Pride and Joy ✓

five

FRIDAY. 19. NOVEMBER.

AS it turned out, Nate did already have some solid friends— he had a lot more of them then he had any right to. Considering it was only his first week, he'd become impressively popular and was already knocking around with guys and girls who were at the top of the metaphorical high school food chain.

Not that it was surprising, of course. He had all the right ingredients. He was attractive, he was exciting, he was tall. As if all of that wasn't enough, he was sociable and roguishly charming in the way that instantly endeared people. If Denver hadn't already decided that he was tolerable, he probably would've been suspicious of Nate straight away.

There was no method to any of his madness— it was always just madness. There was no calculated plan or systematic set of ideas that he used to elevate himself to the top, it was just the way he was. He made friends fast, enemies faster and he made decisions before he stopped to think about any consequences.

In a funny way, Denver was a little jealous of how easy everything was for him. How he was one of those people who sauntered into a room and immediately caught the attention of the people around him, the kind of guy who always showed you what he was thinking whether he meant to or not.

His facial expressions and body language were always shifting, always updating, always changing their minds. The funny thing was that he changed his mind all the time and somehow he was simultaneously the most decisive person Denver had ever met. Nate wore his heart on his sleeve and never in a million years had Denver thought that someone so open, so swift, would have intrigued him.

Typically, he was one of those guys who was drawn to more mysterious characters. The more brooding, quiet types who didn't tell you anything about their personal lives and were private to the extent that even learning their favourite colour would be damning.

Nate was a far cry from anyone like that.

"So you're coming, right?"

"Yeah, probably," he said without being certain of how much he really meant it.

It wasn't that he didn't go to parties— in fact, he usually went to parties— it was just that he and his friends had gone to one last week and he was much better at dealing with them when they were spaced out, when he had a Friday away from suffocating body heat and music so loud that you could feel it inside your chest and patches of the floor sticky with spilled drinks.

Parties weren't necessarily something he hated, he just had to be a little tipsy to tolerate them, drunk to thrive in them. He could never let loose without the assistance of a few shots and always worried that people would fight him too uptight without any alcohol in his system. He wasn't much of a dancer and he wasn't particularly sociable either so he usually just hung around with his friends.

"Really?" Nate asked.

"Sure," he shrugged. "I think some of my friends are going."

"I was expecting to have a debate on this," he admitted. "I thought you'd be one of those guys who really isn't into the whole party scene."

"I'm not, really," Denver said, "but they're fun sometimes. I just need a drink or two to loosen me up."

"Don't worry about that," Nate assured. "We'll get you a drink the minute we get there."

Admittedly, he wasn't actually sure whose party it was but he was pretty certain that it was someone whose parties he attended before. Definitely a player on the football team. That was all he really knew but what difference did it make? All parties were the same anyway. Maybe they were at different houses with different music and different faces but at their core they were the same. The houses were always big, the music was always loud and the faces were always blurry.

"Why am I going with you?" Denver scoffed. "I'll get one of my friends to pick me up."

"Den, I'm going to be right across the street from you," Nate said. "Doesn't it make sense for us to go together?"

He hummed. "I guess it does," Denver agreed.

"I thought you were supposed to be the smart one," Nate said.

Promptly, Denver glared at him. "We can't go together if we're both drinking."

"I'm not driving," he shrugged. "A friend is picking me up."

"I'll just let you know then, alright?" He said. "I'll text you after school. I think my friends are kind of counting on me going with them."

"Fine, fine," Nate said, throwing his hands up at his sides. "Go with your friends and just text me when you get there."

"Alright, I will," he said, faintly grateful that Nate dropped the offer. He'd much rather go with his own friends than some random kids from school, especially when he'd still be stone cold sober. "My class is starting. You should probably—"

"Nate. Out." Mrs Helsinki ordered, placing her laptop on her desk and jutting her thumb towards the hallway as she walked briskly into class.

Nate pushed himself off of Denver's desk as more students began pouring into the room, a few minutes after the first bell rang. He sighed and gestured to the door melodramatically. "On my way!" He announced, earning a few grins and chuckles from the students paying attention.

When he left, Mrs Helsinki eyed Denver over the edge of her thin, circular, gold-tinted glasses. A stern frown was wrinkled into her face. "Be careful with that one, Denver. He's trouble," she said sternly.

Denver sighed. "Don't I know it."