The Party of the Neurotypical

recap: Quentin and Ryder had always been enemies, but Quentin wanted to make up with Ryder because he finds out Ryder's dating April. Nobody finds out that Ryder's been crashing at April's bedroom, though, so no worries yet. Quentin asks Ryder to get April to this party at Andrew's house, and Ryder complies.

There were times when I thought Ryder had tricked me into doing all the wacko things he wanted me to do. Firstly, he tricked me into liking the nickname Kitten even though I was of the homo sapien family and nowhere near the feline family. Secondly, he somehow managed to make me hit the skid on watching TV series and started to watch his behavior instead. I've come to know a lot of things about him in his short stay of three weeks, which is faster than my knowing Quentin, which took twelve years and quite a few crying sessions.

(Anyway, as proof of how much of Ryder that I knew, I could just tell it all to you:

1. Ryder was almost always concerned with the way he looked when he started touching his hair. That happened a lot when he was in public place that had a lot of people from our school: like in the cafeteria.

2. He was very good at making people think he was calm when it was actually the other way around. The trick into knowing whether he was genuinely calm or not is to look to his hands. Were they balled into fists? Were they slightly trembling? Were they covered with thin veil of sweat? You got your answers with that tiny obvervation.

3. Most of the time, Ryder was quiet and didn't have much to say, but there were times when he was aching to say something but couldn't, due to unknown reasons (I can totally understand this, by the way). When this happened, usually he would be drumming his impossibly long fingers on whatever hard surface near him, like the table, counter, or even a hardcover book.)

Now, thirdly, he wanted me to go to Andrew's party with him.

Which was totally insane, because the last time I went to a party, we didn't last more than thirty minutes and I had a big row with him.

"I don't want to go," I said for the 54th time. "ANTM is on tonight and I want to see skinny beautiful people whine about how very unattractive they are."

"Highschool parties have a lot of those girls. Give them something strong to drink and either they start humping whoever's slobbering their back or they cry because of all the emotional trauma of not getting enough boys to fawn over them."

It was a very mean judgement but I giggled anyway. "But it's still full of people. I'm not good when locked down with a lot of people."

"Oh, April, April," Ryder came up to me and stretched both his arms wide. He tilted his head, as if asking permission for him to touch me, and then pulled me into his chest. "You're going to be fine. I'll be there. Your brother's going to be there, too."

"Quentin easily gets drunk," I said to his chest, liking the way he smelled because he was just freshly out of the shower. "He's the Pass Out and Fall into a Coma type of drunk, not the Stay Awake and Keep Partying kind of drunk."

"I promise I won't give him so much to drink this time."

"I still don't like being around too many people."

Ryder surprised me by planting a wet kiss on my forehead. All of my senses were suddenly sensitive of his body, the way his hands were on the small of my back, the way his muscled chest were hard against my cheek, the way his other hand stroked my hair gently. This was yet again one of Ryder's trick. He could make me do anything that he wanted with the power of his lips.

"Come on, Kitten. Your brother invited me, remember? Maybe things will be good now."

And I nodded. And I nodded. And I nodded.

See how very tricky he was?

Since Ryder wanted to look nice (see exhibit A: in which he was concerned about his appearance when around people from my school), he sneaked back to his house to change clothes and then come back to my place via front door to take me to Andrew's house. It was eight o'clock and Quentin was already preparing the car. He was supposed to go over to Crystal Ming's place first, despite the earlier fiasco that compromised of ugly green turtle neck sweater and too much vodka.

"But you're coming with him, right?" he asked me.

I shrugged, not really liking the idea of going into a place where my brother thrived. It's not that I didn't like Quentin getting the attention, it's just that our interest differed too greatly that almost anything that he's good at, I'm not.

"Shit, you and Ryder..." he shook his head. "Fucking hell. You and Ryder."

"To be perfectly honest, I was kind of confused that you managed to get it on with Crystal Ming, too."

He had a look that said 'seriously?'. "I'm Quentin Hale, okay? I get whoever I want. But you and Ryder Black. Christ, April. Are you sure about him?"

