The Spectacular Now

Suddenly, I’m startled back into myself by a booming voice: “You’ve got mail!” For a second, I feel like I’ve been invaded right in the middle of something intimate. But then I’m like, Wouldn’t it be weird if it’s from Aimee? It’s not, though. It’s from Cassidy.

I’m almost scared to read it. I really don’t need to get bawled out by a girlfriend who’s not even my girlfriend anymore. After a long pause, I open it, and what do you know—it’s the opposite of a bawling out. She’s actually waxing sentimental all over the place, going on about how she misses the fun we used to have, the wild times, the spontaneity. She wants us to be friends again.

Yeah, right. Friends.

It doesn’t take CSI Oklahoma to see what’s going on here. Marcus West—Mr. Perfection—is starting to petrify her brain cells with boredom. We all know what a snooze perfection can be. I’ll guarantee he never ditches school. Never does one damn thing he hasn’t planned out a week in advance. You won’t see Marcus West falling off her roof in the middle of a school day. The guy doesn’t even drink. How fun could he be?

No, I’m pretty sure it’s more than friendship Cassidy’s itching for right about now. But you won’t catch the Sutterman playing it any way but cool. With perfect Dean Martin nonchalance, I dash off a quick note about how being friends would be fine by me. Yes, I can always use another good buddy. But at the end, I can’t help myself. I have to add on a tempting little note about how there’s going to be a party at the lake tomorrow night. I’ll be there. It’ll be fun. Cheap beer.

My finger hovers for a moment above the mouse, probably about a microsecond, before I click send.

Chapter 29

Lakeside on Saturday night, it’s more than a little nippy. That’s Oklahoma for you. Warm February and then here comes March and a cold spell has to move in. Still it’s not nearly cold enough for the kind of jacket Aimee’s sporting. It’s this huge, down-filled purple monster that makes her look like a giant billiard ball. She might be the only girl I’ve ever met who still hasn’t learned to sacrifice bodily comfort for fashion’s sake. She did paint on the lipstick again, but putting lipstick on a billiard ball still doesn’t give it sex appeal.

The girl is definitely making it tough. How am I supposed to pair her off with any of these party-hound dudes when she won’t do her part?

And that is the plan. She needs a social life beyond Krystal Krittenbrink. She needs a dude, someone kind of like me, only not me. Cody Dennis, for instance. Cody’s a lot of fun, but he’s not what you might call advanced in the sex department. The last thing Aimee needs is some letch dude drooling on her.

One problem—Cody is actually less skilled even than Ricky when it comes to talking to the ladies. But I figure I’ll take care of the conversation part until they warm up to each other. Then I’ll wander off about the time Cassidy makes her fashionably late entrance, and boom, all will be right with the universe again.

There’s a good crew out, just like I knew there would be. Someone lit an old mattress on fire—who knows where that came from—and now everyone’s stoking it with dead branches. The flames reflect on the lake along with the stars. The wood smoke smells good.

Probably about twenty kids have already shown up. Someone hoisted a keg onto one of the concrete picnic tables, and Gerald the dancing maniac’s going full speed right next to it. I swear, the way this guy moves, he must have no bones.

“See anyone you know?” I ask Aimee.

She looks around. “Uh, I know who a lot of people are, but I don’t really know them.”

“You will.” I reach up to give the back of her neck a little squeeze, but her giant puffy collar gets in the way.

First things first, we head over to the keg. I have to admit that on the way several people slap me on the back and shake my hand. From left and right, it’s “Hey, Sutter, what’s going on? Ready to party hearty?” Someone asks if I plan on chugging a beer while standing on my head, but I play it off like I’ve never heard of such a thing. The next guy calls out, “Sutter, my man, let’s see you run through the bonfire tonight.”

I wave him off. “Been there, done that.”

At the keg, the three dudes in line turn and give me a salute. I’m just the kind of guy people like to see at a party, I guess.

Not too surprisingly, once I take charge of the spigot, Aimee mentions she doesn’t exactly drink alcohol. I tell her that’s okay, all she has to do is hold on to a beer and at least give off the impression that she might be having fun. That said, I chug my beer and immediately pour another one just to get started off on the right foot.

The bad news is Cody Dennis is nowhere around to introduce her to. The worse news is here comes Jason Doyle.

“Hello there, Sutterman,” he says in that way he has of pretending to be smarmy while all the while he really is being smarmy. “I guess it’s officially a party now that you’re here.”

“Must be.”

He looks Aimee over, sizing up the down-filled coat. “You know what, Sutter? You better hang on to this balloon before she sails off over the treetops.”

Luckily, Aimee doesn’t seem to get the joke. “Well,” I say. “Thanks for stopping by, Jason. You take care now. Don’t let the bedbugs bite.”

He clamps his hand on my arm. “Whoa, there, buddy. What’s your hurry? Aren’t you gonna introduce me?”

Now let me explain right here that Jason Doyle is the last person I had in mind to introduce Aimee to. The dude is a full-on letch. Anything in a bra and panties is fair game in his book. Check that. Anything in a training bra and panties. Just last fall, one of his best friends—Ike Tucker—found him fooling around with Ike’s thirteen-year-old sister. Okay, so maybe she did have a bit of a body on her, but still, thirteen? Needless to say, Ike kicked his ass. Actually, Ike cracked his head open with an alarm clock. Took about a million stitches to sew him up. They’re friends again now, though.