Ctrl + Alt + Dalt (BxB)

Ctrl + Alt + Dalt + 2

CHAPTER TWO

IT'S ALMOST MIDNIGHT. I roll the smooth plastic sphere of the ping pong ball between my thumb and fingers. Before me stands a single red cup on my side of the ping pong table, while on the opposite end, stands a nearly full set of red cups arrayed like the pins down the lane of a bowling alley. Every red Solo Cup is filled not just with beer, apparently, but also mixed with something that burns worse than I've ever had before. My vision blurry, my feet numb and unsteady, my world around me spins and oscillates as I peer towards my opponent, Brogan—who's not only the very top of the popular group's food chain, but also my best friend, whose house I'm currently in, and who's graciously thrown me this party. He stands just behind his cups and behind the opposite end of the table, awaiting his turn to finish me off.

"You're trash at this, Dalt," a supportive and familiar voice whispers from behind me. I turn to face my other best friend, Baxter—or, Base, which is what only Brogan and I are allowed to call him by—just as he places a hand on my shoulder. "You might as well quit now—you'll never catch up."

"Come on Birthday boy—before the clock strikes midnight, while it's still you're birthday," Brogan taunts me. I make my toss, totally missing my target as Brogan claps in mock applause. He takes his aim and shoots. "Say goodnight."

"Goodnight," I say just as his ball meets its mark. Everyone hoots and hollers, cheers and jeers as I down my last cup—I've completely lost the game and by more than a mile. Brogan raises his arms in victory as I stumble around looking for a seat. Base grabs me with an arm around my ribs to help steady me, then Brogan joins in to help me as the two of them usher me over to a nearby sofa—its former occupants relinquishing the space, clearing away seemingly as soon as they see us, and practically before Brogan even motions for them to do so.

"Lie down, buddy," Brogan softly commands. As I lie down onto the plump cushions of gray leather, he pats me on the head, ruffling my hair like he does with his other pets. "You know that you didn't actually have to drink all of those."

"No, you cannot have my clothes—they're quite expensive and I happen to like them," I say.

"Oh, so you do remember the alternate rule of the game—I'd thought you'd forgotten," Brogan says.

"Loads of good it does me now anyways—if you wanted me to strip, you should've reminded me while we were still having a go at the game—not that I would've, anyway," I say.

"No, I decided I'd get you smashed. Even if it'd be funnier if you lost all your clothes, I didn't want to spoil your birthday with you merely being tipsy—I had to settle for smashed and clothed, rather than just tipsy but hilariously naked," Brogan says, patting my shoulder as I shift to my side. "Try not to puke on the sofa."

"Are you giving me permission to puke on your carpet, then?" I ask, sarcastically. He smiles as he shakes his head, walking off to chat with some girls that are off in the distance—which reminds me, I still have to thank Brogan for not inviting Beth to the party in some sort of misguided attempt to nudge us into smoothing things over.

I peer through the glass windows of the conservatory, glimpsing the live DJ cranking his hands into the air—his setup overlooks the swimming pool that's packed with my friends jumping up and down to the beat of the music. The already loud music only seems to get louder, becoming absolutely jarring to the senses. As I watch all the people at my party, I begin to feel that churning pit of unease intensify as seemingly everyone pairs up, guys with gals, grinding closer together so they can presumably hear each other's yelling and shouting above the music. I think that I hear someone calling my name, so I turn, seeing Base as he returns to my side—he stoops down as he pushes a red Solo Cup into my chest.