alyssa

"TannerTannerTanner!" I yell as soon as I'm through the front door. I slam it shut behind me carelessly, because, no, I do not care. I feel invigorated. Alive. Like I'm full of potential energy or something. I'm on the verge of flying.

"Whaaat?" comes a shout. "Can't I go to the bathroom in peace?"

"Bro!" I race around miscellaneous boxes, through our single hallway, and batter the door with my hands. "Broskiii!"

"What? I'm trying to lose weight in here."

"There's a party," I say. I wasn't excited till Elliot parked next to the curb. It feels like I've just woken up after a too-long nap. "There is a party, and I think you should go with me, and together we shall do party things, and it will be amazing, and—"

The toilet flushes.

"And I think that it will be fun and you should come with me so that we will do fun party things!"

The obnoxious running tap drowns me out.

"Tanner!"

The door swings open, and a scowling Tanner flicks water from his fingers onto my face. "I have literally never seen you excited about a party before. Were you body-snatched? Are you Jeff Goldblum?"

"I will punch you," I tell him, somehow breathless.

"With your spore fist?"

"Listen," I say, already yanking my hair out of its ponytail, "I know you like parties. Hangouts. Intimate get-togethers, whatever. Elliot and some girls from work asked me to come, and I literally refuse to go alone, so please come."

"You seem too excited." He pats his hands dry on his gym shorts. "You would probably go without me. Maybe you should."

"No. I refuse. No. People? People are blech. People bad."

He frowns. "Then why are you so preoccupied with hanging with Elliot?"

I stare blankly.

"Are you okay?" he asks. "After yesterday, I mean. We didn't really talk about it much, but I will totally murder this Elliot-thing if need be. She will be vanquished. And hidden. Not even Ducktective could solve this mystery."

Even though I don't want to, I snort. "She's fine. Seriously."

"Unconvinced," he says, giving me a very unconvinced brow. "I am very unconvinced."

"You can vanquish her later. After the party. But, believe me, you won't want to." My neck heats up as I say this, and I try my best to give Tanner wide, uber-convincing eyes.

Tanner sighs. "This means I have to get changed, doesn't it?"

"Maybe."

"Damn. It's so hard to look flawless all the time."

-

Elliot texted me a few minutes ago and said she'd be here in just a few. I feel like a total simp, waiting on the front steps while Tanner lingers inside and mocks me through the door, but it's fine. I just need to get out of the house, I tell myself. I'll get out of the house, and then suddenly, I'll feel a whole lot better about moving here. That's why I want to do this. Certainly. Yes.

They wanted me to move on. They brought this upon themselves.

I leap up when Elliot's beat-up Toyota turns cautiously into the drive, meeting her at the side-door before she's even stopped. The window rolls down, and we share a grin.

"You look good," she says, and I feel her eyes soaking me in. She's not obvious about it, but I can just tell. An excited chill runs up my spine. It's hard to act like I don't notice her gaze, like it doesn't excite me. Maybe it shouldn't excite me. It probably shouldn't.

Tanner shuts the front door behind him, locking it with caution. He was the one who called Dad to tell him we were going somewhere. Same rules as always, same excitement over the idea of me leaving the house without groaning or complaining to the point of plain obnoxiousness. I tried to tell him that a cyan polo was probably not at all hip, but he ignored me. Per usual.

"I look good in polos," he'd argued. "One might even go so far as to call me a sexy beast."

"No," I had said. "No, please do not drag out the polo. The polo is tired. Let the polo rest. In peace. The polo wants to close its eyes now."

"I look too good in it to let it rest in peace. I feel like Dan Stevens in this. Lion of love, Ally. I am a lion of love. Rawr."

He practically prances towards the car, tossing Elliot an overly-cheerful wave that reeks of sarcasm. I close my eyes and get in the car, praying Elliot is terrible at noticing sass.

Maybe bringing Tanner wasn't such a good idea. Why was I so insistent upon this again?

"Elliot, do I or do I not look like a lion of love?" he demands as we shut our respective doors in unison.

Elliot blinks. "I. . . . Well, um—maybe?"

"Ignore him," I tell her. "He's stupid."

"I am not stupid! I simply wish to emulate my hero. And Dan Stevens is my hero."

"Dad never should have let you watch Downton Abbey. Now you just want Netflix penis statues."

"I will not start this topic of conversation with you. No."

Elliot pulls out of the drive and onto the street. "So, off we go," she says, and the sun hits just right to where light shines in a kind of halo about her head, a fiery glow that lights her hair, her eyelashes, the tip of her nose and the arch of her lips, up in a blaze.

"Weeee," Tanner says from the backseat. "Left. You go left here."

"Tanner," I warn, already ready to turn around and slap him.

