Her List of Kisses

Chapter 11- Parties and Cannonballs

Yes.

I’ve often thought about how strange it is that so much in life rests upon the word ‘yes’. It’s an agreement, a promise, a comfort and an assurance. We use it so much each day- we say ‘yes’ far more times than we ever say our own names- and yet there is always that novelty, that excitement, that comes with saying the three-letter word, not dismissively, but when it really matters.

Mentally, I repeat it to myself as I walk hand in hand up the driveway to Kelly’s house with Will.

Yes, yes, yes.

“You ready for this?” he asks from beside me. I can hear the boom of the bass as the music echoes off the cavernous walls of the mansion.

“Yes,” I say again, grinning. “Let’s go.”

His light laugh and gentle squeeze of my hand make me buzz. I take a second to remind myself, somewhat stupidly, that this boy is my boyfriend. And then we are through the door.

From the giant speakers, the music pounds. Small jolts shake the floor and travel through me, starting at my toes and spreading upwards. For this reason it’s impossible not to at least tap a foot to the rhythm. Parties do not tend to favour my preferred genre of music, but at this kind of event all disputes over soundtracks are forgotten in the mutual urge simply to dance and be free for a short time.

“Whoa, what a house,” whistles Will.

“I know,” I shout, “her parents are, like, trillionnaires!”

For a moment I regret saying ‘parents’, as Will clenches his jaw, but then he relaxes again and sways slightly to the music, his hand still clasped in mine. The vibrations travel between our fingers, loosening us up.

“Shall we get drinks?” I offer.

“Yeah.”

Picking our way through to the kitchen, I am shocked anew at how many people are calamitously drunk or mid-way through a hook-up already, despite the fact that the party began not even an hour ago. People just can’t wait. The urge to act like animals seems to be too instinctive to resist.

One kissing couple barge into us and I lose my footing in my heels. They’re not all that high, but I am not used to wearing them either, considering my usual lack of participation in social activity. The only thing keeping me from falling is our entwined hands, and Will stops me from hitting the ground, but my arm is jarred at the socket and I knock against the doorframe, hard.

“Shit! Ow!” I curse, letting go of Will to clutch my shoulder. He puts his hand against my arm, rubbing it lightly, not knowing what to do.

“You alright?” he says. And then, “What the hell, of course you’re not. Can I help? What do you want me to-”

“Will,” I cut him off, smiling. My arm throbs sporadically, but I won’t let it ruin the night. “I’m fine. Drinks. Let’s go.”

Finally we reach the kitchen. It’s a claustrophobe’s nightmare, and I scrape up against someone’s back as I walk, trying not to touch any inappropriate parts of the dancing bodies pressing into me.

“Hey, watch it,” says Will, and I turn to see him glaring at Sid Frankly, a guy a year older than I am with a hulking shape and a face like he’s just taken a beating.

“Will?” I pull him away. “What’s wrong?”

“He tried to grab your ass.” His voice is blunt, but when I laugh, he does too. “I don’t blame them for looking at you- you’re stunning. But I don't much like the thought of sharing you, either.”