That weekend, Friday night to be exact, after two hours of irritating phone calls from Luke, who just wouldn't accept the excuse of 'washing my hair', I ventured out into the freezing cold with the sole purpose of surviving another high school kegger.

However, I'd recently run out of maximum dosage anti-depressants . . . so a bottle of Mountain Dew would have to suffice until we actually reached the party.

"Are you okay?" Luke asked as we party-parked just down the street from the host's house.

I shot him a sideways glance, "Why wouldn't I be okay?"

"You're kind of twitching." He pointed out. We got out of the car, some of us more reluctantly than others, and started toward the door.

"You're so sweet." I grabbed for his hand, for assurance that he could not abandon me in the crowd of his soul-eating peers.

"I was just asking."

"Well it's probably because I didn't get to wash my hair."

"It is a little greasy."

"And who's fault is that?" I glared at him and made a beeline for the Dew.

The line wasn't long. In fact there was only one massive linebacker between me and my precious, precious Mountain Dew. He wasn't filling a cup, but he was standing very inconveniently in front of the tap, having what I'm sure was an overly stimulating conversation with a blonde bearing gifts of double D's and pigtails about the amount of horsepower his brand new pick up had versus the horsepower of her puny little sting-ray.

Of course that was just what I picked up before jamming my elbow into his ribcage and covering his shouts of alarm with the song "London Bridge" as I happily filled a transparent, purple plastic cup with yelow, sugary Mountain Dew.

Now, I would never attempt to deny my enthusiasm for drinking, but for the record, and I want this duly noted, I had never been what one might call an alcoholic. I had always known my limit and stuck to it, protecting myself from public displays of humiliation and avoiding possibly virtue threatening situations; but since my falling out with Percy, the thin line between 'just having a few drinks' and 'man, she's had a few' grew blurrier and blurrier every time Luke brought me to a party.

Therefore, not long after my first drink, I was halfway through my fourth, and not even contemplating the prospect of slamming down my plastic cup and slurring "I've had enough!" I was getting less coordinated then even my usual self, so I plopped down on the putrid green sofa next to a boy who looked far too much like my uncle Steven for my liking.

"Having a good time?"

I looked away from my uncle's long lost twin to see Luke settling himself down on the arm of the couch beside me, smiling and holding a full beer in his hand.

I nodded and reached for it, "Give me what's left of your beer and we'll see."

Luke laughed, "I love a girl who can hold her liquor."

"Well, " I sipped the beer and cringed at it's warmth, "let me know when you find one."

"I already have, Soph."

I let Luke take his drink back and have a sip of his own before stealing it back and shaking my head, "About tha-"

But before I could complain about his blatant disregard of my pre-bestowed nickname, Luke leaned down and planted one on me.

He pulled back, looking very smug and pleased with himself, and all I could do was sip the drink in my hand and reply lamely, "Way to play the sneak attack."

Luke must have taken my response to mean something complimentary, because his smirk grew and he leaned back against the wall, "Good, huh?"

"Wet anyway."

"I love that you have no problem admitting I have that affect on you."

I cringed again after a relatively large swig of luke-warm beer, "Elijah Wood has that effect on me too but he doesn't let it get to his head."

"You're so funny. I love it." Luke chuckled.

I glared up at him over the rim of my cup, "You're sure wearing out that "L" word."

Luke turned away for a second, looking down at his hands shyly, "Maybe I'm trying to tell you something."

And for some reason, none of this seemed all that strange to me. There was no feeling of impending doom at all as I stared up at him, Doe-eyed, jaw slacking, and gasped, "Like what? Should I sit down?"

"You're already sitting."

I smiled and took a drink, "Don't ever let anyone tell you that you're not strong enough."

Luke gave a nervous laugh and faced me slowly, "Sophia, I love you."

Finally the dread seeped in and I immediately panicked, "This morning, I woke up with the munchies, so I went downstairs and got a granola bar and brought it back to my room with me, but I fell asleep again before eating it."

"Ok . . . " Luke stared at me, only slightly dazed and confused.

"I woke up spooning my granola bar."

"Uh . . . " Suddenly he was at a loss for things to love about me.

I gave him a sweet smile, "I'm just trying to let you know where my heart truly lies."

"With a granola bar?" Luke asked skeptically.

I shook my head, "Not just any granola bar. It was my granola bar. Plus it was chocolate chip."

Finally he grew tired of my rambling and let out a truly devastated sigh, "Sophie Baby, I'm trying to tell you something serious."

And I thought, How the hell am I supposed to take him seriously if he keeps calling me 'Sophie Baby'?

But instead I said, "I ate it eventually."

Luke, not entirely in favor of that response to his attempt at sincerity, gave a sound I can only describe as a 'harrumph' and grabbed my chin firmly, "Look at me." He demanded.

"Ok."

"I love you."

Dead silence ensued. Even the rambunctious party goers seemed to quiet down for the appropriate cricket chirping moment.

But it was February, and there were no crickets to chirp for us. So I simply stared at him, pretending that if I just didn't move, he might forget I was even there to begin with.

He didn't.

"For real."

The clarification was only slightly appreciated. And did nothing to enhance my ability to verbalize my shock and alarm.

"Are you drunk?" I asked quietly. Like I said, nothing.

"No."

Still, nothing.

"I'm drunk."

His brow furrowed, he looked a little worried, "Are you going to remember what I just said tomorrow?"

Luke got the hint. Monumental, man.

I turned toward the beverage sloshing solemnly in my cup, "I kinda hope not." I mumbled.

"What?"

"I said I kinda hate nuts. Or . . . I don't know . . . "

Luke sighed, "Well . . . do you have a response?"

Cue the nonexistent crickets.

"Anything?"

Let the crickets know they have some extra chirping to do come spring.

"If you can't answer for real right now then don't say anything."

I nodded a big old Can Do.

"Wait until tomorrow."

Another wave of dread washed over me, "Tomorrow?"

Luke smiled, "Yeah. And if you can't remember I'll just tell you again."

"You will?" I was getting really worried and suddenly the alcohol in my cup was looking even more attractive than before.

If that was even possible.

Luke placed a hand on my shoulder and gave me what was meant to be a reassuring squeeze, "Yeah."

Staring into my cup, I stifled a foreboding sigh, "Great."

Now all I have to do is avoid another person for the rest of my life. No big deal. I can manage that.

Luke slid off the arm and onto the couch next to me, gently pushing me aside so he could fit. He pressed a kiss to my cheek and tapped the cup in my hand, "Finish your drink."

I fought the urge to cry and lifted it to my lips, "That I can, and will, definitely do."