"That's Doctor Tanner to you. Doctor Tanner, King of the Backseat Drivers"

"Tanner. I will murder you. And then, you will never get penis statues."

"Wow. Gasp. Anything but that."

Smiling slightly, Elliot shakes her head and turns right. "You guys are strange. I love it."

"You have no idea," I mutter.

"Well, to be fair," says Tanner, reaching over the back of the seat and popping a slap on the side of my face gently, "you've seen her tail." I swat his hand away, then stop, flustered. Dammit. I didn't want to be acting like this in front of Elliot. Which concerns me to realize.

"This is true," she says, like it's the most normal thing she's heard today. "Pretty weird."

Except, coming from her, it doesn't sound weird.

-

Tony Mofkit-Or-Whatever has a big beach house, with a giant wrap-around porch that hangs ten feet above the yard and is draped in twinkling fairy lights that reflect off the edge of the tide just barely, and giant windows that show a large cluster of teens jammed throughout the house in literally every available space.

"This house is ginormous," Elliot says, and I guess it might be for the beach. But, back in Woodbury, the portion of town just north of the train tracks was all super duper nice. Like, this house could have fit right in, but it would have been one of the smaller ones. Then again, compared to the houses I've seen thus far in Hulhazy, it's impressive. Decadent, almost.

There are plenty of kids milling about the sandy grass surrounding the Steven Universe-esque steps leading up to the porch. The steps squeak beneath us as we trudge up whilst someone I figure is either Dua Lipa, Doja Cat, or some other artist I've heard on my occasional TikTok browse bops hard over some speakers I can't even see.

"So, Tony's family are plumbers," Elliot says, opening the front door. Tanner walks through without saying anything—he doesn't speak much in public, a force of habit—and I give her a nod of thanks for the both of us. "They were the only plumbers in the area for way too long, so, yeah. They now manage a bunch of plumbers in our little region. They're, like, the plumber kings."

The screen door slams shut behind her, but you can hardly hear it over the booming of the music. "Plumber kings," I repeat, probably too loud.

"Plumber kings."

"Beautiful."

Elliot looks around, almost anxiously but not quite. "Where are Taffy and Brooklin?"

"No idea," I say. Part of me doesn't want to hang out with them. Look, Elliot is ridiculously chill. It's insanely easy to vibe with her. Taf and Brookie on the other hand, not so much. I mean, I've spoken to them for, like, ten minutes in total, and the last few minutes of that time, they weren't the nicest (even if it wasn't me they weren't being particularly nice to). Elliot has been consistently nice to me. She's my current preference.

She hmms softly under her breath. I have to crane my head back to even look at her, I realize. How am I only just realising this?

Also, she looks ridiculously hot. Not nice, not good, not pretty—hot. Her hair is a tousled mess, and her mid-wash jeans are high-waisted, her oversized olive tank top tucked in loose. Everything about her reeks of nonchalantness, and when she smiles over at me and runs a loose hand through her hair, my breath is sucked completely out of my body.

Damn. Fuck.

"You look really nice," I tell her, immediately wishing I hadn't. She listens to girl in red. Confirmed. What if she thinks I'm flirting with her?

Elliot's eyes widen in surprise; her hand drops to her side self-consciously, and in the warm lighting of the living room we've slowly stepped our way into, I can see that her ears have turned red. "Thank you," she mutters, dropping that surprised gaze to the floor.

"No problem." What if I am flirting with her?

Max, Alyssa. You're upset about Max, remember?

I hate that being upset over Max is something I suddenly have to remind myself of.

Tanner observes the scene before us with folded arms and cold eyes. It's not exactly like him. Well, that's a lie. It's not like him at all. Something is up. I'd ask him what it is—Jace? Long line for a bathroom I have yet to spot? Something even stupider?

"Oh gosh," Elliot says as a few kids step away from the entrance of what must be the Mafwhatever's living room—where on the floor, a muscular bean pole of a boy enthusiastically worms his way across the floor. His eyes are alive from twenty feet away, and his smile is somehow overly voracious.

The crowd are cheering "DUNCAN" over and over, a sudden uprising of sound that completely blocks out whatever song is going on. Everyone else has stopped dancing. Nothing exists, save this boy and his worm.

The music must have stopped or Duncan got tired or something, because he hops up to his feet and raises his arm in a gymnastics-like finish, welcoming the smattering of applause that follows. I almost think he's going to walk elsewhere, but his eyes seem to focus on us, and suddenly, he's jogging over.

I thought he was a beanpole on the ground, but as he swiftly closes the distance between us, I can see he's actually a bit of a giant. Which also makes Elliot seem even bigger, because I can't tell who's the taller of the two.

I am too freaking short for this.

"Elliiieee!" he says, waving his hands excitedly. "You came."

