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Elective	By : CeeCee Category: Comics > Archie & Co. Views: 3061 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I don't own the Archies fandom. These characters belong to Archie Comics. I make no money from writing this piece of sh- I mean, fanfiction.

Chapter List
- 2
- 3
- 4
Summary: Quarters and ramen. Solo cups and porch couches.
Author’s Note: I miss college… I sure as HELL don’t miss high school.
Moose hated trying to fight for the single washer and dryer in his wing of the residence hall. Like everyone else, he packed up his laundry into an enormous duffle and drove it down the street to the strip mall. The Laundromat boasted basic cable and wi-fi access and sat next to a twenty-four hour donut café. The parking lot wasn’t well lit at night; he always locked his truck up tight if he went there after hours. Moose always made a valiant effort at bringing a text book with him, thinking to kill two birds with one stone, but inevitably he turned the set to the game and fiddled with his phone. Sometimes he texted Midge, but her answers were terse and brief. It frustrated him.
Once in a while, he went to parties, and girls occasionally flirted with him, but they didn’t hold his interest. He liked girls who liked sports and things like camping or hitting the beach, and Moose hated the mall. He liked eating out at casual places with short menus, pool tables and dart boards in the back. It was still flattering to have the attention, but Moose didn’t ask for numbers, simply telling them that he’d see them around at the next mixer or in class.
The campus was a flurry of activity due to rush season, and he saw a lot of girls walking around in sorority sweatshirts and passing out flyers out in the courtyard, recruiting freshman at little tables at the student union hall. Moose considered pledging a fraternity, but it threatened to get in the way of football.
Moose went to the ATM in the small Laundromat and took out a twenty, checking his balance. He whistled in surprised at the meager numbers that greeted him. His scholarship took care of his books, tuition, and a big chunk of his dorm fees, but his allowance from home only went so far. Moose changed his twenty into quarters, musing that the changing clinking into the little metal cup reminded him of a trip to Vegas he’d taken over the summer. He spared three precious dollars on a couple of detergent packets and managed to load one load of darks in the last empty single-capacity machine in the back. He saw three housewives sitting vigil at the large capacity washers, entertaining themselves with women’s magazines and diet Cokes. Moose sighed; it’d take forever to get his laundry done at this rate. It was a sunny day outside, and he craved a bike ride and a round of Frisbee on the lawn between residence halls.
He’d mastered laundry after a couple of months, an accomplishment that made his mother cheer. She didn’t relish his entry into the house with three huge sacks of dirty, smelly clothes twice a month, crying foul to him and reminding him sternly that he was an adult now. His room felt strange to him whenever he visited, his, yet… not. All of his boyhood action figures were still lined up along his windowsill, and his posters still hung from the walls along with his high school football pennants. His trophies still lined the shelves, but his mom had stowed his comic collection in a large sweater box in his closet, and the room was spotlessly clean. Fewer of his clothes hung in the closet now, and his space even smelled different.
His mother’s meals never tasted so good after weeks of dorm food and ramen. He ladled second and even third helpings onto his plate, making her shake her head.
“They don’t feed you at that school?”
“Is there anymore?”
Sometimes he visited Dilton when he came home for the weekend from MIT. He was amused to see his childhood friend’s beard. He’d filled out slightly and was more laid-back, seeming to isolate himself less now that he had peers with his interests. Moose still felt intimidated listening to him talk about his projects and dissertations, but he was happy for him.
He never tried to visit Midge. Their breakup still stung, even though his feet had worn a groove in the pavement to her house after so long. He missed her touch and her laugh and being the other half of a couple. It was a hard fact to swallow that she could move on so easily and so quickly once there was some distance between them. It humbled him that she considered him disposable.
*
Ethel hummed along to her iTunes as she ambled down the block, towing her push cart of laundry under dappled shadows from the trees. The weather was perfect for a walk, even if it was just to the fluff n’ fold. Melody ignored her offer to go together, waving her off from under the covers where she suffered from a massive hangover. Ethel had skipped the party, even though her bubbly roommate had invited her. Ethel felt too self-conscious, and the party was hosted by a raucous fraternity, certainly not her crowd, if she had to be honest.
Ethel was glad her mother gave her the shopping cart. It made life easier when she was out running errands or heading to the farmer’s market downtown or mini-mart to get her meager supply of groceries and toiletries. Melody laughed when she first saw it, claiming that only old ladies used them, but Ethel didn’t care what anyone else thought. It offered her mobility and freedom instead of having to beg anyone for a ride for the sake of carrying her bags.
