It's when I see him laughing with Brittney that I realize I've been in love with him since he called me "cow poop." Does he know? He can't, because I only just found out. What if he does, and everyone else does too, and they've been laughing at me for years?
He teased me like he teased all the other girls, with one exception: the only girl he ever apologized to was Brittney for calling her -- I don't remember. She was proud then, and stubborn, and it took her years to forgive him, but now that she has, it looks like they'll end up marrying each other.
I ball my hands into fists and wish there was something I could do. Oh, I know! Next time I catch him without her I'll tell a Scarlett lie and say she's marrying someone else. He'll have no choice then.
What am I thinking? Brittney and I aren't the only girls here. He'll just find someone else. If he'd wanted me, he would've asked me out years ago.
Besides, what right do I have to cling to him when he loves her?
I turn away and walk to the punch table. It's probably been spiked, but I couldn't care less -- I, the soul of temperance, my church's poster child for abstinence from all worldly temptations. I pick up the dipper and a plastic cup and shakily slop myself half a glass. Bringing it to my lips, I inhale a pungent scent that reminds me of Dad's whisky bottle. I tilt my head and knock the punch back, wincing at the strong taste of the liquor. Is half a glass enough to make me drunk? Probably.
Brittney has two heads. What does she want? I blurrily hear something about her and Danny -- engaged -- and mumble something congratulatory in reply. She seems to want to keep talking -- can't think what we have to talk about -- I move to push her away, but instead she seems to be pushing me, and I crash backward into the punch table.
Lying there, in a pool of punch and whisky, bleary eyed and woozy, I realize with painful clarity that my heart will heal, and I can slow but not stop that from happening. I want to wallow in my distress, my disappointment, my unrequited love for Danny, but my brain, sharp with alcohol, knows the truth and won't spare me.
It's only when I'm alone in my room with only a headache and a puddle of vomit to keep me company that I give way to the bitter tears, knowing that they will cleanse me and help me to move on.
