Bang Plan

III

Sandy and I are going to be late. We're due to meet Archie and his friends for dinner. He invited both of us mere hours after my stroke of genius. The proposed plan is still up in the air. I didn't press it on Sandy any further, but I knew she was stressing over it as she read his text to me, because she kept her voice even and didn't freak out as she normally would in the situation.

We hurry down the brick sidewalks and skid around the corner like cartoon characters. We barrel through the doors of the Border Café, which is a Mexican and Cajun restaurant. It's my favorite place in Cambridge. It's popular, brimming with locals and students alike. The hostess takes us to the Rutherford party's table, which is around the corner and down the stairs. The basement is cozy and dark, illuminated by only the neon red, blue, and green signs on the walls and the drapey string lights scattered around. Like a Mexican Christmas bunker or something. Archie looks like an angel, in his button down shirt. He stands up to say hello to us with a dimpled smile, and he pulls out the chair next to his own for Sandy. A gentleman! As we sit, I notice that he has only one friend here. You've got to be kidding me.

"You guys remember Mike, yeah?" Archie says, sitting down and still smiling warmly. When I glance at Sandy, I can tell she's already laid eyes on him. She's not pleased, but she gives him a weak smile. He doesn't return it or speak a word. I can tell it's taking everything in her not to address Mike's rudeness. She's usually sweet as a tray of frosted petit-fours, but she's not a saint. I wonder if she's trying to be extra-saintly, as per the bang plan. I push the hopeful thought aside.

Mike looks like he wants to kill us all. I am thrilled by the treat and privilege of sitting next to him. Not.

"Hey, Mike!" I say, flashing my pearly whites at him and leaning his way. The overfamiliarity makes him visibly uneasy, and I soak up the discomfort in like rays of sunshine. "I can't believe we lost you guys last night, how weird was that?"

Sandy continues sitting sweetly, but I can tell she's panicking. It doesn't seem like the end of last night was on her list of conversation topics for the start of tonight.

"Yeah, funny how that worked out," he replies dryly, rearranging the napkin in his lap.

Archie clears his throat, leans his elbows on the table, and tells us that it's fine. He so rudely got distracted and we're popular girls with places to be, yadda yadda yadda. He keeps looking at Sandy as he talks, as if he's checking to make sure that he's still there. It's kind of cute. He doesn't want an encore of the disappearing act, I suppose. When the time comes, the two normal people at the table order strawberry margaritas with me. The alien from Planet Rigid orders some weird fancy beer. I didn't even know they had craft brewery shit here. It's a Mexican Christmas bunker.

"Archie, what do you study?" I ask, cramming a salsa-loaded tortilla chip in my mouth.

"Econ. It's so boring," he groans, shaking his head. "I've always really liked history though. I wish I'd chosen it."

"You regret it?" Sandy asks, surprised. She's a history whiz kid herself, and she's always known that was what she would study.

"Well, not really. I do well in econ, well enough for law school next year. And it makes my dad happy, so it's working out. I just like history too, specifically American history," he explains, and goes into a story about how he gets along so well with a history professor here. He adds in a remark about ethics with a trace of a smirk coloring his face.

Our drinks arrive then. The margaritas are big, and strong. Sandy and I have knocked back a few of these in our time. I notice that she takes very small sips, and subtly flutters her eyelashes at Archie.