I told myself I wasn’t going to go to the party. How I ever let my friend Sydney Levitt rope me into it, I do not know. Oh, wait, I do know: she told me Ryan Eckert would be there. It was to the same effect as my mother telling me that if I ran to the store for her, she’d let me pick out a carton of ice cream. No matter how much I don’t want to do it, I grudgingly oblige because I know I’m too weak to resist.

So here I was, in the back of Sydney’s boyfriend’s car, with my friends Laura Chase and Max Robins. Laura and Max are that pair of “just friends” who no one believes will stay that way. Everyone’s already come to terms with the fact that they like each other... except the two of them. I swear, we’ll be in college by the time they finally admit it. They’re both so stubbornly coy. Yes, I said coy. Thank you, British Literature.

“Why do you look so grumpy, Evelyn?” Laura teased, poking me in the ribs.

“I’m not grumpy,” I deflected. “I’m just not in a party mood, that’s all.”

“No one’s ever in a party mood,” Max said. “That’s what alcohol is for.”

“And I’m not drinking alcohol,” I defended. “I told you. One sip, and I’m a goner. I have, like, zero tolerance for it.”

“It’s because you have, like, zero percent body fat,” Sydney huffed. “I wish I was so lucky.”

“God, shut up, Sydney. If I had curves like yours, maybe guys would actually talk to me.”

“God, shut up, both of you,” Laura said. Laura was the chunkiest of the three of us, but she was so pretty and sweet and into yoga you never did notice. “Didn’t we say we were gonna stop comparing ourselves to each other? It’s totally immature.”

“She’s right,” I said resolutely.

“We’re here,” Steven (Sydney’s boyfriend) said, and we pulled into the driveway of Ashley Rabbit’s upper-class house; still small enough to be suburban, but definitely much bigger than any of ours. It was in one of those nice neighborhoods where everyone took care of their lawns and paid professionals to put up their Christmas lights. But Ashley wasn’t a total snob, and apparently she threw some pretty good parties. Of course, I’d always been too busy to go to them. Or just too lame. What can I say? My life was school, swim practice, homework, and sleep. It was God’s mercy and an iPhone 5 that provided me some inkling of a social life.

Sydney walked in like she owned the place. She always did, and it wasn’t because she was a biotch, either. That’s just how she rolled. Her dark brown hair was curled to perfection, she looked fab in her blue t-shirt dress and black-and-white tribal print leggings, and she had her boyfriend at her hip. I knew better than to envy her, though, because I knew she envied everyone else.

Meanwhile, Laura and Max were already in stitches over some inside joke that only they understood, and I was left wondering what the heck I was doing here.

Then, I spotted him. Ryan Eckert. Sitting on a couch. Blue solo cup in his hand. Looking absolutely gorgeous. Sandy-haired, hazel eyed, muscle-toned gorgeous. And so I did what any strong, confident, self-sufficient girl would do: I dove for cover behind the nearest friend, who just so happened to be Laura.

“Evy? What—?”

“Laura. Ryan. Two o’clock,” I said pointedly.

“You know I can’t read analog,” she joked.

“Laura. Ryan. On the couch.”

“Yeah. I know. You should go talk to him.” As if it were that easy.

“Right.” I snorted. “Likely story.”

“Why else did you come here?” she asked.

“Because Sydney,” I mumbled.

“Want me to go talk to him?” Max asked. “I am a guy, after all.”

“Oh, are you?” Laura teased.

“Shut up.” To me, he said, “Seriously, Evy, if you want me to, I can go put in a good word for ya.”

“No, no. Nobody’s gonna talk to him for me.” I held my hands out, establishing my space. “If, and IF, anything happens, which I really don’t expect it to, it’s gonna happen naturally. If he’s interested in me, he’ll talk to me first. That’s how it works.”

See, the thing about Ryan Eckert was, he was kind of the hot topic at school. A lot of girls had their overly made-up eyes on him. He was cute, he was nice, and he was a wrestler. The wrestling team was pretty understated, but people still cared enough to know that they were doing well this season. Which meant that wrestlers were coveted territory. At least, the cute ones were.

