Sydney and Tommy. Tommy and Sydney. The pair of them. Together. And by pair, I refer to two brain cells they are apparently sharing. To do dirty, disgusting things to each other—things that play behind my eyelids every time I close them—at a party that I am attending. Like, what kind of super spies did they say think they were? The assholes didn't even lock the door.
Sydney and Tommy. Tommy and Sydney. My boyfriend and my best friend. My ex-best friend and my ex-boyfriend.
I sat at the top of the stairs. It would be a few minutes, at least, before Ms. Dead to Me and Mr. Irrelevant to my Life discussed their general suckage as human beings, redressed in the outfits that apparently were ever so intensely seductive that it inspired said suckage, and left their den of iniquity. Plus, I knew Sydney. She would never emerge from that bedroom until she had a game plan; a perfect story to spin in which she was the heroine, the crazy fun one, the shining star at the centre of everyone's universe.
I smirked, thinking of the panic on her face as she paced up and down the bedroom, rubbing her temples. Think, Sydney, think, she would say, as if narrating her TV show. Well, good luck, Sydney. I dare you to find a story in this that makes you look good.
So, yeah, I had time to sit and ponder. And wait for the room to stop spinning so that I could walk down the stairs instead of falling down them. I think the remainder of that drink I'd downed before my search for the asshole brigade was starting to hit with force.
I tried to force my brain to comprehend our current predicament, but alcohol prevented any complex analysis of the general what-the-fuckery of the whole situation, and the only thoughts I could gather were: what the fuck, nakedness, Sydney and Tommy, ex, ex, ex, boobies.
It was not particularly insightful.
My phone pinged. Cora. Hey, Syd just texted me. It was kind of weird though.
She had attached Sydney's message to her. Babe, I really fucked up. Like, epically. On epic levels. But I'm really sorry. Please don't be mad at me.
Not an apology. Not an acknowledgment that Cora had spent the entire night worried that Sydney was roofied or dead in a river or fighting a bear or whatever fun activity would make for the best story. Just a fun teaser trailer for the next season of Sydney Show—asking for Cora's easy sympathy before airing the big plot twist.
Come to think of it, my best friend was kind of a wanker.
Tommy's text came through next. Don't leave the party, Ally. Please. Don't throw away two years over this. It was a mistake. I love you so so much, baby.
I snorted a laugh. Yeah, okay. And you send this while still in bed with my best friend? Class act, douchecanoe. I didn't deign him with that response. My thoughts were damning, but I would let him grovel and weep and beg, hopeful that I would take him back, before ripping that hope out from under him.
As it turned out, I was not as much of a pushover as everyone thought I was.
There was a long moment before I realised my hand was at my throat, toying with the delicate T necklace Tommy had gifted me a year ago, after we'd watched the second High School Musical movie. I'd proclaimed Troy Bolton's gift to Gabriella—a necklace with his initial—the cheesiest, most narcissistic gift ever. "I mean," I had said. "That's not even relevant if they break up. Limited time, so she can't even keep it. Plus, it's like an ownership dog tag, it's weird. If you buy me a present, make sure it's one I can still totally use if I dump your ass."
When Tommy had bought me a similar gift, I'd scrunched my nose at him and he had grinned, warm and loving. "We're not gonna break up, so it's hardly a problem." Then he'd dropped a kiss on my forehead. "Plus, I thought it was funny."
And weirdly, I'd loved him for that stupid gift that I hated ever so much.
Another message from Tommy. Forgive me.
Now, I scrunched my nose for an entirely different reason and unlatched the necklace, dropping it onto the floor beside me. Jack could bin it tomorrow with the rest of the trash. Though, if he was out and about collecting rubbish, he may as well throw Tommy and Sydney right in there with the rest of the empty booze bottles and empty promises.
Cora texted me again next. People really needed to stop texting me like I was properly literate in this state. The keyboard looked like a bowl of alphabet soup to my vodka-soaked brain. That message was so weird, right? She's definitely gone to follow Kai somewhere, don't you think?
I squinted, staring down at the keyboard carefully as I typed. I had no intention of my response losing any impact by virtue of a typo. Nope. She actually just fucked Tommy.
Cora called me immediately. "She what?"
I laughed down the line. It was funny. It was hilarious. Sydney had fucked Tommy, and honestly, it was the most amusing thing I'd ever seen in my whole life. Second only to Cora's shocked tone, which was suddenly the funniest sound I'd ever heard in my entire life. I giggled. "Yep. Banging in the upstairs guest room. Walked in on it."
Cora's end of the line was loud, the shouts of a couple hundred kids drinking and singing a soothing backing track. "What the—"
"Bit of a dick move, really, right? Right?"
She was quiet for a beat. Her voice was faint when she responded. "I would say that is maybe an understatement."
I leant back against the staircase banister, tilting my head back to rest against the cool wood. I liked the solidity it provided, the comfort of sensation. My giggles were tinged with hysteria, but it was easier to laugh than it was to cry. My phone felt hot in my hand.
