Sweet Little Nothing

She sounds downright giddy. Her enthusiasm is contagious, though, and before I know it, I find myself smiling back at her.

We’re each given a red Solo cup at the door and instructed not to lose it. Inside, there are more people than I ever thought possible. It feels like the entire campus has to be in attendance.

“Drinks or dancing?” Stella asks, as eager as a puppy.

I don’t drink. Ever. So, dancing is an easy answer.

She doesn’t think twice about my preference and happily drags me out to the dance floor—a.k.a. a section of the living room where all of the furniture has been shoved against the walls.

The song changes to something fast with a heavy bassline. I feel self-conscious at first, only gently rocking my hips in time with the beat. But Stella dances like she’s auditioning for a job at a strip club. She swings her hips and shakes her ass like her life depends on her getting the job.

Seemingly fed up with my mild moves, Stella wraps an arm around my waist and pulls my body in close to hers. She locks our hands together and twirls herself in a wide arc.

We’re both laughing and grooving by the time the song ends.

“You’ve got moves,” she accuses.

“I used to love to dance.”

“What made you stop?”

“I love this song!” I cry, rolling my body to the beat, hoping it will distract her from questioning me further.

“Me, too!” She begins twerking, not caring for a single second that she’s horrible at it.

As we spin and twirl, I envy Stella’s free-spiritedness. I have no clue what trials she’s faced in her life, and I’m certainly not so self-involved to think I’m the only person with an ugly past. But her ability to be so in the moment is one I envy. A lot.

“Oh my God!” Stella pants as yet another song comes to an end. “I need a drink!”

Miraculously, we both still have our cups clutched in our hands. I let her lead the way through the house and into the kitchen. While still crowded, there are considerably fewer people in here. We don’t have to shout to be heard.

“What’re you drinking?” she asks, her eyes flitting from the keg in the corner to the liquor bottles lined up on the island.

“Water.”

“Water?” Stella’s eyes practically bug out of her head.

“Yup. I don’t drink.”

She looks at me speculatively, and I’m sure at any moment she’s going to ask the same question everyone asks... ‘Ever?’

Because the thought of someone not wanting to drink, even socially, is so foreign to them. But to my surprise, she simply nods and says, “Cool.” She grabs my free hand, tugging me along behind her. “Let’s ask the guy manning the keg where to find you some water.”

“Hello, ladies. Two?”

“One,” Stella says, batting her lashes, turning up her Georgia charm. “And my friend here would like water. Preferably in a sealed bottle.”

He fills her cup and then directs us to check the sink. At first, I think he’s being a smartass, but quickly realize the sink is being used as a cooler and is packed full of ice and bottled waters.

“You wanna check out the rest of the party while we hydrate?”

“Um.” A soft laugh escapes me. “I’m the only one hydrating.”

Stella rolls her eyes. “Same difference.”

We take a lap around the house, exploring the different areas. For the most part, it really is like every college party I’ve seen in movies. There are drunk students engaging in all kinds of questionable activities everywhere I look. Two beer pong tables are set up on the back deck, and there’s a fire burning in one of those fancy pits in the lawn beyond it. The basement is nothing more than a haze of pot smoke; the skunky smell makes me scrunch my nose. We don’t venture upstairs, but judging from the PDA happening as couples venture up the grand staircase, I can easily assume the rooms up there are reserved for hookups.

By the time we make it back to the living room, Stella’s cup is empty and she’s ready to dance again, if the sway in her hips is anything to go by.

Me, though? I’m ready for my jammies, my bed, and a good book.

But I know Stella won’t be ready to leave for at least a few more hours, and since she got stuck with me as her party buddy, the least I can do is stick around long enough for her to have a good time.

A guy approaches as she dips and sways. He wraps a beefy arm around her waist and pulls her body flush against his. She startles momentarily and then catches sight of the Greek god of a man behind her, welcoming him with a blinding smile.

“I’m going to be right over there!” I yell, gesturing vaguely to the other side of the room. “I won’t leave. You don’t either.”