Ethel maneuvered her way into the Laundromat, nodding a thank-you to the older man who held the door for her. She scoped out the shop, looking for an empty machine. A large, matronly woman in a peasant skirt and knitted cap got up and began to unload one of the large capacity washers, and she grinned at her good fortune.
*
Moose perked his head up at the sound of the buzzer that sounded when the spin cycle was up. “Yay,” he muttered as he snapped his battered copy of The Scarlet Letter shut, all thought of studying forgotten. Moose loaded a nearby cart with a huge dark load, wrinkling his nose at the aroma. He’d waited about three days too long to wash his gym clothes, he’d be the first one to admit it. One of the ladies hogging the big machine glanced up him and gave him a stink face. He rummaged in his pockets for some quarters.
He’d fed two into the slots when he looked up from digging some more. A slender, female hand was feeding the slot in a bid to beat him to the machine. “Hey!” he snapped. “I had dibs!”
“Wha- Moose?” Ethel paused in feeding the machine and took out one of her earbuds, letting it dangle. “I think I saw it first!”
“I’ve been here forever,” he argued, even though twenty minutes probably didn’t qualify as “forever,” but she didn’t know that. “I don’t have that much laundry,” he reasoned. His overloaded cart said otherwise, and Ethel looked skeptical, folding her arms.
“Looks like a month’s worth from here. I think I saw this machine first.” Moose stared at her incredulously. Ethel Muggs was going to challenge him for a washing machine?
“I had my quarters in it first,” he insisted. Then he reached for a handful of his rank clothes and chucked them into the open hatch. “Dibs.” She glared at him in disgust.
“Ooh! You… you… ew.” She fanned the air. “Okay. Fine. Do something about that stench, then. I’ll consider it a public service.” She took out the quarters she’d fed into the slots and moved her cart down the aisle, setting for a smaller capacity machine. Moose shrugged and kept loading his wash into the machine.
“You’re welcome,” he called after her cheerfully. Ethel gave him a snippy little look, then stuck out her tongue when he had his back turned. Moose packed as much of his clothing into it as he could fit, paying little heed to how well it would agitate, and he emptied a packet of the powdered Cheer into the well. He’d held back most of his whites, then realized belatedly that he didn’t have any bleach.
Ethel stood in the back of the shop, feeding the machine her white load and delicates, and Moose flushed slightly at the sight of the small, lacy scraps of material, triangle-cup bras, silky bikinis and filmy pantyhose. Ethel felt eyes on her back, and she glanced up at him, perturbed. “What?”
“Uh… .nothing.” Her expression made him feel like a lecher. He turned away quickly and returned to comtemplating his laundry. His whites weren’t going to do themselves. As if the universe decided to take pity on him, another guy about his age, ponytailed and sleeved with tribal tats, sauntered to unload his washer when the buzzer went off. Moose and Ethel watched his progress with bated breath. That only seemed to make him move even more slowly, shaking out and smoothing each shirt and pair of pants as he piled it into his laundry basket. C’mon, c’mon… Moose was anxious, craving the sunny afternoon and feeling even more self-conscious at Ethel’s scrutiny.
Ethel wrestled with her laundry sack, dislodging it from her cart. A free afternoon was calling her name, and she didn’t want to waste anymore time in the stuffy little shop than necessary. She rushed the machine and beat Moose’s lunge for it, jerking open the lid and shoveling handfuls of her darks into it. “Ha!” she crowed triumphantly. Moose growled under his breath and rolled his eyes.
“Fine.”
“Hmmph.”
“Geez. Chill, okay?” said Ponytail, giving them both a sketchy look as he retreated with his basket, not wanting to stick around for the drama. Ethel finished loading up her machine and feeding quarters into it. She poured in a stingy amount of her liquid detergent, trying to make it last until her next trip to the market. Moose wanted to grumble at her sabotaging his quick exit, but one of the housewives took mercy on him and unloaded her goodies into a little rolling barrel. She gave him an indulgent smile.
“Your turn.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” He beamed, an aw-gee-shucks smile that Ethel wondered if he practiced in the mirror. She sighed and shook her head. He even opened the dryer door for her, earning him a gentle pat. He resumed his laundry, loading the whites, but Ethel noticed he’d forgotten the most important part.
“Where’s your bleach?”
“Didn’t bring any.”
“Your clothes are gonna be dingy.”
“They’ll still be clean,” he shrugged, but he silently agreed with her. He tossed in his last packet of powder, watching it disperse and throw up cool, floral-scented mist from the little well. Ethel shook her head and retreated to the vending machine in the back. She shelled out a buck-fifty for a little cup of ramen noodles and another for a one-liter Pepsi, craving the first sip.