I shrugged again, the heat on my cheeks were out of control. "I mean, Ryder's nice to me..."

"If he ever hurts you," Quentin inhaled deeply, and then, as if remembering something, whispered surreptiously, like there was some kind of a big secret between us. "You haven't, you know, slept with him...?"

I actually did, but I probably would hold on to that knowledge a little longer because Quentin knowing Ryder had been crashing on my bedroom for the last month might result in a sudden heart-attack. On both of us.

"We kissed trice a day," I said. "And he hugged me once a day or whenever I felt upset about something."

"Oh my God," Quentin was palming his own face so hard. "God, I never ever want to see my sister making out with him. Eugh. Why did you tell me that?"

"In case, you know... you want to know? So that you won't ask me questions about what me and Ryder have been doing."

There were a series of groaning and mumbling from Quentin, before he actually went out to the garage and started up the car. "So I'll see you there, kay?" he drove up to the street, but when his car passed over the Black's family house, he rolled down the window and threw an egg towards the wall which was supposed to be Ryder's room.

"Don't fuck my sister, you bastard! I've got eyes on you!" he screamed, and then stormed off in an alarming speed.

I smiled. That was actually really heartwarming of him.

At eight thirty, Ryder knocked on my door. My very excited mother was the one who opened the door and she started screeching in a way that made me feel she was the one who was going out with Ryder.

"You are so veeeerrryyy handsome!" my mother cooed and cooed and cooed to a very awkward Ryder. And then, since Mom was in the middle of making shawerma (don't ask), she put down the knife to the kitchen counter and proceeded to pinch the hell out Ryder's cheeks. "Who's the handsome boy? Who's the handsome boy? Yes, yes you are!"

This went on for about five more minutes, before Ryder then showed signs of extreme discomfort on his face, and my mother finally let him go. Still, she couldn't help cooing at the sight of him. "You have really nice hair," she commented.

"Ryder is an expert at hair styling," I filled her in.

Ryder looked at me like I had just committed the biggest sin ever.

"He even knows how to style his hair!" my mother went back to the screeching mode.

"Meredith," my father coughed sympathetically towards Ryder. "April's getting her first boyfriend, the least we can do is not embarrass him."

I still wasn't used with the word 'boyfriend', it sounded so official, so branding, and it didn't feel really right. I mean, I knew I wanted to be with Ryder and I liked spending my time with him, but calling him my 'boyfriend' felt wrong. He was worth more than that.

"So tell me, Son," my father used his commanding voice, which, in my opinion, wouldn't affect Ryder much at all, because Ryder's father was more of an imposing man than my father would ever be. "What are your plans tonight with our dear little April?"

"Take her to Andrew's party, Sir," Ryder answered. "Don't let her get drunk and taken advantage of, Sir. Also, keep my eyes on Quentin in case he tries to impregnate a girl, Sir."

Both of my parents looked at each other, and then nodded slowly. "Good answer," my father said. "And do you..."

There was a pause that went on longer than would have been normal.

"Dang it, Meredith, I'm not good at being an Intimidating Father Towards His Daughter's Boyfriend."

"I know right? It's the cheeks. It's the smooth cheeks!" mom said.

"His eyelashes are just too long. I feel guilty just trying to put him off."

My parents, I decided, had a soft spot for good looking people.

"We're just going out to meet people our age in a social setting that include cheap alcohol in red cups and cheap chips," I chirped. "I'm not particularly keen about it, but Ryder and Quentin insisted I join because they said I was 'missing out'" I curled my middle and index fingers to put emphasis on the quote/unquote.

"Dear, you are missing out," my mother stroked my hair. "But I think you catch up to these things fast. I mean, look at him," she pointed towards Ryder. "I know for a fact that most teenage girls don't get to date a guy as attractive as he is."

Both Ryder and I were in the middle of smiling and nodding, when my mother's tone of voice changed.

"Just don't get pregnant."

"And don't pass out inside other people's house." My father added.

"And don't drive drunk. That kills people."

