Speechless(9)

                Joey slides his hand up and hangs his arm loosely over my                     shoulders. I hope he doesn’t think we’re hooking up tonight. I’ve made out with                     him a few times, but never actually enjoyed it. Kristen keeps pushing me toward                     him, though, with the hope that if I start dating Warren’s best friend we can                     all go out on double dates. I might be on board with this plan if I found Joey                     even remotely attractive, but to me he’s just another beefy, boneheaded jock.                     He’s definitely no Brendon Ryan. The fact that he’s pulling me in under his                     sweaty armpit makes me want to puke.

                No, wait, that’s the alcohol.

                “Um…” I shrug out from under Joey’s grip. “I think I’m gonna—”                     I stop and clutch one hand over my swirling stomach.

                My nausea must show in my face because Kristen laughs and says,                     “Oh, my God, if you puke on my carpet I’m going to be so pissed!”

                Brendon looks at me, concerned. “Are you okay?”

                “I’m fine,” I insist. My stomach, however, does not agree. “I                     just need to… Bathroom. Bathroom would be good.”

                I bolt out of the room, shove past two juniors molesting each                     other on the staircase and take the steps two at a time. When I reach the top, I                     see a line of bored-looking girls outside the bathroom. Yeah, I don’t know if I                     can wait that long. I’m definitely not willing to take the risk.

                There’s another bathroom in the guest room, I know, and Kristen                     won’t mind if I use it. I rush to the end of the hallway and throw open the door                     without a second thought. Before I take more than a step in, I’m stopped in my                     tracks by what I see. Someone else is already in here.

                Two someones.

                I’ve never seen guys together. Not like this. The two boys are                     entangled, one lying on top of the other, panting hard. The dark-haired boy on                     top has his hand in the hair of the blond boy underneath him. The telltale sound                     of jeans being unzipped makes me gasp; the blond boy must hear it, because his                     head jerks up and his eyes meet mine, and I realize I know him. It’s Noah                     Beckett. We’re not friends, exactly, but we’re in the same grade. I sat next to                     him in Spanish last year. He used to let me borrow his pencils, and now he’s                     making out with some guy I don’t recognize in my best friend’s guest room.