Moose went back to his book with no excitement. Ethel stole glimpses of him once in a while. He was dressed in slick black warmup pants and a light blue Adidas long-sleeved tee, feet shod in gym socks and Teva sandals. His hair looked recently trimmed and spiky and he was munching on a small pouch of trail mix that he’d no doubt bought from the same vending machine. Ethel filled the ramen cup to the line at the battered little sink and put into the microwave that had seen better days and too few wipedowns with a sponge. She hummed to her tunes as it cooked and perused the scant selection of magazines. She saw an issue of last month’s Redbook and decided it would do.
She sighed a moment later, deciding she needed to do a good deed. Ethel reached for her small bottle of generic bleach and headed to his machine, the same one they’d fought over. He glanced up at her accusingly. “What’re you doing?”
“Sending you to class in brighter whites.” She poured about a quarter of a cup of bleach into his load before he could protest. “You’re welcome.”
“You didn’t have to do that.”
“Someone has to supervise you this far away from home.”
“Says you.”
“Yeah, says me.” She went back to her snack, taking it out of the microwave a few seconds shy of the beep. She stirred it with a plastic fork and joined him on the bench without an invitation. “You live on campus?”
“It’s easier. I didn’t have anyone to get an apartment with when I got here.”
“Your roommate decent?”
“He’s a neat freak. You know him, I bet. Ambrose?” Recognition dawned in her eyes.
“Archie’s friend. .From elementary. The one with the goofy imagination.” Moose nodded, chuckling.
“He’s still goofy, but he’s cool.”
“Small world.” Ethel twirled her noodles around her fork before taking a cautious bite, mindful that it was still hot. “My roomie’s from Midvale.”
“Rivals,” Moose muttered.
“Yup. She’s something else.”
“She a pain?”
“No. Just… how can I put this? I live with a living, breathing Barbie doll. I don’t think she has a worry gene, either. Nothing phases her, and she has no idea of what ‘personal space’ is, or discretion.”
“She sounds cute.” Moose’s face was smug and expectant.
“Don’t even think about it, buddy.” Her cheeks flushed slightly at the thought of Moose making a bid for her roommate’s attention. It hit her, though: Why should she care? Melody didn’t come across as having a lot upstairs, and Moose wasn’t exactly a Rhodes scholar. Maybe they’d hit it off. “And why would it matter if she’s cute? You’re with Midge.”
“It doesn’t matter. But I’m not with Midge. Not anymore.” Moose sullenly munched on a handful of trail mix. “Thanks for bringing that up, Ethel.”
“Oh. Sorry.” She turned away and stared at the floor. Their chat wasn’t going well.
“Yeah. No big deal.”
“So now you can play the field,” Ethel mused.
“Whatever. It’s overrated.”
“Why? You’re a guy. Guys love being single, I thought.”
“Not this guy. Not like this.” He huffed at her. “Do you love being single?”
“Pffft… no. Heck, no. I’m not like you. I’ve never been part of an ‘item.’” She made quotey fingers around that word.
“So, you can play the field.”
“I can’t wait.” Ethel rolled her gray eyes sourly.
“You could hit up Stan one of these days.”
“Stan?”
“From class.” Moose didn’t want to mention her job again at the risk of getting his head bitten off.
“Oh. Wait. The one with the boy band haircut. The big one.” He wasn’t as burly as Moose, but Stan was tallish and not too bad looking, when she thought about it.
“He thinks you’re cute.”
“Oh, geez…” Ethel flushed to the roots of her hair.
“What’s wrong with that?”
“Moose… hello? You don’t… you don’t just hit up someone who regularly sees you naked.”
“What’s the big deal?” Moose shrugged again.
“It’s like dating someone you work with. That never works.”
“I dunno. I don’t see the problem. He’s seen you naked. That gets the awkward part out of the way.” Ethel glared at him.
“Seriously?”
“Yup. News flash, Bee: Guys wonder what girls look like naked when we ask them out. It’s in our DNA. He’s seen you. He likes you. Bingo. Slam dunk.” Now he was enjoying baiting her. Ethel made a sound of disgust.
“So, what’s the point of having him ask me out if he likes me? He’ll just want to sleep with me? What’s the point of even going on a date, with that in mind?”
“Dates are nice. Go out a few times. Take in a game. Take in a movie. Then you hit it.”
“You. Are. A. Pig.”
Moose held up his hands. “Hey, you’re the one who poses naked.” The two older women sitting nearby raised their brows, giving away that they were eavesdropping. Ethel gave them a weak smile and cleared her throat.