I talked to a couple of the girls on my swim team for a while, about sectionals, about practices, about whether or not we had homework in Pre-Calc, about how I don’t drink, about how they probably shouldn’t get drunk but probably would anyway… et cetera, et cetera. Oh, the joys of high school.
Sometimes I wish I were a partier. That I was more outgoing, like Sydney and Ashley, or had a more forthright sense of humor, like Laura and Max. But I was just me. Quiet and lame and sometimes totally awkward. I’d been here for less than half an hour, and I was already looking forward to leaving. The only things that kept me somewhat committed were the Chex Mix and the thrill of furtively stalking Ryan Eckert as he flirted with the pretty girls and laughed with his rowdy wrestler friends. The more I did that, though, the more Chex Mix became the only thing rooting me here.

After it became too much to watch Liz and Jade and Hanna throw themselves at Ryan, I found myself sitting out on the front porch with nothing but a can of Mountain Dew and my girlish woes to keep me company.
Why couldn’t I just go up and talk to him?

Honestly, I hadn’t expected anything out of him. Or myself. I was realistic enough to know that. He barely knew who I was. And I barely knew anything about him, other than what I’d observed at school. It was stupid and selfish and unrealistic to harbor feelings for a guy who was so obviously out of my league. And it was just as stupid and selfish to sit here feeling sorry for myself because I didn’t have the guts to go talk to him. Well, I’d always prided myself in my philosophy that the guy asks first. But maybe it wasn’t a philosophy; maybe it was an excuse, so that I didn’t have to talk to guys; I could just sit around and wait for one to show up. But how would one ever know to show up if they didn’t even know I was there?

I went back inside the house and saw that Ryan was standing by himself on the other side of the room. Taking a gulp of air into my swimmer’s lungs, I walked over to that side and stood a couple yards away from him, pretending to be very interested in what everyone else was doing. Maybe I would even get up the courage to talk to him, but I’d at least let him notice me first.

Notice me, I silently commanded. Notice me, notice me. Or don’t notice me. Completely ignore me, so I can go get more Chex Mix. I laughed to myself.

“What’s so funny?” someone asked.

I looked around and saw that Ryan was closer to me. When had he moved closer? I must’ve been too busy pretending not to notice him not noticing me to notice that he’d noticed me.

Holy crap, was he the one who’d talked to me? He was looking at me. He looked like he was expecting me to say something. Holy crap, he was the one who’d talked to me!

“Um,” I started, testing my voice to the volume of the music. Louder, I said, “Um, I was just thinking… everyone looks really drunk.” There. That sounds convincing. Maybe.

He laughed a little and said, “Yeah, they do.” He nodded to the Mountain Dew in my hand. “But you don’t.”

“No,” I admitted. “I say it’s ‘cause if I take one sip, I get drunk, but I really don’t know if that’s true; I’m just afraid of throwing up.” Did I really just admit that? To him? Right now?

He laughed. “I understand. Hangovers suck.”

“Yeah, I had a dream once that I drank before a swim meet, and then I threw up in the water, and almost drowned, so ever since then I’ve never wanted to drink.” Did I just say that, too? Where was this coming from? I hadn’t even told my friends about that!

“Yeah, you’re a swimmer, right?”

“Uh-huh. And you’re… a wrestler?”

“Yep,” he said modestly. “Evelyn, right?”

He knew my name. I might throw up sober. “Yeah. And… Ryan?”

He smiled. “Right.” After a second, he asked, “How do you like the party?”

“It’s not bad,” I said. “Did you try the Chex Mix?”

“Yeah. I could eat a whole bowl of that crap.”

“Me too!” I said, a little too high-pitched. “It’s really been the only highlight of this party.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” I said, sheepish. “I’m kinda lame like that. I mean, I don’t drink, I don’t party; I just swim and sleep.”

He laughed again. Since when was I so funny? And talkative? And even though I thought I sounded like a blubbering idiot, he didn’t seem to mind. Was he flirting with me? Hello, earth to Evelyn! HE’S FLIRTING WITH YOU!

“I totally get that,” he said. “Sometimes I feel like all I do is wrestle and sleep. And eat.”

“That too!” I exclaimed.

“You sure don’t look like it,” he said, but in a complimenting way.

I shrugged. “I have a fast metabolism. I kinda wish I had more curves.”

He shrugged back. “I think you look fine just like that.”

I smiled at him, and for the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel totally awkward. “You know, I do too.”