The Secret Recipe for Moving On Karen Bischer (read my book .txt) 📖

every single light is on. I remember Darpan once saying they’re lucky because the house backs up to the woods, and if they have a party no one is in earshot to call the cops on them. I sincerely hope tonight isn’t the night that goes by the wayside, as I’d like to not have a criminal record.

I climb the steps to the front door and see a couple totally making out on the porch swing next to it. I pray it’s not Hunter and Brynn, then remember Alisha saying they’d be at Kim’s. A combination of being freezing and feeling completely awkward makes me stride past them to the front door, which is open a crack.

The music becomes much louder when I open the door to let myself in. I wouldn’t say the entire senior class is here, but the place is pretty packed. I scan the room for any RHHS TV people I can attach myself to, but I don’t see anyone I know. Almost everyone is hanging out in the living room, drinking from red cups and beer cans. Some are passing around a joint and, instantly, I feel totally out of place. I step backward, thinking maybe I can make an escape before I’m spotted, when I hear someone yell, “Ellie! Thank god!”

I look to my right and see Alisha, wearing oven mitts and her walking cast, limping out of the kitchen. Her face is flushed, but she gives me a big smile, then grabs my hand in one of her mitts and leads me into the kitchen, which has a baby gate in the doorway.

“It’s safer in here,” she says as she opens the gate. “I want at least one room of the house to not get destroyed, so I told D if he kept everyone out of the kitchen, I’d make snacks.”

There are a bunch of cookie sheets on the table and several boxes of frozen appetizers on the counter. This is how introverts cope with a raging party, right here.

“So, who else are you expecting?” I ask.

“Most of senior class, apparently,” she says, blowing a stray lock of hair out of her face. “Like I said, we don’t have to worry about Kim or any of them at least.” Her eyes kind of sparkle when she says this and I laugh.

“Where’s Jodie?” Alisha asks, frowning.

I remember how Jodie asked me not to tell anyone about USC, and I keep my word—even though I’d love to ask someone for advice on what I can do to help her right now. “She’s not feeling well tonight.”

Alisha nods. “Yeah, it’s cold and flu season, it sucks. Oh, hey, you can help yourself to a drink out on the deck. We have soda. Hell, have a beer. We have enough to start our own bar out there.”

I’m greeted by a gust of cold air when I step through the kitchen door onto the deck, and I’m glad my coat is still on. There’s a group of fairly large guys gathered around a giant red cooler and a keg. I almost go back inside, because I’m not sure if I’m crashing some male-bonding moment right here.

Then I hear, “Hey, Rash, it’s the girl who made you famous!” Rashad’s head pokes up from the group and I’m flooded with relief. He waves me over.

“Hey, Mary Ellen. What are you drinking?” he says, throwing open the cooler as I approach. The guys are all looking at me and I realize they’re all football players.

“A Coke, please,” I say with a smile.

“Just a Coke?” asks Joey Santini, the tight end with, uh, the best tight end of any senior guy, if this year’s underground senior superlatives are to be believed. “You helped Rashad land the girl of his dreams with that interview. You deserve a beer!”

Rashad nods and laughs. “The interview got Olivia McCoy to talk to me,” he says.

Darren Perry, the quarterback, nods. “She said seeing how good he was with Montague made her go all gushy inside.”

“I’m so glad!” I say. “Who knew psycho Montague could make a love connection?”

“Here, this Bud’s for you,” Joey says, opening a can and handing it to me.

“But I—” The words “just wanted a Coke” catch in my throat. I’m being kind of celebrated here and I don’t want to seem rude, so I take the can. I don’t have to drink the whole beer. Because this isn’t going to be a “if this were a bad TV show” moment, where I get drunk and dance on tables and “come out of my shell.”

“Thank you,” I say, the can practically freezing to my hand.

“Cheers,” Rashad says, clinking his can with mine.

“Uh, cheers,” I reply. I bring the can to my lips and close my eyes. I’ve tasted beer before and I’m not a fan, so I take a tiny sip and try not to make a face.

Rashad tells me all about Olivia, whom he’s had his eye on since sophomore year. “We have AP Calculus together, but she was always hanging out with her theater friends and I could never get her attention.”

I take another sip of beer and it doesn’t seem as bad as the first, but yeah, it’s still nasty. “Sometimes all it takes is a smile,” I say, repeating what the old guy sitting behind us at the football game told Jodie.

“Or, in this case, a dog,” Rashad says. “She said she thought I was Mr. Serious before, but after she saw the interview, she sought me out for homework help.”

“Well, I’m glad RHHS TV could be of service,” I say, and we clink cans again.

We chat for a little bit longer and I guess I must be pretty much as lightweight as you can get because after a half a can of beer, I begin to feel at ease, but also a little woozy. I make my way back inside, shaking my head at Alisha. “The football team insisted on giving me a thank-you beer for helping Rashad get