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Kevin’s.
    His whole family was at their grandparent’s lake house for the
weekend, but he got out of it by saying he had to work on a school project.
    I was thrilled he invited me over. Especially since I was
worried he would never want to see me again after I passed out at the
fraternity house the last time he invited me out. But he never said a word
about it. And when I apologized he told me not to be silly and that it happens
to everyone.
    Which pretty much secured his spot as the nicest guy that ever
expressed interest in me by far. And I wasn’t going to blow it. Especially when
I would much rather blow him.
    Which isn’t to say I didn’t want to get hammered. Because I did.
But right before I suggested we watch Family Guy and take a shot every time
Brian said something clever, he offered to make some mixed drinks. Which was a
lot classier.
    “It’s just that I can’t get too drunk,” he said. “At least not
until I finish my art project. But you go ahead.”
    “You take art?”
    “Yeah, why?”
    “I just didn’t know.”
    “This may come as a surprise to you, but not everyone feels the
need to take as many AP classes as they can fit in their schedule.”
    “Was that a jab?”
    “No,” he said. “It’s cool that you’re smart, but the rest of us
non-nerds sometimes go for an easy A.”
    “I’m not a nerd.”
    “It’s not a bad thing,” he said. “It’s cool.”
    “Thanks then. I guess.”
    He handed me a vodka and Coke. “Wanna see my masterpiece?”
    “Of course,” I said, taking a sip of my drink. “Whoa that’s a
stiff one.” Oh my god I said stiff.
    “Is it too strong?” he asked. “I figured that was better than
having to constantly fill up.”
    “No. It’s vodka. I mean, it’s nice.”
    He smiled.
    “It’s good,” I said. “Really.”
    “I’m trying to get you drunk.”
    “I was hoping, but I didn’t want to say anything.”
    “I’ve been looking forward to it all week.”
    “What happens when I get drunk?” I asked, following him up the
stairs to his room.
    “What doesn’t happen when you get drunk?”
    “Hilarious.”
    He opened the door to his room and I nearly got knocked down by
the fresh smell of Febreeze. Besides the art supplies, though, there was
nothing different about his room since the last time I was over. When we’d
shared that epic kiss. It was like once something lay down in there, it didn’t
get back up.  
    “May I?” I asked, pointing to the easel by the window.
    “Please.”
    I walked around and stared at it. I wouldn’t have called it a
masterpiece, but it wasn’t bad either. “It’s a blue horse woman?”
    “We’re supposed to be imitating one of the great masters.”
    “I see.”
    “It’s supposed to look like a Chagall.”
    “Well, I’m sure the only reason it doesn’t it because I’m not
very familiar with his work.”
    “You’re too kind.”
    “It’s supposed to look like this.” He reached over towards his
pillows and picked up a heavy, glossy-paged book I recognized from the
downstairs coffee table. “Here.”
    I grabbed the open page and examined it beside his copy. Then I
proceeded to make the types of pompous noises I imagined an art critic would
make as I sipped my lethal drink. “Excellent use of light and blue. Your
shading needs work, but I think you will be done in plenty of time for the
exhibition.”
    “What a relief,” he said, smiling. “Seriously, though, I do
think my biggest problem is the shading.”
    “I didn’t mean it. I was just joking.”
    “See if you can fix it,” he said. “You might find you have a
natural talent.”
    “Doubtful.”
    “I just need a B.”
    “Surely, you’re shooting for an A? I mean, it’s art. Isn’t it
totally subjective?”
    “I guess.”
    “So you’ve been getting A’s all semester?”
    “Yeah,” he said. “But not because of my artistic talent.”
    “Are you sleeping with the teacher?” I smirked.
    He stepped up beside me and put his hands