Countdown to NYE is on!
Percy
* * *
AS PROMISED, MOM went all in for her ’70s New Year’s Eve. She made fondue and Caesar salad, and the four of us sat on the floor near the fire dipping hunks of crusty bread into the yellow goo, listening to Joni Mitchell and Fleetwood Mac albums on the old record player of Dad’s that Mom had repaired as a Christmas gift.
“This is actually a little gross, all of us putting our forks back into the cheese,” I said, and Mom gave me a look.
“But it’s so delicious,” said Sam, waving a piece of drippy bread in my face.
“Couldn’t agree with you more, Sam,” Dad said, and plucked the bread from Sam’s fork and then popped it into his mouth.
Mom served carrot cake for dessert, and then we played poker with wooden matchsticks until Sam bankrupted us all.
“I’m not sure whether to be disturbed or impressed that a fifteen-year-old can keep such a straight face,” my dad commented when he handed over the last of his matches to Sam.
At midnight, Mom let Sam and me have a glass of champagne each, and the bubbles made my hands and face warm. Not long after, my parents made up the couch for Sam with sheets tucked around the cushions, poured the remaining champagne into our glasses, then went to bed.
Sam and I sat facing each other on opposite ends of the couch, the quilt spread over our legs. I was bummed about going back to the city in two days’ time and wanted to stay up all night talking. He tapped my leg with his foot under the blanket.
“Are you going to tell me about how your date with Buckley went?” We hadn’t discussed Delilah’s cousin Mason since I first mentioned him in an email, hoping it would prompt Sam to confess his love. It didn’t quite work out according to plan, and I figured Sam had forgotten all about it.
The truth was that Delilah and I had been on a couple of double dates with Mason and his friend, Patel. Last names as first names seemed to be a thing in their circle—they both went to a boys’ private school not far from where I lived, and played on the same hockey team.
I was surprised that Delilah would date someone as quiet and soft-spoken as Patel, but he had these huge brown eyes and an even bigger smile.
“I can tell he’s deep,” she explained when I asked her about it. “Goalies are sexy, and I bet he’s an amazing kisser.”
Mason was obsessed with hockey and building muscle for hockey and growing out his dark hair so it would curl just right from under his hockey helmet. He had blue eyes like Delilah and was gorgeous like Delilah, and I think he probably knew it like Delilah did, too, but he was actually a pretty nice guy. I just didn’t think of him constantly like I did Sam.
“It’s Mason,” I corrected Sam. “And there’s not much to tell.”
“Let’s start with the basics: Do you like Buckley?” He smirked.
I kicked him. Then shrugged. “He’s okay.”
“Just okay, huh? Sounds serious.” After a moment, he asked, “Don’t you think he’s a bit too old for you?”
“He’s turning eighteen in a few weeks, and I’ll be sixteen in February. Besides, we’ve only been on two dates.”
“You didn’t tell me about the second one.”
Was I supposed to tell him about other boys? He didn’t talk to me about girls.
“I didn’t think you would care, and it’s not like he’s my boyfriend or anything,” I said defensively.
“But he wants to be.” It wasn’t a question.
“I’m not sure. I don’t think boys think of me like that.”
“Like what, Percy?” Was he teasing me? Or did he not know what I meant? My head was fuzzy with confusion and champagne.
“They’re not interested in kissing me,” I said, looking down at our legs.
He tapped me with his foot again. “That’s not true. And for the record, I do care.”
* * *
SAM WAS RIGHT: Mason was interested. Delilah and I went to two of his and Patel’s hockey games in January. We sat in the stands clutching foam cups of bad hot chocolate to keep our hands warm in the frigid arena. At each game, Mason waved to me from the ice before taking his position at right wing for the puck drop.
I could see why he loved hockey: He was the best player on the team by far. Each time he scored, he’d look up to me in the stands with a big smile on his face. After the second game, Delilah and I waited for the guys outside the locker room so we could all go for a pizza. Mason came out, hair damp and smelling of shampoo, with a huge gym bag slung over his shoulder. He wore jeans and a tight long-sleeved crewneck that stretched over his chest and arms. He was even more muscular than Charlie, and I had to admit that he looked pretty hot. When Patel and Delilah walked ahead, Mason pulled me into a doorway, told me he thought I was pretty, and gave me a soft peck on the lips. I said, “Thank you,” and smiled at him a little dazed, unsure of what came next or what he expected of me.