Page 75 of On His Mind

“Let’s match,” Ivory calls from my door. She holds up her knee-high boots.

I pull mine out from the back of the closet, and her eyes light up.

The party is a big ugly house on the far side of campus, nowhere near Hawthorne Street, full of people I’ve never seen — business majors, a soccer crowd, girls being loud in a kitchen that isn’t cute one bit. Not one face I’d recognize from anywhere. It’s a separate universe, and I move through it like a tourist. But there’s something restful in it. If I don’t know them, they don’t know me. Nobody here has an opinion about what I do with my life or who I am. We’re only here for a good time.

I have a drink. Then another, faster than I’d normally allow, and the tight thing at the center of me loosens half a notch.

“Okay, where did you get your boots? Because I absolutely need a pair.”

Ivory turns to the brunette, looking up at us with a straw in her mouth.

“Mara!” she squeals.

They hug.

“How are you? How was summer?”

They dive into a conversation while I look around the room. I catch eyes with a few people, and then I finish off my drink.

“You went to Portugal?” Mara asks me, so now I’m part of the conversation.

“This is Penelope,” Ivory explains. “We live together. Penelope. Mara.”

“Hi,” I say. “What are you drinking?”

“Trash can punch. Want some?”

“Yes,” I say reluctantly.

Mara laughs her head off. “It doesn’t taste like a trash can.”

“Thank God.”

Ivory and I follow her through the party until we reach the kitchen. Ivory is talking nonstop about Drew Faulkner like Mara knows their entire history. And Mara has opinions.He’s a fuckboy. Hockey players don’t do girlfriends.She’s rolling her eyes. She mentions Hawthorne and the party that’s going on right now.

For a moment, I think about the house and who resides there. Then I drink half of the cup of trash can punch.

Ivory cackles. “Whoa.” And then she’s chugging hers. “Another one?”

I nod. Mara catches up. We laugh, filling our cups up again.

We walk to the living room. Mara is loud and unfiltered. She reminds me of someone. It takes a minute to figure it out, but once I do, I can’t unsee it. She reminds me of my best friend,Taylor. The old Taylor. Before we drifted. Mara has the thing Taylor used to have — the easy, unguarded, immediate warmth.

“Gianna!” Mara calls out to the brunette walking by. “Hey!”

Gianna stops and smiles. “Hey, Mara.”

“Gianna was supposed to be my roommate in the dorms, but she found an apartment above a Thai place.” Mara rolls her eyes.

“I know,” Gianna says. “I’m sorry.”

Mara waves her off and starts asking her about her classes for the year.

An hour later, Gianna is a force of nature in a crop top, arguing with a boy twice her size about hockey, and winning.

“All I’m saying is that you play soccer,” Gianna says. “A highlight isn’t luck.”

“A highlight isn’t luck,” Mara agrees. “Who’s this?”