"And in case you two break up and April starts to become very angsty, it's really fine," my father smiled. "But you are forbidden to be seen around the neighborhood, despite the fact that your family is our neighbor."

I saw Ryder's adam apple's bobbled up and down.

Nevertheless, both of my parents let us out from the house with smiles on their faces and friendly waving hands. They reminded Ryder to get me home at twelve and also suggested him to grow stubble.

Andrew's house was pretty big and moreover, he had a pool. Andrew was from a well off family, and that, plus the previous two factors, made him one of the best party host in our high school. At least once a month, people would come up to him to congratulate him for the 'really beeping nice bash' and more people would follow him around because he was loaded with lots of money. Everybody seemed to forget that one of the reasons why Andrew liked hosting his own party was because he was a bad driver and preferred other people to drive to his house than the other way around.

Ryder was pretty impressed with the subdued music and voices inside Andrew's house. "I give it till midnight before the police came to raid the house."

"From what Quentin has told me, Andrew has a pretty good relationship with the local security."

It was hard to see Ryder look impressed, but this time, he actually nodded a "Nice..."

Just before we stepped inside, Ryder's hand found mine and he squeezed. "I'm also nervous," he said to me.

I squeezed back, and together, we got in.

This was in a wholly different caliber than the previous party that Quentin had me to attend. Andrew was popular, I knew about that, but I never knew that he would know this much people. His house was big enough to contain all the frisky teenagers, and he apparently provided a lot of beer kegs and other kegs with dubious ingredients all over the rooms. All around me, people were dancing, making out, and generally acting like animal zoo.

Andrew wasn't being discriminative about who he invited. There were the Goths on the right corner, doing what I'd call a blood ritual. The math geeks were right beside them, listening to a skinny, bespectacled boy rapping about math formulas. People who hung out with Quentin and Andrew were mostly on the dance floor, jumping around to the imaginary DJ and shouting at the right part of the music. Both Ryder and I were stumped.

"Oh my Gooooooddd, Ryder Black's hereeeee!" a girl from the preppy crowd literally screamed on the top of her lungs, but she, in her pitiful drunken state, probably thought that it was discreetly meant to be for her friends.

"Oh my Goooooodd! I want him!" one of her friends shrieked.

"I have dibs on hiiiimm!"

Ryder looked embarrassed, but there was a small smile on his lips. I could understand what he was going through, really. It was hard not to smile when you could hear people freaking out over you.

For some reason, I felt the need to squeeze his hand hard, but Ryder let go of his hand and slung his hand over my waist. "Okay?" he asked.

"Okay."

We walked to the nearest couch, where, all around us, people gawked at both Ryder and me and his hand on my waist. A lot of them were too drunk to really do anything about it, though, and most just look at us and resumed their animalistic behavior after we passed them.

Andrew and Quentin were having some kind of a drinking game when the blond noticed us.

"Hey, there's your sister!"

Quentin approached us and then took my hand to go to his friends. I nearly peed on my pants as I saw his friends staring at me. I was never one who would interact well with Quentin's friends, especially since the boys were fond of profanities and the girls always looked like they could explode in any moment.

But Quentin's drunk friends were actually nicer than usual. They all greeted me and welcomed me to sit on the couch. There was no place for Ryder to sit, but one girl suggested something that could make my heart bleed out.

"You should totally sit on Ryder's lap."

"Omigod, you should!" the others started cheering on. A few of the guys had handed Ryder the red cup and he had chugged quite a few, so he was down with the idea. Face slightly red, Ryder sat and grabbed my waist to position myself on his lap. I closed my eyes as I felt my butt on his thigh. It wasn't as comfy as the couch, and I actually didn't really like how hard his thigh was, but people were watching and expecting and I had a feeling that they would be vastly dissapointed if I didn't go with them.

Quentin was leering at Ryder, but then his arm was draped over Crystal Ming's bony shoulder and she was kissing his neck passionately, so after a while, he was okay with it.

"So we were playing this game called 'Confessions'."

Since I was so close to him, I could see Ryder rolling his eyes. It was imperceptible, though, and nobody but me noticed it.