“Don’t announce it to the world. You’re as bad as Mel.”
“Didn’t you just get done telling me she’s dinghy? Should I be a little insulted?”
“No. If it sounds right, though, then hey. There you go.” Moose threw a peanut at her.
“You’re mean.”
They both occupied themselves with laundry and their respective books and jockeyed for dryers. The afternoon slowed to a crawl while their clothing spun, and the sounds of the laundry thumping along and blurring colors in the glass doors was lulling Ethel halfway to sleep.
Moose wasn’t meticulous about folding. He gathered up his clothes and doubled it up just enough to fit it back into his large laundry sack. Ethel folded her clothing neatly and loaded it back up into her cart and packed her half-finished soda bottle into her large purse.
Moose watched her, still fascinated by her undergarments. She caught him looking again.
“Don’t tell me that you see London and France,” she told him dryly.
“I don’t know. You’ve got some pretty spicy stuff, there.”
“This from the guy who owns a pair of Home Simpson boxers.” He flushed, and this time Ethel smirked. “Cute.”
“Don’t knock Homer.”
“I wasn’t.” She trundled her cart toward the door and nodded to him. “Later, gator.”
“Wait.” He hefted his sack over his shoulder like Santa Clause and followed her, beating her to the door. “Let me give you a ride.”
“You drove here?”
“I’ve got my truck.”
“Must be nice. Parking permits cost a grip. That’s why I left my car at home.”
“Sucks to try to get around.”
“The bus system is pretty good. Student discount on fare helps, too.” Ethel was used to getting by on a shoestring budget. Moose was an only child like she was, but he came from more money than she did, and he’d always been active in sports and had taken Midge out in style.
“Where do you live?”
“Montana Hall.”
“I’m in Goldwater,” he mentioned. “Not that far from me. It’s not out of my way.” He took her cart from her before she could protest, and he loaded her laundry sack in his truck bed, folding the cart shut. He clicked the remote on his keys, and she heard the doors click. “It’s open.”
“You don’t have to go out of your way.”
“I just said it’s not.”
“Okay. I appreciate it.” She wasn’t expecting it. They piled into his truck and when Moose revved the ignition, acid rock blared out of his speakers. She rolled down the window, since the truck had heated up parked in the sunny lot for two hours.
“Your truck’s nice.”
“It gets me around.”
The ride home was pleasant. The breeze coming in ruffled her short black hair and felt good against her skin. “It’s a nice day for a drive,” she remarked.
“It is.” He turned to her. “Where do you wanna go for lunch?”
“Me?” She looked surprised. “Oh. I dunno. Downtown?”
“Chuck’s?” It was his favorite burger joint. Ethel nodded happily.
“Lead the way.”
*
If anyone had told her a year ago she’d be sitting at a table inhaling a burger with the burliest, jockiest guy she knew growing up, a guy who’d done his share of teasing her when they were kids, she would have told them they were nuts. But there they were. Moose treated her to a loaded burger, and they shared a basket of fries.
“If this had been Midge, she would’ve gotten a salad, then eaten half of my burger,” Moose remarked.
“Where’s the fun in that? I like meat,” Ethel informed him. “When I’m in the mood to eat, I eat.”
“Not trying to keep your girlish figure?”
“This is girlish?” Ethel pointed out. “I can fit into my dad’s clothes, for crying out loud.”
“You’re thin!” he insisted. “A toothpick!”
“So’s my dad,” she clarified. “Both of my parents are tall.”
“My dad is. My mom’s kinda petite.” His expression was fond. “She can cook.”
“Lucky for you.”
“Heck, yeah. I love to eat!”
Ethel considered that a moment. So had Jughead. She’d baked him goodies once in a while to impress him, and he’d certainly been impressed by the treats, but not by her. It rankled.
“Could Midge cook?”
“I don’t know. I usually took her out.”
“That’s nice.”
“I guess.” He inhaled a handful of fries dipped in the special sauce. “This is my kind of place. She’d hate it here.”
“What’s not to like?” Ethel waved her hand toward the back room. “They’ve got fooseball! All the best greasy spoons have fooseball!” Moose set down his burger and gave her a determined look.
“You. Play. Fooseball.” Ethel’s eyes narrowed, a dangerous gleam in their depths.
“Get ready.”
*
Ethel spun the rollers expertly, easily blocking Moose’s attempt for her goal. His little green players jockeyed from side to side, but she got the little ball past him through two rows, and she was threatening to score on him. “You’re not gonna catch me,” she promised.
“Someone thinks she has game,” Moose muttered. “Watch out, Bee!”
