On an Edge of Glass

things.  If you knew them, you’d know that there’s really no use arguing.  They always get their way.”
                  “Ahhh, I understand.  I’ve been around lots of those girls,” Drew says matter-of-factly.  He eyes my empty cup.  “So, Ellie, can I be a gentleman and get you another drink?”
                  Any other time in my life I would say no.  Any other time, I would let my eyes fall to the ground coyly, and make an intentionally vague comment like, “maybe next time.”  But tonight is different. I want to have fun.  Scratch that—I need to have fun.  Also, I’ve just spotted a pretty girl wearing an angel costume talking to Ben. 
    It looks like the band is getting ready for a break.  Ben is fiddling around with his guitar, but he’s also leaning his long torso forward so that he can hear the angel girl better.  He’s smiling.  Smiling .  And she is beautiful in that perfect sort of way that you think only happens in magazines or on television.  The whole thing twists my stomach into a knot.
    So I turn back to Drew because he’s standing right in front of me.  And I nod my head, and bat my eyelashes to complete the effect. 
    Drew grins and disappears into the house, presumably to find me something from one the coolers set up on the kitchen floor.  When he returns, he hands me a wine cooler that he’s wrapped in a paper towel.  “I hope that you like strawberry,” he says, looking slightly apprehensive.
                  It’s my favorite.  I take a sip.  “I love it.”
                  Drew’s stance mirrors mine.  He rests his shoulder against the side of the house so that we’re face to face—not quite touching.   
    “What year are you?”  He asks , letting his eyes travel to my mouth.  My stomach flips and I can feel my cheeks flushing.  Suddenly I’m not so cold anymore.  I take another sip. 
                  “Senior.”
                  “Same as me.” Drew nods his head.  He runs his index finger along the rim of the beer bottle he’s holding.  “Do you know what you’re going to do after graduation yet?”
                  This is familiar territory.  I take a deep breath and launch into my standard explanation about my parents being attorneys, and my plans for law school.  Drew asks all the usual questions, and I answer them.  Eventually, we exhaust the topic and lapse into an idling silence.  I look around the party for inspiration. 
    The p orch is still packed.  Earlier, Ainsley pinned a few strands of spiraling white Christmas lights to the eaves of the house.  The more I drink, the more the lights seem to twinkle and swirl against the dark night. 
                  The band has stopped playing completely.  Someone with a sense of irony is playing a 1990s mix for the crowd and people are laughing and singing along.  Smiling, I think that it’s probably Payton’s doing.  I swear to myself that if I hear even one chord of an Ace of Base song, I’ll pull the plug, regardless of who I piss off. 
    Drew touches my arm gently.  My eyes snap back to his. 
    “So … how do you know these guys?”  He asks, gesturing to the house.
                  I scrunch up my nose, grin crookedly, and say, “I live here.”
                  Drew throws his head back and laughs loudly.
    “Of course you do, ” he counters.
                  “Now that we’ve established the basis of my presence,” I shift my weight and cross my arms, supporting the wine cooler in the crook of my elbow.  “How did you wind up at the party? Do you know Payton?”  It seems that almost every attractive guy at our party is connected to Payton in some way. 
                  Drew shakes his head and smiles blandly.  “I guess you could say that I’m sort of with the band.”
                  “Oh.”  I crinkle my forehead and chuckle.  “Like a groupie?”
                  Drew doesn’t answer immediately.  His bright blue eyes flash and he takes another swig from his beer bottle.  Finally, he inclines his head toward me and says softly, “not exactly.”
                  “Are you friends with Ben?”  I sputter, taking a half a step back.
                  “Not exactly,” another voice says.  It’s a deep voice with the slightest trace of a drawl. 
    Drew