Definitely, Maybe in Love(7)

A more fainthearted person would have walked away and made a beeline for  the nearest keg. But I never cowered from a challenge. As I wove around  the tables, nearing him, Knightly pulled his hands from his pockets and  took a step back, giving me a wide berth.

"Snakes," I said, when I was close enough that I knew he could hear.

He tilted his head like he was listening to a child. "Pardon?"

"Just so you know, referring to someone who loves the planet as a  tree-hugger is just about the lamest thing I've ever heard. This isn't  nineteen-eighty."

"Loves the planet," he repeated slowly.

"That's correct," I said. "And I'm so sorry you haven't met anyone hot.  Especially someone who isn't a phony, right?" When he didn't speak, I  shook my head in dismissal and turned away, spotting Mel heading in my  direction. "And here's a piece of advice," I threw in as I started  backing up, "be careful whose opinion you trust."

"Springer, I have to tell you-"

"Shhh," I hissed, looping my arm through Mel's and leading her away from  the scene. By the time we reached the bar, I'd told her everything.

"So, to recap," she said, grabbing a Diet Coke from a tub, "the guy thinks your braids are repulsive."

"He called them snakes," I confirmed and took a sip from her can.

"And you care because … ?"

"I don't." I stroked one of my precious blond ropes between my fingers.  "The guy's toxic, just like Lilah. They're a perfect couple. You  should've seen him, standing there with his arms crossed, pinned to his  body like he was in a straightjacket. Probably afraid to touch anything  that wasn't properly sterilized."

I kicked an empty plastic cup that bounced my way.

"He doesn't know the first thing about my life. Him calling me a phony  while he stands in a corner and doesn't speak to anyone. That's rich."

I looked at Mel, who was being uncharacteristically unopinionated.

"Mel?" I said over someone talking into a mic. "Don't you have anything  to add-?" I cut myself off as a new thought occurred to me. "Wait, you  don't agree with him, do you?"

Her gaze darted around, down at her nails, up at a stop sign, everywhere  but at me. When she finally settled on me, a sad, empathetic smile  curved her mouth. "Okay, fine." She took in a deep inhale. "That was  quite the transformation last year, Springer. You have to admit that."

I opened my mouth but didn't speak.

"It's like, one day you're hanging out with your friends like any normal  chick, wearing a skirt, pink tank top, and strappy sandals, and the  next day you're off meat, you've got those things in your hair, and  you're picketing City Hall to save some endangered mountainous tribe in  Costa Rica that no one's ever heard of."

"I heard of them," I defended. "And I … I still wear skirts."

"Change is good," she continued. "And obviously college is the place to  do it. You know me, I love your feminist passion and your adorable  cynicism … " Her voice went singsong. "And your protests, your sit-ins,  the occasional liberal rants-"                       
       
           



       

"Got it, Mel," I snapped, rubbing my arms.

Mel and I had been best friends since we were ten. She was supposed to  be the one person who loved me no matter what crazy things I did. I'd  never been able to talk to my mother about my life-she was way too  flaky, "emotionally stunted" as our family shrink called it. And my  father, he'd never been around for me to rely on.

Mel knew my reasons-she knew I'd been struggling like hell to stand out  last year, to really make a difference and get noticed. True, maybe some  of my decisions brought the wrong kind of attention, but still, it made  me a little nauseous to think that even Mel considered me some kind of  joke. A phony, to echo Henry Knightly.

Angry tears pressed against my eyes, right there in the middle of the  party. I clenched my stomach muscles, chomped down on the inside of my  cheeks, and looked away. Right after my father left when I was ten, I  used to cry a lot. I never cried anymore-didn't solve anything.

"It's just"-Mel sucked in her lips-"you can come off a little … abrasive."  She took a step backward, deliberately, comically, as if she were  afraid I would retaliate with a karate chop.

"Hilarious," I mumbled.

"Just remember, not everybody gets you like I do."