“Ooh. Ooh. There. There we go.” Her reflexes were fast, and she was enjoying the game, giving him a run for his money. He wasn’t going easy on her, and he got the ball past her blue row with one strong, well-timed flick of the wrist. “Not even, buddy!”
“Hey! What?” She scored on him! He looked down at the sound of the thump of the ball landing in his goal, then back up at her. “No way.”
“Hee.” She smirked at him.
“Another round. That one didn’t count.”
“It did too count!”
“Nope. Do-over.”
She beat him three out of four games. Moose thought he’d been hustled.
They went back to the table, and Ethel was flushed and happy. She finished the rest of her soda, having worked up a thirst. “That was fun.”
“Sure, it was. You beat the pants off me!”
“You’re still wearing pants,” she shrugged. “Next time, we play for laundry money.”
“Get ready to buy bleach.”
*
He dropped her off at her dorm and helped her unload her laundry from his truck, and Ethel was almost sorry the afternoon was over; time had flown by hanging out with him.
“Thanks again.”
“No problem.” He watched her thoughtfully. “It was nice catching up.”
“See you ‘round.”
“Bye, Bee.” The nickname annoyed her slightly, but she didn’t correct him. A few of the residents watched them as he drove off, stares attracted by the loud music blaring from his truck. Some of them looked surprised to see Ethel getting out, and it occurred to her that maybe they thought the two of them were a couple.
“Put your eyes back in your heads,” she muttered under her breath. “Sheesh.”
She headed back upstairs to her dorm, and Melody was finally up and around, back to her old bubbly self. Music pumped from her computer speakers, and she was diligently blowing out her hair and putting on makeup. The room reeked of Curve and leave-in conditioner. “Someone’s back to the world of the living,” Ethel remarked.
“It’s about time you got back. Get ready.”
“For what?”
“You’re going out with me and Val to a mixer.”
“Oh, God, no!”
“C’mon!” Melody whined, pouting. “Go out with us. You never want to go out. Don’t be such a wallflower. Get dressed in one of those outfits we bought, and I’ll do your hair.”
“Mel, I hate those house parties. I never have anything to say.”
“So? I’ll be with you! It’s not like you won’t have me to talk to, and Val’s nice. You’ve met her. Kumi’s going.”
“It’ll feel weird.”
“No. It’ll be fun,” Melody corrected her. “Go. Hop in the shower. Wash your hair. You can use some of my Joico.”
“Melody, I don’t know.”
“You’re going. It’ll be great. And we’ll get you DRUNK!!!!”
“Eeeeee. Yikes.” Ethel felt a sinking sense of doom, but her roommate was determined, and somehow, she let herself over the course of the next hour be cajoled and bullied into a dress she still couldn’t believe she’d bought. Melody nattered in her ear cheerfully, painting Ethel’s nails, blow-drying, curling and spraying her hair, and making up her face. Ethel felt like she was playing dress-up with her four-year-old cousin.
“Look up,” Melody coached, and Ethel obeyed as Mel carefully drew liquid eyeliner under her lower ridge of lashes. “You’re gonna look so hot.”
“I feel goofy. I’m gonna look like I’m trying too hard.”
“Uh-uh. Hot. You’ll look hot, and you can trust me, because I wouldn’t steer you wrong. And you’re gonna talk to guys and give a cute one your number. And we’re going to drink shots and cheap beer.” Ethel sighed and wrinkled her nose.
“Ew.”
“What? You don’t like beer?”
“Not really.” Sampling one at one of Veronica’s parties while her parents had been out of town hadn’t been a pleasant memory. It tasted musky and slightly bitter, ruining the taste of the other foods, and she had a dim memory of Fangs Fogarty having three too many and throwing up in the pool. Ethel shuddered.
“There will be other things to drink. Just have fun.” Melody paused to do a little dance. “You’re finally going out with me! I get to take my roomie out of the dungeon tonight!” She leaned down and gave Ethel a squishy hug and sloppy kiss on the cheek.
“Ew!”
“I’m so happy!” And that made up Ethel’s mind. If a night of social awkwardness, slightly poor judgment and bad alcohol made her roommate happy, who was Ethel to deny her?
*
Moose came back to an empty dorm as he keyed his way in. He sighed raggedly as he flopped his laundry sack onto his narrow bed. At least the room didn’t smell like dirty socks anymore. Moose was about to unpack and put away his clothes when his eyes landed on a note taped to Ambrose’s computer monitor.
Headed to a party at Gamma House. Starts around seven. Come out if you want.
