Bang Plan

II

Sandy nearly chokes as Archie turns his powerful gaze to her. I feel a pang of jealousy, because he's really staring at her. Maybe it's just dark in here, but he seemed unaffected when he looked at me. I push that thought to the side, and just smile. Sandy shrugs off her coat, still looking at Archie. Her movement breaks his dream-state.

"Uhh, hi Sandy, and... Willa, is it?" I nod.

"Nice to meet you," I squeak. Music drifts to us from a nearby room. Someone's slurring their words loudly into their phone in the dimly-lit grand entry hall behind us. Sandy's cheeks are flushed, and not from the cold. Archie smiles at me, opens his mouth to speak, and extends a hand to Sandy. She takes it in hers before he gets a word out.

"Oh! I was going to take your coats," he laughs, but squeezes her hand back. She takes it away, mortified. Jesus Christ, Sandy. I can't even look at her face right now. We gingerly hand over our coats. As Archie turns to walk down the hall, presumably to find a closet, I pinch Sandy's arm.

"For the love of God, How much did you drink?" I mutter under my breath as she yelps and shakes her arm away.

"He looks so hot tonight, I panicked," she whispers back. Her dodging of the question means she chugged something before we left. If she blacks out... I will help her back to Dirksland, but I will not do it nicely. Staying conscious is the very first step in flirting, and she thinks she can get capture the boy's heart while while running, like, eight gin & tonics deep? I'm not sure it's ever been done, except if "capture the boy's heart" means "capture the penis, have drunk sex, and ruin all romantic possibility with the boy."

Archie reappears holding three red cups, looking like a movie star in his black t-shirt and jeans. I want to cling to Sandy's arm, but I refrain. It seems like we are Archie's guests of honor tonight. Which is weird. We've both been to plenty of parties at the Greene, but I've never been invited by someone who hung up my coat or got me drinks so eagerly. I boldly assume he hasn't tampered with the drinks. Mostly because I'm not thinking straight. You can never trust boys with pretty eyes, except when you've already had a few gin & tonics yourself.

"You all like G and Ts?" He asks, beaming at us as we peer in the cups. Yes we do. How convenient. We sip and follow him into the crowded party.

I take in the familiar ballroom, with shiny brass light fixtures and sticky, glossy wood floors. The trap music and swirling colored lights create a contrast with the expensive-looking paintings hanging on the pale blue walls. A dozen people are gathered around a dark oak table bouncing ping pong balls into cups. I know it's oak because I'm a fucking force to be reckoned with, but I can't focus my eyes or mind enough to figure out what game they're playing.

Archie parks us by the huge semi-circle of tall, skinny, white-trimmed windows. There's a built-in bench that follows the circle's edge, but none of us sit.

"The band will play in a few minutes," he yells to us over the music, gesturing to the group of boys setting in the semi-circle next to us. He seems nervous.

"No way, do you know any of them?" Sandy asks him bravely. She's surely still reeling from her little accidental hand-hold, but recovering nicely.

"Not really. That's not, uh, my scene," he says, rubbing his hand on the back of his neck.

"Willa's a musician! She's really talented, and I bet she knows them," Sandy blurts, and I glare at her a little bit. It's not really my scene, either. I tend to compartmentalize my musical life and my social life, choosing to either dodge the question or lie when people ask me my major. Much of my extended family doesn't even know. I told my grandparents and aunts and uncles that I'm an Econ major. The only one who really knows is my Grandmother. Music is too gauche for most of the Winthrops and Lodges. And most of the Final Club population.