Walking Disaster

don’t.”
    “You know I will. Last warning. Ten o’clock, or by eleven you’ll have guests. Ugly ones.”
    I groaned. “I fucking hate you.”
    “No you don’t. See you in ninety minutes.”
    The phone grated in my ear before it hung up. Knowing Trenton, he was probably calling from his boss’s office, kicked back with his feet on the desk.
    I sat up, looking around the room. The walls were empty, devoid of the pictures of Abby that had once crowded the white paint. The sombrero hung above my bed again, proudly displayed after the
shame of being replaced by the framed black-and-white photo of Abby and me.
    Trenton was really going to make me do this. I imagined myself sitting at the bar, the world celebrating around me, ignoring the fact that I was miserable and—according to Shepley and
Trenton—being a pussy.
    Last year I danced with Megan and ended up taking home Kassie Beck, who would’ve been a good one to keep on the list had she not thrown up in the hall closet.
    I wondered what plans Abby had for the night but tried not to allow my mind to wander too far into the realm of who she might be meeting. Shepley hadn’t mentioned America having plans.
Unsure if that was being kept from me on purpose, pushing the issue just seemed too masochistic, even for me.
    The night table drawer squeaked when I pulled it open. My fingers padded across the bottom and paused at the corners of a small box. Carefully I pulled it out, holding it in my hands against my
chest. My chest rose and fell with a sigh, and then I opened the box, wincing at the sight of the sparkling diamond ring inside. There was only one finger that belonged inside that white gold
circle, and with each passing day, that dream seemed less and less possible.
    I knew when I bought the ring that it would be years before I gave it to Abby, but it made sense to keep it just in case the perfect moment happened to arise. Knowing it was there gave me
something to look forward to, even now. Inside that box was the little bit of hope I had left.
    After putting away the diamond, and giving myself a long mental pep talk, I finally trudged down the hall to the bathroom, intentionally keeping my eyes from my reflection in the mirror. The
shower and shave didn’t improve my mood, and neither (I would later point out to Shepley) did brushing my teeth. I put on a buttoned-up black shirt and blue jeans, and then slipped on my
black boots.
    Shepley knocked on my door and walked in, dressed and ready to go as well.
    “You’re going?” I asked, buckling my belt. I’m not sure why I was surprised. Without America there, he wouldn’t have plans with anyone other than us.
    “Is that okay?”
    “Yeah. Yeah, I just . . . I guess you and Trent worked this out before.”
    “Well, yeah,” he said, skeptical and maybe a little amused that I had just figured it out.
    The Intrepid’s horn honked outside, and Shepley pointed to the hallway with his thumb. “Let’s roll.”
    I nodded once and followed him out. Trenton’s car smelled like cologne and cigarettes. I popped a Marlboro in my mouth and lifted up my ass so I could get into my pocket for a lighter.
    “So, the Red’s packed, but Cami told the door guy to let us in. They’ve got a live band, I guess, and pretty much everyone is home. Should be a good one.”
    “Hanging out with our drunken, loser high school classmates in a dead college town. Score,” I grumbled.
    Trenton smiled. “I got a friend coming. You’ll see.”
    My eyebrows pulled in. “Tell me you didn’t.”
    A few people were huddled outside the door, waiting for people to leave so they could enter. We slipped past them, ignoring their complaints while we paid and walked straight in.
    A table sat by the entrance, once full of New Year’s Eve party hats, glasses, Glow Sticks, and kazoos. The freebies had been mostly picked through, but it didn’t stop Trenton from
finding a ridiculous pair of glasses that were shaped into the numbers of the new year. Glitter was all over the floor, and the band was playing “Hungry Like the Wolf.”
    I glowered at Trenton, who pretended not to notice. Shepley and I followed my older brother to the bar, where Cami was de-capping bottles and shaking drinks at full speed, pausing only
momentarily to type in numbers into the register or write down an addition to someone’s tab. Her tip jars were overflowing, and she had to shove down the greenbacks into the glass every time
someone added a