Moose grunted and shrugged. A party sounded fine. The productive part of the day was already over, and he could finish reading his boring novel tomorrow, couldn’t he? He gathered up his shower caddy and towel and spread out a pair of clean jeans across his bed.
He showered, lingering long enough to contemplate the night. Ethel had called it “playing the field.” He guessed he needed to get back “out there” at some point, and heck, it was a big campus. Moose realized that he wasn’t checking his phone messages as often, lately. That had to mean something, didn’t it?
Somehow, the best part of his day had already gone by, credit of a gray-eyed friend from his childhood.
He shaved, doused on some Old Spice spray, gelled his hair into an agreeable shape that said “available” and slipped into his favorite shirt. Moose crammed his feet into his AND1’s and locked the door behind him. It was time to howl.
*
An hour later, Ethel found herself being tugged along by her roommate, following Melody’s bandmate, Valerie over the lawn of the huge frat house. She felt self-conscious and almost chilly in the little outfit Melody selected for her, and she felt people were staring at the three of them. Her heels sank slightly into the turf as they walked, and Ethel regretted the shoes already, wishing she had on her Skechers.
“This is going to be so great!” Melody squealed, bouncing and looping her arm through Ethel’s. Her roomie’s outfit left nothing to the imagination, and she was amused to see that she matched Val, wearing little tops sprayed with leopard spots. Valerie showed off her assets in a tiny pair of denim shorts strategically frayed and slashed with a razor blade, and her legs were shod in black fishnets. She wore a little headband with fuzzy leopard ears, and Melody wore a similar pair. They marched up the steps to the porch, where two guys were already drinking from Solo cups on a beat-up looking couch.
“Is this a costume party?”
“No. We’re part of the act. That’s why you don’t have to pay a cover to get in. She’s with me,” Melody told the big guy in a baseball cap embroidered with Gamma House’s letters and insignia.
“That’s fine.” He looked Ethel up and down. “You in the band?”
“Band?” Ethel asked cluelessly.
“Nope. She’s just a groupie,” Val told him tartly. “We’re already set up in the back.”
“Head on in. Drinks are in the kitchen.” Ethel felt her stomach twist in anticipation. People were already staring at her, and she felt naked. She spotted Kumi hanging out with two girls she recognized from her corridor. Their eyes widened when they saw her.
“Whoa! Ethel?” She waved weakly.
“Um… hi.”
“That’s you?” Kumi was incredulous. She reached out and gingerly touched the strap of her dress. “Omigod. Look at you. You don’t look like you.” Ethel’s cheeks flamed and she felt her skin tingle with embarrassment.
“I know. Shut up.”
“No! No, it’s different! It works! Get it, girlfriend!” Ethel shook her head and crossed her arms across her middle. “Someone’s giving out her number tonight!”
“Geez…”
“Let’s get a drink! Then we have to warm up,” Melody told her. “You can mingle a little while Val and I do a mic check.”
“You’re playing tonight?” That was a detail she’d left out when they were getting ready.
“Yup. We’re gonna tear it up. I’m so excited you came!” Melody’s eyes sparkled, and Ethel gave her an indulgent smile. “It means a lot to me.”
“I’m all over coming out to see you play, Mel. But next time, I’m wearing my jeans.”
“Stop. Here. Have a drink.”
“Are you having one with me?”
“No. Not yet. Gotta protect my pipes.” She twisted off the cap from a bottle of water and fortified herself. “You, however, can have that drink.” She led her to the keg, and Melody expertly pumped it, filling a red Solo cup almost to the brim. Ethel shuddered as she handed it to her.
“Just. One.” Melody clapped her hands. Val chuckled. Just as she took her first sip, deciding silently that it wasn’t any better than she remembered it, Josie came inside from the back patio door. Her makeup was wild, complete with loud green eye shadow and body glitter. She wore leopard skin boots and fishnets like Val’s, and a little ripped-up black crop top with her name printed in leopard print letters across her chest. She wore her short red hair spiked and teased up high, and her little headband also sported cat’s ears. The house began to fill up with houseguests, a slow trickle at first, but within about twenty minutes, the noise from the living room began to drown out civilized conversation.
Despite a strong start, Ethel began to feel like a wallflower again. She was shy usually, and she didn’t know how to “mingle” in a house full of people she didn’t know. Her friends drifted off, and Melody and the other Pussycats were warming up for their set. The sun had already set, and the yard was lit with torches and lanterns, giving it a warm glow. A couple of tables were laid out with bowls of Chex mix, chips, beer nuts, Corn nuts, and jello shots. Ethel was glad she’d eaten well that afternoon, and she wondered briefly what Moose was up to.
