"So," The guy in the AC/DC shirt said. George had already forgotten his name. "What do you do for a living?"

They were at the house party that Lydia had invited them to. The one George had been dreading.

Sure, he could've turned it down, but Lydia would've gotten offended. Besides, when he told Ivory, she got so exited he couldn't say no. She didn't have any friends besides him and the old lady a few apartments down. It would be a chance for her to meet people.

She fit in with this crowd well. They were art and english majors who were both the most and least fashionable people you've ever met. There were authors, poets, painters and film makers. Basically, everyone there was pretentious. Just Ivory's type.

"I work in the Georgetown Public Library, and..." he shot a glare at Ivory. "I babysit."

"Cool." AC/DC boy said and turned to Ivory. "So, how old are you, fourteen, fifteen?" George flinched.

"I'm twenty two." Ivory growled through chubby cheeks and a childlike pout. She tightened her grip on the jukebox she was holding.

"Oh," the boy said weakly. "So what do you do then?"

Ivory bit back a laugh. "I get babysat."

"Ok!" George shouted and reached up to grab Ivory's shoulder. She spilled some of her apple juice on her overalls. "Time to go get... something. Bye now!" He steered Ivory away from the man.

"Hey!" Ivory said.

"Be careful." George said. "You can't say whatever just comes to your mind."

Ivory just blankly stared ahead. This, he knew was her writing face.

"The pastel lights burn like neon and the music is packed with pretentious metaphors and indie labels. Everyone is wearing at least one item of clothing that's ripped or torn. Laughter fills every corner of the room, but knowing that everyone is an artist tells me that half of is fake."

George had read so much of her work that he could almost hear when she was thinking. The element of fiction would kick in any second now.

"The fairies zip past our ears and elves sing along to the songs, making the bad pop punk sound more haunting than it actually is."

His thoughts were interrupted when he saw a guy across the room.

"Oh no." George thought.

His distress must have gotten to Ivory as well. "What's wrong?" She asked following his gaze.

"Oh no." She said, echoing his thoughts. "You always have to fall for his type don't you?"

The guy was tall and muscular with a full beard. He held a beer in his tattooed hand with a name that Ivory couldn't pronounce. He looked like trouble and bad poetry.

"What do you mean?" George said. "He's cute. And he looks smart too."

The guy laughed at what was probably an offensive joke and sprayed beer everywhere.

"Huh." Ivory said.

"Leave me alone." George said. "I'm gonna go talk to him."

Ivory rolled her eyes and took a sip of her juice.

"So." Said a voice behind her. "You know George?"

She spun around to find a tall girl with strawberry blonde hair that was a bit longer than her's. "Yeah." Ivory said and turned to watch George make small talk with the guy. He was kinda cute she decided.

"Funny. I didn't know he had any younger siblings."

"He doesn't." She said, and pouted. "I'm his cousin."

"Ivory?" The girl asked, her face turning red. "I- I didn't mean..."

"It's fine." Ivory replied. "I get that a lot." She paused to take a sip of her apple juice. It was almost gone. She scowled. "I'm guessing you work with him at the library?"

"Yeah." The other person said, tossing a bit of hair behind her ear. "I'm Lydia."

"Cool." Ivory said, quickly becoming bored.

"Does he..." She paused, coughing and blushing. "Does he ever talk about me?"

"Ugh." Ivory thought. "It's that Lydia." The other Lydia who worked at the library made cookies for everyone and didn't flirt with everything. This Lydia couldn't cook and did flirt with everything. "George is gay." She spat. George was actually bisexual, but she wasn't about to tell her that. "Bye."

She turned around to go get George. She didn't care about the tattooed guy, she knew things wouldn't end well with him. But before she could even take a step, George was heading over to her, triumphantly holding a slip of paper in his hand.

"I got his number!" He said, waving it.

"Oh, he wrote it down? I didn't know it was 2003. Did he included his email too? Or his myspace maybe?"

"Hey, be nice. He doesn't have a cellphone, he has a landline. He says cellphones are devices of distraction from art."

"Huh." Ivory said, unimpressed. "Can we go home?"

"Yeah, let's go. I heard someone say that a live band was coming, and I don't think my ears could take the abuse."

As they walked down the streets of Georgetown D.C, both felt the mixture of satisfaction and exhaustion that follows social interactions. Satisfaction because they felt like adults, exhaustion because they were both mild introverts.

"You have to admit he was cute." George said.

"I guess he was, but he just seems like trouble."

"That's because you didn't talk to him. He's very intelligent and kind." His cheeks flushed pink. "And a great flirt."

Ivory made a gagging sound and George flung his hand behind him to hit her. She was pushing his wheelchair.

"Whatever." Ivory said. "You like him, so I hope it works out." She couldn't shake the feeling that there was something sinister about him. There was a pause.

"Lydia has a crush on you." She said suddenly.

"Which Lydia?"

"It wasn't the one who makes cookies, it's the other one."

"Oh. She has a crush on everyone."

Ivory made a face, because everyone included her and children.

"Do you think that it'll work out?" George said, running his hands through his hair.

"What will work out?"

"Me and Dominic. The guy who gave me his number."

Ivory bit her lip. She didn't want to answer. "I guess." There was no response. Ivory decided that Georges chances with Dominic were like her chances of having a book published. She didn't know if that was a good thing or a bad thing.