Pusher

twenty-six.

I didn't have to kiss anyone else for the remainder of the night. There was a little flirting, but almost all the weed had been bought by a bottle blonde named Shelly and her friends. My purse was empty save for the cash, and I was exhausted. I contemplated asking Maverick if we could go before the party had time to wind down, but when I finally found him he was doing body shots off a brunette in the kitchen.

I figured maybe now wasn't the best time.

I sat down at a table across from Sol who was slouched over the surface with his chin buried in the crook of his elbow. His blonde hair flopped into his eyes, but he stared up at me all the same. The occasional flutter of his eyelashes was the only indicator that he was still alive. Until he started talking, of course.

"You're the weirdest girl I've ever met," Solomon told me. I huffed out a short laugh, resting my cheek against my hand. I didn't need him to remind me that I was an outsider.

"No really," he went on. "I remember when you first moved here in the sixth grade and you could list all the presidents in order and you knew all this stuff about tree frogs — like a lot of stuff — and you hardly talked at all."

I grimaced, not exactly loving the recount of my painfully awkward middle school years, but Solomon was still lost in his rambling and far from finished.

"In Mr. Hick's history class — you remember that? — you won review Jeopardy every time. Like, every time and now you're selling pot with us. Life is crazy like that, you know? Just plain crazy." He paused, too caught up in his own realization to go on, before flicking his grey eyes up to mine. "Do you still know all that stuff about frogs?"

"Frogs don't drink water," I told him. With my hand pressed up against my jaw the words came out sounding distorted and lazy, but he was hooked on every one. "They absorb it through a special patch on their skin. And a group of frogs is called an army. Crazy stuff."

"Crazy," he agreed.

From there he proposed that we play a drinking game to pass the time. I didn't feel much like getting drunk or even buzzed, so he compromised by offering to drink for both of us. We spent the next half hour taking turns bouncing a quarter into a shallow plastic cup. Fortunately for him, I wasn't very good at it despite my sobriety, and he was already too drunk to make most of his shots.

By the time Ducky found him, he had given up and slumped back into his arms. I couldn't tell if he had actually fallen asleep or not, but Grant didn't hold back when he yanked at Solomon's arm and threw it around his shoulder. I stood up.

"I'll help you carry him to the car."

"Don't touch him."

The hostility of Ducky's voice was enough to keep me rooted where I stood until the two of them had successfully stumbled out of the room. From there, I decided it was time for me to round up Maverick as well, so I wandered around the house a while in search of him.

He was sprawled across a chair, leg bobbing in time with the music, but eyes closed. I nudged his foot with mine. They didn't open.

"Hey Maverick, I think it's time to go."

"I can bounce back. I just need to rest my eyes for a minute," he insisted. I seriously doubted that. He looked as if he was just moments from passing out, and there was no way I was going to be able to carry him out of here.

"Maverick, please. I'd like to go home."

"You know," he sighed, "I thought you might be a little less annoying when I was drunk. I was so wrong. It's even worse than before."