Their new, tentative friendship came out of left field. Maybe they hadn’t initially hit it off, but it was nice to have a familiar face from home so far away from it.
“Hey. Ethel? Is that you?” A gentle tap on her shoulder drew her attention to Stan, who was staring at her with interest. “Wow. This is you in clothes.”
“Oh, God.” She blushed furiously and waved him off. “This isn’t really me in clothes. Not what I normally go for. My roommate dressed me.” She eyed his hooded sweatshirt enviously. “You look nice and warm.” Stan grinned and eyed her.
“You look amazing. That’s some dress.”
“Thanks.”
“Did you come here with friends?”
“My roomie. She’s actually part of the act.” He beamed.
“Seriously?” He peered out at the yard, and Melody pointed to the drum kit, where Melody was setting up her cymbal stand and adjusting a speaker. “THAT’S your roommate?”
“Yup.”
“What was it like meeting her for the first time?”
“I thought the resident committee had made a mistake. We’re complete opposites, but she’s really sweet. I’ve even gotten used to the My Little Ponies everywhere.”
“You’re kidding…”
“Ohhhhh… no.” He chuckled and eyed her cup, still mostly full.
“You just get here?”
“Pretty much. Are you here with anyone?”
“I was out getting snacks. I live here.”
“Oh. Wow. I didn’t know you belonged to a frat.” He shrugged.
“I’m a sophomore. I pledged last year and got in. You can move into the house after your first year. It’s been pretty decent. Beats the dorms.”
“Sometimes it’s so loud, I can’t hear myself think,” Ethel confessed. Stan leaned back against the counter, watching her intently, and Ethel wasn’t used to having a guy stand so close. They were leaning in toward one another in an attempt to not shout as the noise level in the house grew.
“What’s your major?”
“Liberal arts. I want to teach.”
“Kids or adults?”
“Either. I haven’t made up my mind yet. I want to be like my idol when I graduate, my history teacher from high school. Greta Grundy, the art school’s dean, is actually her sister.” He nodded in recognition.
“Cool. I’m going into civil engineering.”
“Wow.” Then it occurred to her. “Why are you taking figure drawing?”
He shrugged. “Needed an elective. Seemed like a sound choice. It beats taking another history course.” He smirked at her briefly. “Thought it might be a great way to meet girls.”
Oh, God. Ethel squelched a groan. So, that’s how it was going to be. Her earlier conversation with Moose came back to her, and she wanted to reach back and slap him. “You could have ended up with a male model.” He cringed and shuddered. Ethel laughed.
“Then I would have dropped it for Econ.”
“Wimp.”
They chatted companionably, and as the girls continued to warm up, Melody went off on a drum solo that showed her considerable skill on the skins. Ethel was impressed. They drifted outside early to get a jump on seats close to the band. Ethel wasn’t that interested in her beer. Stan noticed she wasn’t drinking it.
“Have a jello shot.”
“Are they good?”
“Have one. I’ll take that off your hands.” He relieved her of the beer and downed about a third of it, instead handing her a little plastic condiment cup of lime jello. It looked innocent enough, she supposed. She tipped it up to her mouth and tossed it back, wiggling the rest of the gelatin out of the cup with her tongue. Stan looked impressed. “Attagirl. Managed that fine for a beginner.”
“Whoa. Wow. I can’t even taste any alcohol.”
“It’ll hit you. The buzz sneaks up on you, but it’s strong when it does. You can get pretty messed up on these.”
“Maybe just one more, then.”
“Knock yourself out, babe.” Stan was a gentleman and handed her another. Melody waved at her cheerfully.
“Try the red ones!” she called out. Her voice had that sing-song quality it took on when she about to find some trouble. Ethel wondered what she was getting herself into. Stan lingered close, and she felt like less of a wallflower, enjoying the insulation of not having to stand around by herself in the kitchen.
*
Moose fished in his pocket for three dollars cover at the front door. The party was already jumping, if the crowd in the living room was anything to judge, and there was a short line forming at the keg. He waved to a couple of girls he recognized from his English comp class. They stared at him appreciatively, taking in his slightly clingy Body Armor long-sleeved tee; the black compression knit set off his fair good looks and outlined his muscles. Moose wasn’t much of a clothes horse, and he didn’t spend a lot of time on grooming. Midge had him trained where his hair was concerned, but he didn’t fret much otherwise. He worked with what he had.
Ambrose joined him just as he reached the plastic cups, slapping him on the back and shaking his hand. “Hoped you were gonna get here soon, bro. Got a band out back. Girl band, from Midvale, and they’re smokin’ hot!” Moose grinned.
