Speechless(12)

                Warren stalks over to us, one fist clamped tight around a                     bottle of beer and the other clenched at his side. “Whatthefuck?” he slurs.                     Redness creeps up his neck and flushes his whole face. “That fucking— I swear—                     I’m gonna—” He doesn’t finish the thought, but somehow I don’t think the rest of                     that sentence would be “give him a hug.” Warren is about as affectionate as he                     is articulate.

                “Seriously. What. The. Fuck,” Joey echoes, useless as                     always.

                “Who was he even with?” Kristen                     asks me.

                “I… I don’t know,” I say uneasily. “I don’t think the other guy                     goes to our school.” This conversation is not going the way I imagined it                     would.

                “Who the fuck does he think he is?” Warren growls. He wipes the                     sweat off his upper lip with the side of his fist. “All right, where’s the fag?                     I’m gonna go talk to him.”

                “Fucking right,” Joey agrees.

                The two of them push their way out of the kitchen and head for                     the staircase. I trail after them and manage to catch up halfway through the                     living room, nearly bowling over five people in the process.

                “You guys, don’t.” I reach out, snagging Warren’s shoulder.

                Except because I’m so trashed, I stumble and almost fall down.                     Joey and a few other people see and laugh. Brendon, though. Brendon isn’t                     laughing.

                “Look,” I say, “they’re leaving anyway. Just leave them alone,                     okay?”

                I point to where I can spot Noah’s shock of white-blond hair.                     He hurries to the front door, red-faced, with a cute black-haired boy behind                     him. The black-haired boy seems to be dragging his feet, intent on going at a                     leisurely pace, his fingers wrapped around Noah’s wrist as they move through the                     throng of people packed at the bottom of the staircase. Noah stops and says                     something to him, the words impossible to make out over the music and the                     conversation. The boy says something back, and Noah frowns, tugging the boy’s                     hand, and they disappear through the door together.