“When he said we were ringing in the New Year in the city, I assumed he meant Manhattan-but then he and Allie dragged me to horrible Brooklyn instead. I can’t believe we’re partying in Brooklyn,” she grumbles. On the other hand, Dean’s nickname for Summer is “Boogers,” so maybe she’s right to torture him. “I’ve noticed.” She calls Dean “Dicky,” a childhood nickname that a nicer person would have stopped using years ago. Tormenting my brothers is one of my favorite pastimes.” “I’m so glad I’m an only child,” I remark. When he spots Summer, he gives her the finger. No way Dean could’ve heard her, but I guess he possesses some sort of sibling radar, because he abruptly pries his lips off his girlfriend’s. Gross.” She cups her hands to create a microphone, shouting, “Keep your tongue in your own mouth, Dicky!” Summer does another visual sweep of the crowd and blanches. Or maybe it doesn’t frickin’ matter how she knows, because if it did matter, then that means the weird prickly sensation in my chest is jealousy. I don’t think I’ve seen them exchange more than a few words tonight. I wonder how she knows Hunter is from Connecticut. Greenwich boys are usually secret prudes.”
Thirty more minutes and I can make my escape. Blessedly, he’s also turned down the volume, probably in anticipation of the nearing countdown.
The DJ has switched the beats from electronic garbage to Top 40 hits. “Hunter’s got game.” Summer is studying Hunter’s entourage. But “god” and “jock” and “superstar” are terms I’ve never been comfortable with.
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