"Hey, Duncan," Elliot says, shifting her weight to her other leg and rubbing her arm. "I came. I can't believe we're ditching Ragnarok for this."

"That was the hardest I've ever seen you worm, holy shit!"

A girl races up behind Duncan, her mane of tight curls bouncing. When she stops, she readjusts her thick, round glasses and grins at me. "You must be Alyssa," she says, like she knows something I don't.

Important sidenote: I feel ridiculously short.

"Yeah," I say. "Nice to meet you."

"I'm Neema," the girl says, sticking her hand out to me. I take it, and then Mr. Worm offers me his hand, so I shake his as well. "This is Duncan."

"Her much-beloved beau," he adds.

"Technically my beau."

"Neeeem, you promised you would start introducing me as 'my much-beloved beau.'"

She swats his shoulder. "One, don't you dare put words in my mouth. Two, how do you think you're going to enforce this?"

"I—"

"Don't make a dirty joke, Duncan," Elliot says. "Don't do it. It's not worth it."

"It's always worth it," Duncan says, eyes agleam. "Imma enforce—"

"Nope," Neema says.

"You're friends with Elliot?" I ask. Weirdly enough, Elliot kinda always struck me as someone who doesn't have too many friends. Especially friends that are obviously extroverted.

Duncan flicks Elliot's shoulder. "Unfortunately for us."

"You're so mean," Neema chides, hip-checking him slightly. "But yes, unfortunately for us."

"They're total dorks," Elliot says. "You super don't have to listen to them. But, um, yeah, guys—this is Alyssa, and this is her brother, Tanner. They just moved here."

"And you brought her to a party," Duncan says, wiggling his eyebrows. Next to me, Elliot sighs.

"We were actually invited by some coworkers," I tell them. "Taf and Brookie?"

Neema actually wrinkles her nose, then catches herself in the act and tries to cover it with rubbing her Cupid's bow with the back of her hand. "Taffy and Brooklin?" Duncan asks. "They're ... in the basement. But I don't know if you want to hang out with them right now."

"Why wouldn't we?"

"Well.... It's...." Duncan rubs the back of his neck. "Neems?"

"They're freaking wasted," Neema says, her voice dripping with distaste. "And when those girls get wasted, they're terrible. Proceed at your own risk."

"It should be fine," Elliot insists.

Neema glares up at her. "No. I literally refuse to let you go there. If you go hang with them, I'm coming with you. And you know me. I don't have to be nice to literally anyone. And with them, I don't want to."

"She's terrifying when she doesn't have to be nice," Duncan says to me, like it's an explanation.

"Okay," I say. "Well, they invited me...." Duncan and Neema fix their eyes on me, and even though their expressions are reading completely different things, the end result is the same: they're waiting to see how I'll approach this.

"I can go say hi to be nice, then come back real' quick?" I offer.

"I'll show you to the basement," Duncan says. "Brb, my bodacious babes."

Tanner smirks in silence. "Don't gross me out!" Elliot calls behind us, but her voice is quickly swallowed up by the booming of some random song I remember they played a ton at school dances last year.

Duncan winds well between the small groups of teens crowded about the house, so much so that he'd probably be in the basement by now if he weren't so invested in making sure I stayed behind him. More than once, he puts a steadying hand on my shoulder and guides me through in front of him. It has me feeling like a toddler in an airport.

When we get to what they must have meant when they'd said "the basement"—which is really just a set of stairs leading down to a lower floor that is not below ground—it's certainly less crowded. A girl in a short jean skirt passionately kisses some dude with tightly-wound blond curls.

"Hey," Duncan mutters to me, putting a hand in front of me to stop me from walking down the stairs. While the action itself bears no animosity, it gives me pause. I don't like being stopped. Even if it makes me feel like a side character in some action movie being stopped from walking off a cliff.

I glance up at him, but don't say anything. He continues, "Do you like Elliot?"

All of a sudden, it's like I can feel Max's arms wrapping around my waist and pulling me against them, breathing softly against my neck and resting their chin on my shoulder. The feeling of their hands running up my thighs, their lips tracing my stomach—it's all there. All of it. And suddenly, I just feel gutted.

Then—sharp, and without warning—the skin of my legs feels like it's being stabbed from the inside for a moment. I try to look normal. If I ignore it, it'll be fine. Right?

I realize Duncan is staring expectantly at me, so I swallow and shake my head. "No?"

He nods. "Okay. Sorry."

"You're fine." Even though maybe it was a little presumptuous. But, whatever.

