Out of Nowhere (Middle of Somewhere 2)

“Yeah, I went by there last night.” When Daniel heard that Brian was looking to bartend, he put him in touch with his old boss. “Dude, he’s wrecked!”

“Huh?”

“That girl? Callie?”

“Oh yeah.”

“So, Brian fell for this girl he met, like, once,” Daniel tells Ginger and Christopher. “And he blurted out that he loved her over the phone, so obviously she freaked.”

“Obviously,” Ginger agrees.

“But now they’re dating and he’s all… mushy.”

“Mushy?” I ask. I haven’t seen Brian at work much since he’s not in the shop anymore. He’s still living in the house, though. The mortgage was paid off and Pop’s insurance money was enough to get Brian through a few months of expenses before his job turned full-time.

“Yeah, he’s all… squishy about it. He was talking about buying her… something, and I don’t know. He’s kind of an incoherent storyteller; have you noticed?” Daniel asks me.

“Um. Not really. Well, when he said the thing about puking on her cat, I was a little thrown, but—”

“He puked on her cat?” Ginger says so loudly that everyone turns to look at our table. She just gives them a grin and ignores it.

“He… yeah.”

“And cat is a euphemism for…?” Ginger asks me.

“No, he vomited on her pet cat,” Daniel explains. “I know, I know, it’s better the other way.” Ginger pouts and nods. “Anyway, he was basically raving. I think he might do something insane like propose in a hot air balloon or… with skywriting or whatever. He’s out of his mind.”

“So, what are you going to do?” Rafe asks us.

“Uh, about what?” I say.

“Brian.” Rafe looks at Daniel this time, but Daniel just raises his eyebrows and looks from side to side, like a kid who got called on in class but doesn’t know the answer.

“Um….”

Daniel and I look at each other for clarification, but we both shake our heads.

It’s like a scene in a movie where everyone has a gun pointed at someone else: we’re all silently looking around, all sure we’ve misunderstood. Finally, Rex and Rafe lock eyes and both start to laugh. It’s Rafe’s real, genuine laugh, not his polite, on-my-best-behavior laugh, and Rex has this low, warm chuckle. Rafe kind of gestures between me and Daniel and they nod. Daniel and I look at each other blankly and they laugh even harder.

THE KIDS are jammed together in the gazebo that they’ve decorated with streamers and glittery feather boas for Mikal’s birthday. Dorothy sees us first and waves. She jabs Mischa, who jabs Carlos, who spins around and yells, “Conan! Winchester!” as the others scramble toward us.

“Ow!” Mischa says as someone elbows her to get to us.

Rafe is grinning hugely as they all jump on us and start talking at once. When Mikal texted me to invite us to the party, Rafe was clearly thrilled but he talked all this shit about it not being appropriate for us to go, clearly wanting me to talk him into it. When I told him he was being an idiot and of course we should go, he looked relieved and agreed in about five seconds. What I didn’t tell him was that they were having the party in a park at the Wissahickon even though it was still kind of chilly outside precisely so he could come, because when Mikal had asked for permission to have the party at the YA, it was made clear to him that Rafe was not, under any circumstances, allowed on the premises.

“Happy birthday,” Rafe finally says to Mikal, who’s decked out in an entirely glittered outfit—sparkly leggings and a T-shirt with a print that looks like an Easter card of a pastel kitten that’s covered in rhinestones. His eye makeup is glittery. He even has glittery shoelaces in his purple Keds.

“Yaaaay!” Mikal says, bouncing on his toes. “You’re here! We’re just waiting for—”

Mikal breaks off as a guy I’ve never seen before walks up, hands in his pockets, looking around suspiciously. He looks older than the other kids and he’s limping a little.

“—Philip, yay!” Mikal calls out, bouncing over to the new guy and drawing him into the circle. “Philip, this is Rafe and Colin.”

We shake his hand, but he doesn’t quite make eye contact.

“Philip’s my new friend from school. You should totally start coming to YA,” he says to Philip. The guy doesn’t say anything, but he keeps his eyes on Mikal.

“Okay,” Mischa says, clapping her hands together like a camp counselor. “The stations are: sponge-painting T-shirts at this table and nail polish at that table. And snacks and drinks are right here. Go for it!” Then she pushes a button and disturbingly upbeat music pours out of speakers plugged into her phone.

“Omigod, Colin, can I please paint your nails. I see you in purple—maybe a purple ombré?” Mikal’s looking up at me, his eyes bright.

“I—um, well… I—” I look to Rafe, who seems totally relaxed and amused by this turn of events.