Page 2 of The Summer of ’98

“That’s a beautiful name for a beautiful girl.”

I laughed and folded my arms across my chest. “Do these lines usually work for you?”

“Lines?” he said. “Why would I use cheesy pick-up lines when the truth is so much more accurate?”

“Like I haven’t heard that one before,” I teased.

He slid his hands into his pockets. “Believe me, Ellie. The fact that my heart almost leaped out of my chest when I saw you is not something I could make up.”

Okay, that rendered me a little speechless. I’d been hit on tonight, offered a drink here and there, grinded on. But no one had ever said something like that to me before.

“Single?” he asked.

“Yep.”

“You gonna ask if I am?”

“You’d better be after those lines,” I joked.

He laughed and the song coming from downstairs changed to “Summer of ’69” and I heard a collective cheer before the words were being drunkenly sung. “I love this song. The music is so good here. I need to find out who made this CD.”

“You know the theme is All-Out ’80s, right?”

My face fell. “There’s a theme?”

Leroy stepped closer when a group of girls ran past us toward the bathroom. “You didn’t know?”

“Of course not. I have the perfect outfit at home for an ’80s theme.”

“Don’t worry,” he said. “Only the frat and sororities dress up. Most people are just here for the open party. Besides, the outfit you’re wearing is perfect.”

His gaze swept over me. He tousled his hair and a strand fell onto his forehead. I could feel my cheeks warming, but before I could even think of a response, a series of voices and clattering sounded behind me and I turned around to find Amber in a heap on the floor.

“Amber!” I ran forward to crouch down beside her. “What happened?”

“She’s super drunk,” Aliyah slurred. “I’ll take her home.”

“Ah, wait,” I said as she lifted Amber off the ground. My friend blubbered and mumbled something completely incoherent, which relieved me a little. At least she wasn’t dead. “You’re drunk as well. You can’t drive.”

“I’m the designated drunk driver,” she laughed and practically dragged Amber down the staircase. A few of her friends hollered in agreement, but I wasn’t about to have it.

“No way,” I said, bumping shoulders with people stumbling up and down the staircase as I chased her. Leroy trailed behind me. “You cannot drive her!”

“How did you two get here?”

“We took the last bus.”

“How were you planning to get home?”

“A cab.”

“I can drive her,” Leroy said. By this point we were beside the front door, where dozens of people were coming and going, but no one found it unusual to see Amber in the state that she was in. “I have a friend’s car keys. I’m the designated driver. I’ll take her home.”

“Who are you?” Aliyah asked.

“He’s my friend,” I answered. “Leroy.”

Aliyah seemed satisfied and before long, Amber was laid across the backseat of a sedan while I sat in the passenger seat and gave directions.

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