Punk Love

Someone set up a stereo with Dead Kennedys blowing through the speakers on a chopped tree trunk, making the ground rattle beneath our feet. The guys were gathered together, talking animatedly, probably about how much democracy sucked and how anarchism was super fun, while the girls were perched under a huge oak tree, on picnic blankets and mats, surrounded by food and drinks, gossiping. A quarter of the people looked like they were already halfway intoxicated, in various stages of being drunk, ranging from tipsy to having an elaborate, heated argument about Wittgenstein with a bench.

Because of the proximity to the woods and because the park was basically on a cliff overlooking the sea, I made a mental note not to piss anyone off. It seemed like the perfect place to get murdered.

When I saw the setting, I inwardly winced. First of all, this whole girls-doing-their-thing and guys-doing-their-thing started to look a little cult-ish to me. Second, that meant I had to unglue myself from Alex and actually make an effort, when all I really wanted was to grind against him until we sparked a fire.

Was it too much to ask?

“I’m going to say hi to the guys.” Alex gave my hair a playful tug and turned around, walking in the other direction, away from me. My resentment to him piqued. First, he was leaving me for Sweden in two years. Now, he basically left me to introduce myself to the girls.

I spotted Jadie, Tom’s girlfriend, and was immediately washed with a sense of relief. She perked up when she saw me, and waved for me to come to her cluster of colorful-haired girls. I hurried toward her, zigzagging between couples making out on the grass and a swarm of guys in Hail Seitan shirts arguing about the best way to convert the entire world into veganism (spoiler: all of their ideas sucked).

My eager smile collapsed when I recognized the girl who flirted with Alex the first time I met him, at the demonstration. She was shooting daggers at me, lying on a picnic mat in a short kilt, white cropped shirt and no bra.

Did she see that I came with him? Probably.

“Lara. So nice to see you. I’m happy you could make it. Have a seat.” Jadie patted the empty spot next to her. She was still the most gorgeous human I’d seen, and she didn’t make a big deal out of it, which I found refreshing. I handed her a six pack Alex had brought and a fruit salad I’d made myself. She arranged everything on one mat overflowing with food and handed me one of the beers.

Jadie began introducing me to all the other girls. The vast majority were nice, but a handful gave me the stink eye, and I got it. I was a new addition to an existing social unit. I had to earn my place.

I snuck a glance at Alex. Ryan was standing in the same knot of people as he was, looking totally alive and well. Okay. This was good. This was very good. They were ignoring each other, which was far better than killing each other.

“So,” the girl who’d been flirting with Alex during the demonstration last month swung her colorful hair to one side, picking at her split ends with chipped polished fingernails, “are you and Alex, like, fucking or whatever now?”

I choked on my beer. Fucking! We barely even kissed, and he was going to be the first person on planet Earth to touch my boobs. We were still very far from the realms of fucking.

“Or whatever.” I hitched a shoulder up coolly. “We’re just hanging out.”

The girl snorted. “Just know it’s not serious, okay? We’ve all been there.” She rolled her eyes.

“Give her a break.” Jadie sighed. “It’s not the same. So not the same, Ainsley.”

“How’s it not the same?” Ainsley stuck her chin out, taking a pull of her beer.

“Well,” a girl named Sarah laughed, “for one thing, you and Alex have been randomly hooking up on and off after gigs for years, and he never picks up your calls afterwards. They look like they’re actually dating.”

Ainsley’s venomous smile vanished.

“Alex and I text,” she said defensively.

Text? Did she just say that in present tense?

“Texted,” Jadie pointed out. I had a feeling she was close to Ainsley, but wasn’t afraid to stand up to her. “You texted. You haven’t hooked up in, like, almost a month.”

That still put Alex on the timeline of hooking up with Ainsley after he sent me the first message, but I was going to let it slip, since the last hookup occurred before we actually went on our first date, i.e., Drumstickgate.

“Still. We talk, a lot,” she said, her shoulders sagging.

“You asking him where he is or if he is going to come somewhere is not texting.” Another girl cackled, flipping a page on a chrome edition of Vogue.