Ballad: A Gathering of Faerie (Page 31)

“Is that enough to get me drunk?” Paul was still looking at the six-pack as if it were an H-bomb. “In the movies, they drink forever and never get drunk.”

“A beer virgin like yourself won’t.” I was acutely pleased that I didn’t have to worry about Paul vomiting, thanks to foresight on my part. I liked Paul a lot, but I didn’t think I wanted to dedicate any of the minutes of my life to cleaning up his barf. “And it’s all for you.”

Paul looked panicked at that. “You aren’t drinking?”

“Anything that is mind-altering makes me nervous.” I dumped the pencils and pens from the mug that served as our pencil can; they clattered and rolled every which way on the desk. I handed Paul the pencil can.

“That’s because you always like to be in control of everything,” Paul said, weirdly observant. He looked into the mug in his hands. “What is this for?”

“In case you’re shy about drinking out of a bottle.”

“Dude, there’s like, pencil crap and who knows what in here.”

I handed him a bottle of beer and turned back to the desk, picking up one of the markers that I’d dumped from the pencil can and finding a scrap piece of paper. I scrawled busily, filling the room with the scent of permanent marker. “Sorry to offend, princess. Bottom’s up. The pizza should be here soon.”

“What are you doing?”

“I’m ensuring our privacy.” I showed him the sign I’d created. Paul is feeling delicate. Please do not disturb his beauty sleep. xoxo Paul. I’d put a heart around his name too.

“You bastard,” Paul said, as I stood up and opened the door long enough to tape it to the outside. Behind me, I heard the click of him opening the bottle. “Dude, this smells rank.”

“Welcome to the world of beer, my friend.” I crashed on my bed. “Like all vices, it comes with a warning that we usually ignore.”

Paul rubbed at the condensation on the outside. “What happened to the labels?”

He didn’t have to know how long it had taken me to remove all of the labels and swap the bottle caps. Labor of love, baby. “You get them cheaper when you buy the ones that are mislabeled or the labels got damaged.”

“Really? Good to know.” Paul made a face and took a swig. “How will I know I’m getting drunk?”

“You’ll start getting as funny as me. Well, funnier than you usually are, anyway. Every little bit helps.”

Paul threw the bottle cap at me.

“Drink one before the food comes,” I said. “It works better on an empty stomach.”

I watched Paul drink half the bottle and then I jumped up and went to the CD player I’d brought with me. “Where are your CDs, Paul? We need some music for the event.”

Paul gulped down the other half, choking a bit on the last of it, and pointed vaguely under his bed. I handed him another bottle before laying on the floor next to his bed and preparing myself for the worst.

I bit back a swear word with a great force of will. Nuala’s eyes crinkled into evil humor, inches away from mine, glowing from beneath Paul’s bed.

“Surprise,” she said.

You didn’t surprise me, I thought.

“Yeah, I did. I can read your thoughts, remember?” She pointed to the bottom of the mattress. “That’s pretty funny, what you’re doing. Is that real beer?”

I lifted my finger to my lips and silently made my lips go shhh. Nuala grinned.

“You’re not a good person,” she said. “I like that about you.”

She pushed Paul’s CD binder to me and rested her freckled cheek on her arms. “See you later.”

I stood up with his CDs and looked over to see how he was faring. He seemed more chipper already. God bless vanishing inhibitions. “So what have you got in here?” I asked Paul, but I started paging through without waiting for his answer. “These are all dead guys, Paul.”

“Beethoven’s not really dead,” Paul pointed at me with the bottle. “That’s just a rumor. A cover-up. He’s doing weddings in Vegas.”

I grinned. “Too right. Ohhh, Paul. Paul. What the crap. You have a Kelly Clarkson CD in here. Tell me it’s your sister’s. Tell me you have a sister.”

Paul was a little defensive. “Hey, she has a good voice.”

“God, Paul!” I flipped through more of the CDs. “Your brain is like a cultural wasteland. One Republic? Maroon Five? Sheryl Crow ? Are you a little girl? I don’t even know what to put on that won’t make me develop br**sts and start craving chocolate.”

“Give it to me,” Paul said. He took the CD case and pulled one out. “Get me another bottle while I put this on. I think it’s working.”

So that was how we happened to be listening to Britney Spears “Hit Me Baby One More Time” when the pizza guy delivered our sausage-and-green-peppers, extra-cheese, extra-sauce, extra-calories, extra everything.

Pizza guy raised his eyebrows.

“My friend is having his period,” I told the pizza guy, and handed him his tip. “He needs Britney and extra cheese to get him through it. I’m trying to be supportive.”

Paul was singing along by the time I got the box open and ripped the pieces apart. I handed him a piece of pizza and took one for myself. “This is awesome, dude,” he told me. “I can see why college kids do it.”

“Britney Spears, or beer?”

“E-mail my heart,” Paul sang at me.

I’d created a monster.

“Paul,” I said. “I was thinking some more about this metaphor assignment.”

Paul studied the string of cheese that led from his piece of pizza to his mouth. He spoke carefully to avoid breaking it. “How it sucks?”

“Right on. So I was thinking we could do something else. Together.”

“Dude, I looked them up online. They’re like, forty-five dollars.”

I lifted up the top layer of cheese on my slice of pizza and scraped some of the sauce off. “What are you talking about?”

Paul waved a hand at me. “Oh. I thought you were talking about buying one of those papers online. After Sullivan mentioned it, I looked it up. They’re forty-five bucks to download.”

I made a note to remind Sullivan that we students were young and impressionable. “I actually meant doing something entirely different for the assignment. Would you really buy a paper online?”