"I know."

She put a hand on my shoulder. "You okay, babe?" she asked, sounding  genuinely concerned. "You are the coolest person I know, Spring  Honeycutt. Do you realize that? And that's saying a hell of a lot,  because I myself am exceptionally cool." She squeezed my arm. "Never,  ever allow anyone to make you feel badly about your decisions, okay?"  Her smile twisted. "Not even a ho-bag like me."

"Ho-bag." I knocked her shoulder. "And I won't," I promised, my voice hitching with emotion.

It was rare for Mel and me to wax sentimental with each other these  days. My cynicism had become a barrier, the protective shield I wore,  even around my closest friends. Sometimes I regretted that. Few were the  times when that shield slipped and I allowed myself to be vulnerable  with anybody.

"The dude's a jackwad," Mel said, facing the crowd.

I exhaled a cathartic snicker. "This is true."

"Oh my." There was a smile in her voice. "But he's a jackwad who is totally checking you out. Jeez, though-he is gorgeous."

I rolled my eyes. "Jackwad."

"Hope you're not talking about me."

I whipped around. "Alex, hey."

"Hey yourself," he said. Somehow, he was even cuter than an hour ago. Or  maybe I was comparing his pleasant expression when he talked to me with  Knightly's sour looks and ardent distaste of all things Spring  Honeycutt related.

"This is a great song," Alex said, pointing disco fingers in the air. "I  simply must dance with you." He held a hand out, gallantly. "Please  don't make me go out there alone. I have a sinking feeling I'll make a  super-ass of myself if you're not with me."

"Okaa-" Before I completed the word, Alex whooped, grabbed me around the waist, and pulled me to the dance floor in a whirlwind.

"Can you ballroom?" he asked after we found space between two gyrating couples.

"I don't think so," I answered, feeling breathless and giggly.

"I'll teach you." He picked up my left hand and rested it on the front  of his shoulder. After taking my other hand in his, his free hand moved  to my waist, then slid lower to curve around my hip. I gasped in  surprise when he pulled me close. "Follow me."

He took a step forward, causing me to step back.

"Excellent," he said. I laughed awkwardly and gripped him tighter,  enjoying the feel of his hard shoulder muscle under my hand, the  aftershave, the lazy blue eyes as he box-stepped us in a circle. Right  after he twirled me under his arm, he pulled me close, his other hand  sliding to my hip.

"So," he said, his voice dropping low. We were so close now that I could feel his breath on my neck.

"So?" I replied.

"So … " He turned his head to the side. "How well do you know him?"

I followed his eyes, then blinked in surprise when I realized he was peering at Henry Knightly.





Chapter 5

It was late, and since I couldn't imagine how my evening could possibly  improve, thanks to those ten minutes spent in the arms of Alex, I  considered going home, getting a jump on the sleep I wouldn't be getting  until late December.

Before taking off, I figured I should find Mel or Julia and let one of  them know. Last time I'd seen them, they were on the other side of the  dance floor. Instead of walking around the outskirts, it would be  quicker to cut through the center, so I headed into the mass of mingling  people. Someone knocked my shoulder. "Sorry," I muttered, rubbing my  arm. Someone else brushed past the other side, knocking my right  shoulder. Next thing I knew, an arm looped through mine, much too  tightly, and spun me around. Then my other arm was clutched. I was  caught in the center of dance traffic-or was it some kind of demented  conga line?-and going the wrong way. It looked like the line was headed  toward the big sorority house on the corner, the one where Lilah lived. I  did not want to end up in there.                       
       
           



       

But there was no free space or figurative light ahead, so without  bothering to look behind me, I disentangled my arm, bent forward, hands  on my knees, and started backing up like a reversed torpedo. My body  bumped into other bodies, disconnecting them, while other bodies leaped  out of my way, cursing as I torpedoed past. I didn't stop moving until I  was out of the core of gridlock and along the periphery of the dancers.