, but unless they're some sort of Fezziwig who takes joy out of entertaining all the terribly boring townies of suburban America (not likely), all their attempts at neighborhood notoriety are useless. I mean, come on, why bother?

"Come on, Seb, could you at least try and enjoy yourself?"

I look up. Patrick Carvell is talking to his friend, Seb What's-His-Face, and somehow the sound is echoing off the ceiling and is traveling to me, clear as a bell. Obviously my overhearing it meant to be. I could move, sure, but I'm in such an ideal spot, especially if I'm suddenly hit by hunger, so why should I—

"Who says I'm not enjoying myself?"

Pat gives him a look much reminisce of myself, and I suddenly find myself liking him a lot more. "Don't act like I don't know you. You're just being miserable on purpose."

"Fine," McCail allows, "I'm not enjoying myself."

"Dance a little! Drink a little! Have fun!"

"I couldn't have fun here if I tried."

"You haven't tried." Okay, it's official. I approve of Patrick. He and June can go ahead and get married; I'll do the ceremony myself. Anyone who says 'Dance a little, drink a little,' to someone, even someone as repulsively boring as Seb McCail, is my kind of person. People like that deserve some kind of award, seriously. Why aren't there awards for people like us?

Seb sighs, looking genuinely irritated, and runs his hand over the stubble growing on his chin before responding. "Look, Claire's already dancing, I have no interest in anyone else, so go enjoy yourself while I just—"

"I'm not talking about Claire, you dunce," Pat says, looking just as irritated as Seb does, "if you liked her that way that would be disgusting, for one, and secondly, you don't, so it's not like you'd be really enjoying yourself. I mean—okay, like, look over there. There's June's sister. What about her?"

As quickly as I can, I try to make it look like I wasn't listening and become vastly interested in the potato salad. Look at those potato chunks! The way the dressing permeates the concoction so completely! The tiny onion slices to add flavor, to add color! The lettuce bits, the cool temperature to contrast the warm summer air! It's like art, it's like—

"I couldn't possibly," Sebastian says, and my heart plummets just from the shock of it. I mean, it's not like I was that interested – I reiterate my thoughts about the quiet type, despite the fact that his hair is delightfully luscious – but still, it's difficult to listen to yourself get stone-cold rejected. "If she was interesting at all other people would be dancing with her. I'm sure that June is just…" he pauses, adding an air of sarcasm to whatever descriptor he plans to use next, "the best person you've ever met. I'm sure, Pat. And she's very pretty. Have fun. Her sister is vulgar and rude and undereducated; she hardly seems to care about her appearance and her dress is a good three inches too short for her to be anyone of dignity."

In thirty seconds, Sebastian McCail has crossed the line from mildly rude to uproariously hilarious.

"Plus, she has the sexual attractiveness of a brick," he adds almost as an afterthought, icing on the cake, and he has crossed the line again from uproariously hilarious to COMPLETELY INAPPROPRIATE.

A brick? Seriously? A brick?

"Well, I'm sorry I brought her up," Pat says, glancing back at me, and we make eye contact for a split second before I remember myself and focus again on the snack table. Except this time, the potato salad is not interesting and I kind of want to hurl it across the room. God, damn it. God damn it! What right does he have to say that? "She seems perfectly fine to me, Seb, I'm sorry that she's apparently the most offensive girl ever to you."

"I find everyone here offensive," Seb says, and I suppose it makes me feel better, knowing that he hates everyone.

As if, Jesus. I take back what I said about his being the quiet type. He isn't stupid beneath the surface, he's just a jackass. "You should know by now that I hate these kinds of things, Pat. Now just go enjoy yourself and let me be crotchety in my corner." And he pushes him back toward the center of the room. Pat turns, raising his hands in defeat towards his friend before returning to the center of the mass of dancing people. Among them I see Lynn, grinding with two boys at the same time, and I try to restrain myself from wrenching her off the both of them and slapping her until she grew some sense.

I spot June by the perpendicular wall talking to Charlotte, eating the potato salad I was marveling moments ago (Art you can eat! Consumable art! Does it get better?). I'm about to make a beeline for them when a better idea strikes me.

Instead, I walk towards Sebastian.

Hope this chapter was a bit more intriguing, now that things have officially gotten started. As always, press that button and let me know what you think. It takes two seconds and it makes my day. :)