We walk down the stairs, him before me, and when he enters the room, there's a chorus of cheers and hollers. I'm close behind him, and okay, but this guy's family must truly be plumber kings, because this is one nice room. The couches are all large and maybe-leather, and the Foosball table is a dark stain and well-maintained, and the TV is huge, and the teens here all have such nice clothes that I feel like I've entered some kind of wacky K-Drama where I'm the economic underdog.

I spot Taf and Brookie immediately—Taf is sat on Brookie's lap, the two of them boredly browsing their phones. There's an ambiguous glass bottle in Brookie's hand, which Taf swipes and sips from as we walk over.

Everyone is trying to talk to Duncan, but he shuts down conversations kindly and efficiently, mainly with smiles and nods and barking laughter. He sticks close to my side the entire time. It makes me feel a little safer and a little not all at once.

"Hey," I say to the two girls.

"Ohmygosh!" Taf gasps before she even looks up from her phone. "Hiiii!" She waves with both hands and wiggles about, till Brookie grabs her waist and says, "Bitch, chill the fuck out."

Taf's face is flushed, her eyes more shut than open most of the time. "Sorryyyy, I'm just so happy she's heeeere. You look so pretty, Al."

"Uhm, thank you," I say. "Although, I'm not gonna stay down here for too long."

Taf raises thick brows. "What? Whyyy?"

"I'm gonna hang out with Elliot and Duncan and some other people for a bit." I shove my hands in my pockets. "But, I just really wanted to say thanks for inviting us."

"Waitwaitwait, you're not hanging out with us?" Taf resituates herself on Brookie's lap; their arms loop tighter and looser around the other simultaneously. "You came here to hang out with us."

"You're choosing the dyke over us?" Brookie asks, and suddenly, I wonder if it's a joke. It's certainly feeling like it's not. For some reason, all that comes to mind is how Elliot said the break room was haunted. She never said by what.

Duncan takes a step forward. "Hey, can you guys not?" he says, still smiling. "That's not appropriate language."

"Fuck off, Duncan," says Brookie. "Don't you have that bitch of a girlfriend waiting for you in the wings?"

He stiffens, then exhales slowly. "Not cool," Duncan says. "I don't like using the word 'bitch,' but Neema isn't one. Your projecting is cute though. Alyssa, let's go."

My feet aren't cooperating, though. They're tingling, sharp and fast and painful. It feels like my legs are just waking up after too long sitting down—but ten times as painful. Walk, I think to myself. Walk, I think as Taf and Brookie and Duncan and probably literally everyone else stare at me. Walk. Walk. Walk.

Fuck. Looks like I'm going to be making this look intentional. "I thought you guys were nice," I say, even though it feels cheap and lame and stupid.

"We're nice," Taf says, although even she doesn't sound convinced. "We're super nice."

"Yeah, it's just not our job to be nice to creeps like Elliot," Brookie says.

Duncan's hand is surprisingly cool on my shoulder. His voice seems deeper now. "Elliot was nice to the both of you. Always."

"She stared at us in the locker room," Taf says, still flushing, still closing her eyes. She seems to sway on Brookie's lap. "That's not okay."

"She never did that, and you know it. You both are just homophobic assholes with nothing better to do with your time." Duncan's chin is jutted out.

"Wait, homopho—you two aren't together?" My mind is whirling.

This gets Taf's eyes to widen. "What? No?"

"That would be too gross," Brookie adds. "Like, that way of life is a no for me. It's, like, hella wrong."

"Oh," I say. "Oh. Well. Um. You guys are assholes. We—I—gonna go? Kay. Cool. Thanks."

Duncan's hand still protectively on my shoulder, we turn, and, yes. Okay. Everyone is staring at us.

A boy on the couch opposite Taf and Brookie's gives Duncan a cool nod of approval as we walk by. Duncan gives a slight nod back. "See you, Adam. Becky."

The girl next to him nods back. What is it with this town and nodding?

"Sorry about that," Duncan says under his breath as soon as we're on the stares. The making-out couple has disappeared.

"It's fine," I say. "Well, not fine, but at the very least more my fault than anything. So."

"I wouldn't say it's your fault, exactly. Just...."

"I was involved?"

"You were involved. But, you handled it pretty well, so, kudos."

"Thanks." At least there's that, I guess.

A/N - Another week, another chapter! How do we feel about Taffy and Brooklin?? Ehhh? In the words of Dear_Rhian, "*cat hissing*"??? (Btw, her book A SUITABLE GENTLEMAN is giving me Colin Firth/Hugh Grant-scented LIFE right now so like, yes.)

I hope you guys enjoy! Also, just in case you haven't heard yet, NikkiPierceBooks and I will be livestreaming tomorrow at 4 PM EST. Let me know if you can make it - and if you have any questions about Wattpad struggles that you'd like answered!

See you all next week!

UPDATE (August 12th 2021): you guys should I get the other hot chocolate this is so hard