"Basically, we just pick a theme, and then everybody starts to tell their best story based on that theme. The one with the best story doesn't have to drink. Before, we were on 'Embarrassing' and poor Cynthia here was just telling a story about how she flashed Mr. Lansing her panties so that he'd pity her enough to pass her on English."

"You guys can top her story?" someone asked us. Both Ryder and I shook our head. I was sure that Ryder had something wild enough to one up her story, but I guess he wasn't about to let anybody know his business. At least, not now.

"So drink."

Suddenly, there was a red cup full of bubbling beer on my hand. Ryder had drunk his and he silently took my cup and drunk mine. The girls were 'aww-ing' at his gesture, and then everyone resumed their game.

That was when I realized that there was something different about me. These people were all telling stories about their most private moment, their most embarrassing, disgusting, saddest part of themselves, and they loved it. Maybe part of it was because they were inebriated, but there was something within them that caused their love of sharing, their love of connecting.

A lot of time, I couldn't even partake in their stories. I had no embarrassing moment to think of, I had no 'most daring' moment, if only my decision to let Ryder sleep in my room daring, but I didn't want to ruin the memory by telling it to everybody else. I didn't have 'most fucked up' moment or anything that could evoke such strong emotions such as Quentin's story in which he fought off three guys who flirted with his ex-girlfriend.

I was totally and immensely alone, and being in a room of people pronounced this more.

Plus, since I kept losing and losing and losing, I had to drink a lot of beer. Ryder insisted that he'd drink my share (he kept losing, too), but the guys ward him off and practically forced me to drink my own drink. I hated the taste of beer, I hated how bitter it was in my tongue and the hot feeling inside my stomach. I tried beer with Quentin, back when he was experimenting with being drunk and popular a few years ago, and I never wanted to go back.

"Are you bored?" from behind my, Ryder asked.

I shrugged. "I-I don't know what to say. I don't think they're interested in my theory on how Sherlock season three will open up."

"These people are drunk, Kitten," I could feel his lips on my neck as he said it. "You can say anything that you want and they'll laugh their ass off."

I pressed on the red cup and shifted my weight from right to left. "Why do people party if they only want to get drunk? They can drink at home and get drunk the same."

Ryder chuckled and then connected his hands on my stomach, bringing me closer to his torso. "It's kind of fun when you get listened to." There was a pause. "Just watch and learn."

"Now, Most Unexpected!" a guy announced, and everyone started spouting their stories.

When it was Ryder's turn, he kissed me on the cheek, which drew attention to him even more, and then leant over to the circle, his eyes wide and his mouth held a perpetual smile that was never there before. "So I was fifteen, and you know that I started to do the so-called 'badass' stuff at around that age."

That called some laughs from people. I blinked several times towards him. Ryder was anything but sociable, like me. He didn't belong in large groups of people and talking loudly wasn't what he was known for. But at this very moment, Ryder's words held every attention around him, he used his hands to illustrate his stories, he even made eye contact and used intonation correctly. In the end, when he finished the story (which was basically how he ended up street-fighting. I knew that one because he went home all battered that day), everyone was staring at him in awe and started drinking.

"That was cool, man!" a jock slapped Ryder's back.

"Anybody can top his story?" Andrew asked, obviously impressed with Ryder.

More people started to drink, and Ryder almost snatched my cup from my hands. But I held on to my cup, inhaled deeply, and voiced out. "I'm very good at alcohol."

Quite a few people tilted their heads. "Yeah?"

I nearly shrunk with the amount of stares that I garnered, but I mustered my courage and went on. "I mean. I'm good at alcohol. I can handle it much better than my brother and my mother. I-I can drink all of your beers right now and not get drunk."

A lot of people called bullshit, especially the jocks that were Quentin's friends. They were the cool people, and therefore, they should be the one with stronger inclinations towards alcoholic drinks. As most people turned their gaze to Quentin for confirmation, Quentin only shrugged. "Well, I'm definitely not the drinker in the house, but Ap wouldn't get drunk on beer. She's more of Vodka and tequila shots kind of girl."

