“Nice swallow,” a male voice says from far back. A smattering of female laughter breaks out. Grimshaw’s face just twists up in a defiant smile, and she takes another sip from the bottle.

“Why don’t you just get pregnant and stay home?” a female voice mutters near me. I don’t know if it was loud enough for Grimshaw to hear. She could have anyone’s boyfriend here, and often has, but she wouldn’t like it if I heard that, so I leave the scene before it becomes an issue. And since Grimshaw’s relationship with Mike Lyle seems destined to last at least a couple more hours, I should start exploring possibilities for a ride home. I still have to babysit tomorrow, so it would be good if I showed up for breakfast. I wander the outskirts of the party, through necking couples, heaps of beer cans, and people comatose in cars, but find nobody within six degrees of separation of either Grimshaw or me.

When my eyes adjust to the light, I pick my way down to the stream, take off my shoes, and find a flat rock that’s big enough to sit cross-legged on. I mull over Grimshaw’s comment about Mike Lyle. It’s not what she sees in him, it’s what he sees in her. So does she see anything in him? Does she look straight through him at his car? And what does he see in her, anyway? What other guys see, or something else? I don’t know why I bother trying to solve her riddles, though. I always search for meaning in everything she says, until I find out she’s just quoting old songs. Still, Mike Lyle is different from the others. She’s gone out with other older guys, but this one’s more determined, somehow. He’s not bad looking, I suppose, in an older-guy sort of way. He has a trim goatee, shiny black hair, the Corvette, of course, instead of a brain, and arms like the branches of an oak tree. If it’ll really make her happy, I can try to be nice to him. But I don’t have to like him.

I wish we could just go, just leave this town and this valley, these people and their comments. If we just got on the bus and went to New York City, we could probably figure it out from there. We just have to make the first move. Every time Grimshaw starts a dance class, they tell her how much talent she has, and I’m smart enough to succeed at whatever I want, once I decide what that is, so I do have confidence that something is out there for us. I know what Grimshaw would say to that, though: confidence doesn’t have wheels, and I’m not old enough to drive.