"Where are you?" Cora was saying. "I'm gonna come find you."
"Okay," I said softly. "I'm just at the top of the stairs, hanging with pukey Cosmo guy and the scary selfie hotties."
"I do not know what that means, but I will be there in a second, okay?" My phone beeped as Cora ended the call.
I could imagine her now, stuffing her phone into the back pocket of her jeans as she shoved her way through the crowd, shucking off her sweet, apologetic skin in favour of her mum friend one to make it up the stairs faster. I must've been right, because she was at my side in a minute, lifting a cup of water to my lips and murmuring soothing words in my ear.
"I'm fine, Cora," I said. "Really."
Cora brushed her long blonde waves from her face, tendrils having escaped her ponytail in her frantic rush to find both Sydney and me. She blinked at me, her eyes a bright and tear-filled blue, every inch the Disney princesses she embodied. "You're fine," Cora said, and her voice was unsteady.
It was in moments like this that I could hear Sydney's voice. Ugh, she's so annoying. She always cries about things that have nothing to do with her. Like, honestly, has no one ever told her to grow up? And I had just laughed, entranced by everything that was Sydney, heady in her presence. Never once defending Cora, never agreeing with her in words, because I liked Cora, but always agreeing in smiles and nods. Because I had always liked Sydney more.
But Sydney wasn't here to snap at Cora now. She never would be again.
"You're actually fine?" Cora repeated.
"I mean, yeah." I said. "It's kind of like, yes, it sucks. But I'd also rather find out Tommy is an asshole cheater now than ten years down the line. I loved him, but I didn't fall in love with a guy who was a cheater. Ditto, I do not love Tommy anymore."
Cora tilted her head. "I mean, fun logic, Val, but could this perhaps be the alcohol talking?"
"Oh, yeah, for sure!" I said cheerfully, sipping daintily on my water. "I could be an absolute mess tomorrow; we should totally be prepared for that."
She nodded carefully. I could practically see the cogs in her head turning as she tried to manage a manically happy Valerie. "Uh, and Sydney?"
I grimaced. "Yeah, that's a bit of a yikes."
"You seem a little prone to understatements today."
"I don't even really know what to say." My forehead drooped slightly onto Cora's shoulder, and I buried my head in her familiar cotton cardigan and embraced the comforting scent of her perfume. "She is a poop. A big one."
"The biggest dump of them all. Sloppy, too," Cora agreed, rubbing my back.
"But she is supposed to be my best friend," I said. And once the words started, they couldn't stop. An endless flood, as if those words were the tears I was supposed to be shedding, yet did not threaten to spill. "She has been my best friend for over a decade. And I knew she could be mean. Not always, but she was cruel, and I had seen her be cruel. But it wasn't often enough that it was unforgiveable, and I would challenge her, and she would apologise, and it was never enough that I couldn't forgive her. And I was supposed to be her one no-be-mean person. She was cruel and horrible and I knew it, but she was never cruel and horrible to me. I didn't think that was going to change."
I felt the rise of fall of Cora's chest as she sighed, dropping her head to rest atop mine. "Sydney has never been the nicest person in the world. I would know."
"She is kind of mean to you."
Cora was silent for a moment. "Yeah, she can be. But she always finds a way to make you forgive her."
"She's good at that. I don't think I can forgive her for this, though."
Cora's voice was hard. "I don't think you should."
We sat there, silent for a heartbeat. Cora had always been a remarkably good friend for comfort; she did not possess the same innate curiosity as I did. She didn't ask a thousand questions like me, or prod for idle gossip like Syd. She just listened, collected the smallest information possible to offer condolences and advice, and left the rest to settle.
But silence wasn't what I wanted. Silence was oppressive, was solemn. And I wasn't sad. I had no idea what I was. Happy, sad, angry, hurt, jealous, manic. All I knew, with overwhelming confidence, was that I was drunk.
Downstairs, I could hear Jack yelling and the answering slurred cries from the throngs of drunken teenagers. Laughter and chatting and joy. A party. A party that I wanted to enjoy. I grinned.
"Hey, Cora?" I said.
"Yeah?" she replied. Her voice was soft and guarded, as if she was waiting for me to cry or break or scream. Instead, it was a smile that she was met with as I raised my head.
"How capable do you feel in performing a small sabotage mission?"
"Not at all whatsoever," she said with utmost sincerity.
"My boyfriend just slept with my best friend."
"Still not at all but with enthusiasm!" Cora said sunnily.
I gave her a lopsided smile. "So, you feel that you could barge into Tommy and Sydney's Hall of Betrayal, swipe the key from the dresser and lock them in?"
Cora smirked. "I think the idea of enjoying the rest of the night without the smell of turd lingering around."
"I think I like the idea of a night so wild that Tommy and Sydney sleeping together doesn't make the list of the top three craziest things that happen. I want to have stories to rival Sydney's tomorrow." I gestured at the aforementioned Hall of Betrayal. "Except, you know, betraying my best friend would never be part of my story."