Getting Over Garrett Delaney(9)
Author: Abby McDonald

“You know what?” He suddenly gives another rueful grin and sits back. “This probably isn’t the right time.”

“No!” I yelp. “I mean, this is the perfect time. To say anything!” I nod eagerly.

“You sure?” Garrett looks around at the dirty dancing and beer chugging. “I mean, this isn’t exactly the place for a private conversation.”

“So, let’s go somewhere else!” I suggest. “The garden, maybe, or back to my place.”

I can’t take this any longer; I have to hear it now!

Garrett thinks for a moment, then nods. “Maybe some fresh air would be good. We could get away from all this for a minute.”

I practically leap up and elbow my way through the crowd to the back porch. I never saw the appeal of the stuffy, fake English rose gardens in this part of town, but now, with the green hedges walling us in and moonlight softly dancing on the pond, it’s the perfect secluded spot. The music from inside is muted; Garrett loiters on the far corner of the porch, hands in his pockets.

I take a few nervous steps toward him. “You were saying?” I prompt hopefully, striking a casual pose against the wall. The security lights cast shadows across us; Garrett’s eyes seem even cloudier in the dim light. I gaze up into them, just waiting for the magic words —

“Coming through!”

I’m sent reeling as some jock pushes past me. He barrels to the edge of the porch and vomits loudly over the railings.

No!

I watch, helpless, as he groans, then vomits some more.

“Hey, man.” Garrett moves closer. “Are you OK?”

“Jus’ fine!” The guy spins around, looking at us with unfocused eyes. He lurches, then slings an arm over Garrett’s shoulder. “How’s it goin’?”

“Whoa, Dax, that’s . . . an interesting look you’ve got going on.” Garrett laughs, patting Dax’s back. Dax just nods, oblivious to both the trail of vomit down the front of his shirt and the perfect moment he’s interrupting here.

“Itsa party.” He grins inanely. “Itssummmer.”

“Yes, yes, it is.” Garrett gently steers him back toward the house. “Why don’t you get another drink? Water this time.”

Dax stumbles back inside, nearly falling through the screen door. Garrett turns back to me, grimacing. “Wow. He’s going to have a killer hangover tomorrow.”

“Uh-huh,” I say, impatient. “So, there was something you wanted to tell me?”

Garrett pauses. “Right, sorry. The thing is . . .”

I catch my breath again. The world shrinks to just us two, alone out here in the —

“Garrett! Whaddup!”

Argh!

A group of guys thunders up onto the porch. They’re draped with toilet paper and glow-stick necklaces, shoving and hollering. “Xbox warriors! No surrender!” one of them cries, while another beats his chest and lets out a yowl.

I want to grab the nearest porch post and beat them all to death.

“Garrett.” I take hold of his arm, desperately trying to keep his focus on me as the guys jostle around us. “You want to get out of here? We could go back to my place, and —”

“It’s OK.” Garrett sighs in defeat. “I said this probably wasn’t the place.”

“But this is our last night. . . .” I trail off uselessly as a couple of the guys playfully punch him in the stomach. Garrett laughs and punches them back.

“We’ll talk later!” he calls as they hustle him away from me, and I’m left on the porch, alone.

Later. Does that mean “give me ten minute to lose these clowns” later? Or “after the party when I’m driving you home” later? I wait on the porch another twenty minutes just to be sure, then drift aimlessly back into the house.

“Hey, Kris, have you seen Garrett?” I stop one of Garrett’s classmates by the dance area, but he, too, is entranced by the sight of Jaycee’s gyrations — now into the table dancing portion of the night. “Kris!”

“What? Oh, yeah, I don’t know. A bunch of guys went to get pizza.” He shrugs and turns back to the show. “Maybe he went with them.”

“Thanks.” I sigh. Thanks for nothing, that is. Garrett wouldn’t just ditch me like that, but after a half hour, three unanswered texts, and another three loops of the house, I have to wonder if Kris could have been right. Garrett is nowhere to be found.

I settle on the front steps out front and send my fourth where r u? text. This time, Garrett replies.

Sorry, went for food w/ the guys. Back soon!

I slump lower on the steps, my excitement vaporizing in an instant. It’s eleven p.m. already; my curfew is eleven thirty. There’s no way Garrett could get back, escape the marauding senior guys, seduce me under the moonlight, and have me back home in time to keep my mom from grounding me. Sure, I would happily risk never leaving the house for the rest of the summer if it meant a few sweet moments in his arms, but I can tell the moment has passed.

Boy, has it passed.

I stay sitting there, idly tossing handfuls of gravel farther up the driveway as I ponder the painful “almost” of tonight. I was so close! To having him for my own, to finally bridging that hateful space between girl and friend for good. To —

“Ow!”

A body jumps back, out of gravel-hurling range. I look up. It’s Kayla, pulling on her jacket.

“Sorry!” I say quickly. “I didn’t see you there.”

“No problem.” She gives me this bland smile, but my inner pain must show on my face, because she draws closer. “Are you OK?”

I quickly pull myself together. “Sure! I’m fine. Great!”

“Right.” She doesn’t look convinced, but doesn’t ask again, either. “We’re just heading out.” There’s a pause, then she offers, “Do you need a ride?”

“Um, would you mind?” I haven’t had a real conversation with Kayla in a long while, but right now she’s offering the very thing I need most.

“Not at all.” She shrugs. “There’s a ton of room in Blake’s truck. Once, he fit half the basketball team in there, like something out of one of those French mime movies.”

“The clowns in the car,” I say, smiling slightly. Garrett has a whole bunch of those movies, black-and-white scratchy things from the ’40s.

Garrett.

I let out a wistful sigh.