“Nice. Who are they?”
“Josie and the Pussycats. Sounds familiar for some reason.”
“Yeah.” Moose vaguely remembered seeing their flyer at Riverdale’s bowling alley and on the bulletin board at his mom’s favorite health food store. He heard them warming up, and they started up a mean drum solo that promised a few noise complaints from the neighbors before the night was up. He took his turn at the keg, and he headed back to the living room with Ambrose for a moment to watch the Ultimate Fighting match on the big plasma screen. The party was shaping up to be decent.
A few girls approached him, asking him if he belonged to the fraternity and remarking that they’d seen him on the field at a few home games. Moose puffed up with pride, glad to talk about his favorite subject. A tall, slender brunette reached up and stroked the sleeve of his shirt, giving him a pleasant shiver. “I like this shirt. Looks cozy.”
“Outlet mall. Riverdale.”
“You probably work out all the time.”
“I’m in the gym a lot.” It went without saying. She giggled.
“My workout involves arm lifts with the remote.” She eyed him over the rim of her cup. “Maybe you could show me some workouts some time.” He felt himself flush, self-conscious with the brazen flirting.
“Uh…”
He was distracted by a familiar laugh coming from the yard. “Um… could you… excuse me?” He held up his finger and backed away. “See you!” He wandered outside, needing some air. It was close in there, and it was just… weird having such close scrutiny that he didn’t really ask for.
He saw the band and decided Ambrose was right; they were definitely hot. The redhead was warming up on her Fender Strat, playing a few riffs varying from Jimi Hendrix to Springsteen. They were all fit and decked out in outfits that looked a little drafty. The blonde on the drums caught his eye as she toyed with her makeup, fluffing her blown-out, feathered waves; he chuckled under his breath as she turned and did a little “does my butt look big in these?” check while her dark-skinned bandmate shook her head.
He heard that laugh again, unrestrained and hearty, and again, it was so familiar. He turned toward the source, and from the back, he saw a couple standing near the band’s set-up, recognizing Stan from his art class. He called out to him. “Stan! Yo!” Stan turned and nodded, smiling, but a hint of annoyance flitted over his features. Moose headed over with his cup, not wanting to be rude. His companion looked nice from the back, and he was struck by her long, slender, creamy legs and the way her little white cotton slip dress clung to her reed-thin body. Her back was elegant and smooth, and she had a tight little rump. Her short hair was styled in a fluffy little slip with volume teased into the crown, and she laughed at something else Stan said.
“Ambrose said you were having a mixer,” Moose mentioned casually, clapping Stan on the shoulder. Stan obligingly low-fived him and fist-bumped, but he looked like he didn’t want to be interrupted from his company. Moose went to introduce himself. “Hey, I’m Moose Mas-“ Ethel stared back at him, stiffening with shock. “-on.”
“Oh. Hi.” She waved weakly, feeling embarrassed all over again. Her hands went instinctively to her skirt hem, trying to pull it down a few centimeters, but it was a useless effort. Why did he have to have that effect on her?
Moose’s mouth went dry. Damn. Ethel Muggs. That wasn’t Ethel. It couldn’t be, not looking like a walking scandal in that tiny white dress, trimmed with a hint of lace around the sweetheart neckline and around the hem and hugging her body like a glove. Melody styled her with an artful hand, giving her a smoky eyes and bringing out her knife-sharp cheekbones with just a hint of blush. Her legs… they went on forever, brought to their full potential by the kicky little high-heeled sandals.
That wasn’t her mouth, glossed in a dark raisin pout, speaking to him. “I didn’t know you were coming tonight.”
“Neither did I. Ambrose left me a note.”
“I invited him,” Stan mentioned. “I didn’t know he lived with you.”
“What made you come tonight?” Moose asked Ethel. She tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear nervously.
“Mel. She’s the drummer. My roomie, remember?” Moose stared where she was pointing and then remembered what she’d told him earlier.
“My Little Ponies?”
“The very same.” Stan laughed.
“Yeah. Well… go ahead and help yourself to some beer,” Stan told him cheerfully. His eyes told Moose, Fuck off. Quick cockblocking and find your own girl.
“I’m good,” Moose replied, holding up his full cup.
“There’s jello shots,” Ethel told him. Her smile was sly, and Moose realized that she must have had a couple. Just like it had come back to her, Moose recalled their earlier talk.
News flash, Bee: Guys wonder what girls look like naked when we ask them out. It’s in our DNA. He’s seen you. He likes you. Bingo. Slam dunk.
Suddenly, that conversation didn’t appeal to him anymore.
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