People definitely wanted to test this out, so they started to push their cup towards me. I drank all of it, wincing because the bitterness never washed away and actually quite full because there were at least fifteen people who handed me their cups. After they were done, they asked me some simple math questions and asked me to walk straight, and I did all of that. My stomach felt horrible with all the fluid inside, though. As I was going back to Ryder's lap, he got up and caught me on his hands. "Are you okay?"

"I-I'm good," I said, a little tipsy, but I was sober enough to remember all of doctor who's female companion. "I'm actually not good in a drunk kind of way when you start to hold me like this."

Ryder held me closer to him. "I never knew that you could handle your alcohol well. That's so sexy."

"Did you know that you just called me that one adjective nobody ever called me before?"

A lot of people laughed, and then the game was over and since a lot of them were drunk enough, they joined other people on the dance floor.

"Yeah," Quentin was slurring now. "Okay, so I need to go make out with my girlfriend now before I'm way too drunk to do so. Andrew, can I borrow your room?"

"Change the sheets after you're done," Andrew threw Quentin his keys, and my brother trudged forward with Crystal Ming, her straight black hair was all over their backs.

Since the game was done, we were left alone on the couch. I was on my back, gasping and uncomfortable because every movement made all the fluid inside my stomach churn around. Ryder laughed a bit when he could hear the sound of beer inside my stomach. "Seriously, Kitten, that's so fucking hot. Most girls wouldn't be able to handle that much, and you're not even that drunk."

I smiled at him. "My mother was right, you have long eyelashes."

"It's still a mystery to me why you always notice my more feminine feature and not the more masculine one."

"Like what?"

He lied on top of me, his elbows were propped so that he wouldn't crush me beneath him. "Like my abs, or my shoulder, or my jaw. I mean, I worked hard so that those rippling veins could pop out."

"I do notice it," I said, tracing my fingers on the hard muscle above his chest. "I saw you doing the push up and sit up and whatever up every day on your room."

"Stalker," he whispered, and then his lips were on top of mine.

To this day, I never thought that making out in the middle of people was acceptable in any form. This was supposed to be private, classified, exclusive, what have you. But this was fine. Making out in Andrew's couch was fine. Maybe not as good or as quiet as it was in my room, but I was okay with it.

If only people weren't so psyched about it, too.

"Ryder and Quentin's sister are on it!" a girl called out.

This, apparently, was celebratory enough for them to clink their drinks and have another round of beer in unison. I could feel Ryder smiling against my lips, and I smiled, too, despite the sticky situation.

"You know how guilty I am whenever I make out with you in your room? I can't go below your head because I just feel so fucking guilty."

"Hm-hmm, you certainly didn't show it well enough to me."

"It's like I'm taking advantage of you, you know?" Ryder removed some strands of hair away from my face. "Because you're so nice to me and here I am making out with you and it's just so... You're just so.. innocent."

I blushed hard. "A-Am I not innocent anymore?"

"Are you drunk now?"

"'May the Force be with you'," I said, to prove my sobriety.

"Now that the matter is clear ," he paused. "Want to get a room somewhere?" he suggested.

"You guys totally should!" another girl screeched. I wasn't sure how she managed to hear us out, especially considering the fact that she was five meters away on the dance floor, bobbing her head to the loud metal music.

We both got up and resumed the business in one of the vacant rooms. Actually, it wasn't really vacant as there was another couple trying to tear each other's clothes off. But then all Ryder needed to do is glare at them and they were scrambling to get out in matter of seconds.

Before I could really realize what was happening, I was on the bed, and he was crawling on top of me, his eyes all dark and half-closed, his breathe hot and rapid. He kissed my neck hungrily, making me moan in a way I never thought I would. As he did so, he unbuttoned his shirt and shrug it off. I tensed at the feeling of his naked skin on top of mine.

"Too soon?" he asked.

I breathed my answer. "Too soon."

"I know," he put his hand on my stomach and slipped it under my shirt, and I nearly jumped out of the bed. "Just tell me to stop, and I will."

And I didn't.

At least, not until he reached my pants.

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