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"You and I are used to dealing with mysteries that live on the page."
"There are no bad guys. There are just complicated people who did bad things."
"I've got enough crime fact in my life. I don't need to read about it."
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When c...
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Punch has always confused me. Just why? Why did they decide to mix together fruit juices and liquor and serve it at parties? Why does it taste so sour the first time you drink it? Why do they always have a bowl of it at dances with the huge crystal-looking ladle and the tiny crystal-looking cups?
But - and I would consider this the most important question of all - why does it stain your clothes when someone knocks into you and sends your second anxious glass of it flying onto your brand new suit?
All of this I pondered over while I furiously worked to get the stain out of my champagne jacket. Alcohol seems to be the focus of tonight.
I knew I shouldn't have come to this dance. The reluctant recluse I can be, I tried to convince Leah and Zach that - since I was a new student - I would be better off in my hotel room for tonight. They were having none of it. Instead, they insisted. Insisted.
'Oh, come on Tyler! Dances are always fun at the Elm.'
'Yeah, Tyler, it's a great way to meet new people.'
What am I, in the second grade?
But with a little - oh who am I kidding - a lot of persuasion, I was here. The deciding factor may or may not have had anything to do with the fact that Alex was coming. When Lee told me that, I began to consider it.
And the second I had said maybe, my sister had already recruited Ella to find a suit. That's how I ended up in a white polo shirt and a champagne-colored ensemble. I had consented, and thought that the dance wouldn't be a big deal. But - because there's always a but - when my best friend and I had arrived, panic immediately rose inside of me. And Zach helped me plenty when he decided to reveal that Ella had coordinated outfits.
Why the hell did I do this?
As the reality of the fact that Alex and I would be at the same dance at the same time wearing the same color, I couldn't help it. I know she doesn't like me. That's just not possible. She said it; I'm not her type.
That's when I dumped Zach for tonight's best friend. The punch bowl. I had downed my first glass in two seconds, feeling a buzz go through my veins. The sour strawberry flavor made me wrinkle my nose at first, but I warmed up to it on my second glass.
Deciding to pace myself, I had only taken a sip or two when my uneasy ass thought that it would be a good idea to actually pace. I began to walk around the sides of the dance floor, observing the scene with a dull sort of interest that one has to portray in order to never be spoken to at parties.
This is when the next character of my little play strode in. Some little nerdo boy had gotten lucky with his little nerdo girlfriend. Backing up to get somewhere private, the pair happened to back into me. And of course, the punch didn't spill on them.
