Lion Boy lets go of my arm and I follow him to the kitchen. He pumps the keg and fumbles for a cup. While he’s pouring, I survey. Most of the people in the living room are guys, big ones with dopey drunk beer faces who spit when they talk. There’s a group of five girls in the corner looking around, giggling like they are among gods. Another one wears a short jean skirt and a shirt that shows her whole belly. She tries to wrap herself around a guy who is too busy cheering on an arm wrestling match across the room to pay her much notice. Other than those girls, it’s what Margo would call a sausage party, but they all seem harmless enough.

“Here, April from lit class,” Lion Boy says, thrusting a beer into my hand. It’s green-tinged and sloshes over the sides of the cup onto my boots. “Oh god! I spilled on you! I spilled on you, April! I’m sorry.” He pulls a grimy towel from the fridge handle, bending to wipe my boots.

“No prob,” I say, thinking I should shed a few shirts and try to fit in. Lion Boy is too drunk to notice, but the girls in the corner are eyeing me like they think I smell bad.

I wriggle out of two layers of flannel, tie them around my waist, and lean against the wall so I can keep a good eye on the kitchen and the living room. I am trying my best to look like I don’t give a crap about anything.

When Lion Boy is done with the towel, he loops it back over the fridge handle and pours another beer. He rests his arm behind me on the wall and leans in. His breath smells sharp.

“Why is it green?” I ask, taking a sip of beer to keep Lion Boy from getting too close. It tastes like what my father would describe as “stale piss water,” although, who’s going around drinking piss water to compare?

“Huh?” Lion Boy says, eyes half-closed.

“The beer? It’s green?”

His face lights up. “It’s a Seuss party.”

I raise one eyebrow, which is better than saying anything in most situations.

“You know,” he says, “like Dr. Seuss? Green Eggs and Ham?” He pats his head. “Wait!” He hands me his beer and runs to the living room. Fishing under coats on the couch, he finds a tall red and white striped fuzzy hat and pulls it on his head. The girls in the corner laugh.

“Yeah? Yeah? Like it?” he says, taking a minute to bob to the music, a song about ants marching around, before he struts back to the kitchen. “Green beer and ham! Aw, yeah.” He grins, nodding like he approves of himself.