At the end of the year parties at school, everybody gets their pick: either an attic in the woods, a dorm at school, or some sketchy basement. I was happy to choose the sketchy basement of my pal John and his girlfriend Lisa. They had a nice house down the hill from campus. It was June—college for us lets out late—and it was about 95 degrees. The party was obviously going to be crazy. What I did first was drink five beers by myself in my dorm. I walked down to their house by myself singing something loudly. I wore my black tank top and kahki jeans. I flexed my arms as I walked and saw that, thankfully, two weeks of not going to the gym had not really decreased my muscles. I was walking alone and singing and not caring about the occasional person giving me a funny look because I did not want to feel lonely. I was, after all, alone. Renee had decided to go to her friend’s film screening. I think she was mad at me. When I got to the house I said hi to everybody fairly quickly and was immediately offered a pot brownie. I took it. The last time I’d eaten a pot brownie I’d hated it; I was sick and vomited. I was in a mood to take my chances again. I talked with John for a while about our Semiotics class and how glad we were to be done with it. I don’t think I came across as too wrecked, although maybe that was just me. I spotted a few girls dancing awkwardly in a group to Miley Cyrus. They cackled when one of them tripped. They were also munching on pot brownies. I wearily made my way towards them. I leaned against the wall, throwing the rest of my brownie in the trashcan. I chose to just stare at the girl who had tripped. He hair was died a messy orange—you could still see her original brown hair color encroaching on her head—and she didn’t say much. She had on a denim jacket and wore black fishnet stockings with a preppy gray skirt. Weird, weird fashion sense. She noticed me staring at her and smiled and looked away. I kept staring, occasionally yelling something back at John. She looked over at me again, a little cock-eyed, but still, she smiled again. When she noticed me still staring at her for a third time, she whispered something to her friend and walked to me. “Hi, Amelia.” She said it like it was a diagnosis. She didn't hold out her hand. I shook it anyway. “Like Amelia Bedelia?” “What?” “Didn’t you read when you were a child?” “Um…yeah, but…” “You sure? You’re not illiterate? Maybe kind of a low IQ?” “What?” “I mean, I saw you almost fall on your ass back there. There’s only two possibilities. You’re high out off your gourd, or you need to pay a visit to the dum-dum store.” I tapped her on the forehead. “Pick one.” She just looked at me, uncomfortable. “I’m only joshing you,” I said, giving my best sensitive smart guy laugh. “Come on. Let’s dance.” “I am really smart,” she said. “But I’m not a great dancer. And I’m sure you’re complete shit.” “We’ll see,” I said. Read more »