Best Thing In Town

I had been at this party for a good hour, and only a few people recognized me. A few more than I wished. I was trying to lay low, I didn't want to be seen tonight. Tonight was Friday, but unlike everyone else, I wasn't here to have a good time. I was here to do some of my own dirty work. I was here to prove to myself something.

I knew he would be with another girl. I knew he would tell her she was pretty as he sat Indian-style on the floor with her, beer in between his legs. I knew he would treat her the same way he treated me. And I just wanted to prove to myself this, so I could forget about him. So I wouldn't think about him when he wasn't around, so I wouldn't choke up whenever he spoke to me, so I wouldn't see him across the parking lot smoking a cigarette and lose every breath I had in me.

There was a group of people who began crowding up the living room, waiting for the band to play. I wasn't sure who was playing tonight; I hadn't checked with Carson, the one throwing the party. Without a doubt it was going to be some local get up, but there were plenty of those.

I passed through a wall of sweating red cups gripped with white knuckles, and leaned against the corner of the back wall. Perfect view: no one could see me, I could see everything. And when the amps were turning on and the guitars were being plugged in, I tossed the hood of my jacket over my head and watched.

"You guys are too damn drunk! You won't remember this music, anyway!" And it was the voice I had come here specifically to hear, although I would not admit it, even to myself. "This one's called Going to Pasalacqua." His hands went from the taped up microphone stand to the taped up neck of his guitar. And he played.

Between songs, he'd drink. He'd tip the brown bottle to his lips, gulp, and come back for another round. So much energy, so much joy, and so much fun. And I felt myself getting jealous of him. Jealous of how he could simply enjoy things. And after the jealousy, anger. Anger because something within me knew I was falling for him. And I didn't stand a chance.

The way he bounced around on stage, catching everyone's attention. He smiled and all the girls raised their cups in the air and screamed. And I know he heard them, he had to. Those girls watched him with lust in their eyes, and I was mad. Because I watched him with stars in mine.

As their set ended, the crowd sent them off with drunken yells and off beat applause. Then they dispersed. It was now around the time where the couples stumble hand in hand upstairs, or the individuals slug through the front door alone.

And I knew Billie Joe would find a girl to take upstairs, if he hadn't already. And being masochistic, I wanted to see it, to prove to myself.

I kept the hood over my head and walked to the back porch of the home, maybe he'd be out here. I was so tense, I was positive there was a rod in my back keeping me upright. If Billie saw me, the whole point of my night would be ruined.

When I noticed there was no one out back except a group of exceedingly drunk girls and guys, I walked slowly back in through the kitchen. No one was in the kitchen; probably because all the bottles lay empty. I sighed, frustrated, and stopped for a moment. I leaned against the counter and hung my head low. Closing my eyes, and all I could see was Billie, shirtless, with a girl beneath him upstairs. My teeth clenched and my stomach lurched involuntarily, and I had to open my eyes before my imagination could see anymore.

He wasn't in the living room, out back, or in the kitchen. For my own sake, I wasn't going to step foot upstairs. Because I knew what went on up there. And suddenly feeling coldly exposed, I decided to leave.

"Hey, you!" The voice shot at my back. I jumped slightly and turned to face whoever it was. Carson. It was Carson. And he wasn't drunk. "Ah, Logan." He smiled, taken aback. "I didn't recognize you."

Without realizing it, I was grinning like a fool up at him. "You, uh, dropped your keys." He looked down at them in his palm. "So, here." I took them, but he didn't walk away after that. He just stood there, peering down at me, with a sleepy happiness in his eyes.

"Yeah, uh, thanks." It was hard to think of something to say, with him just gazing at me like that.

His smile was lopsided, and he spoke again. "I'm going two for two. Another party tomorrow night." He inched in closer to me. "Gonna be here?"

"Uh, yeah, definitely!" My words dripped fakely and I sighed almost inaudibly after I heard them. Now I had plans for tomorrow night. The same thing. And this time, hopefully it wouldn't bust.

"Awesome." His lips stretched into a smile and I felt his arms wrap around me in one solid motion. "You're awesome, Logan," he breathed into my hair.

I felt faint butterflies in my stomach and nodded, and then I left.

Dead silent outside. I walked on top of the crunchy leaves, my fists jammed defeatedly in my pockets. I couldn't stop seeing him. With a girl. Saying her full name. Biting my lip, I walked down the sidewalk. And just when I thought my life was over for the night, I saw a cigarette light.

I looked over my shoulder, and there he was. Leaned against the side of a beat up Mustang, brining the cigarette to his parted lips.

We were the exact models of each other. Hoods up, head low, at least one hand in our pocket.

At this moment, I was overly aware of my body. The blood pumping through my veins, my chest rising and falling, the sweat beading up against my palms.

In his spell, I fell. I stood there; under a tree, out of the streetlights, and watched him sorely bring the cigarette to his waiting lips, and reluctantly bring it back down.

He stood alone and I could see his face when the cigarette was brought to his mouth; the smoldering fire lighting up his features. Signature bloodshot eyes, furrowed eyebrows, a frown. An out of place frown, and he just stared at the ground.