The Rules of Attraction

PAUL I first met Sean when I was standing by the keg, watching Mitchell and Candice leave. They walked past me and Mitchell smiled good-night and waved halfheartedly. As did Candice, which I could take as either a kind, pity gesture or as a victorious, gleeful salute. (Victorious? Why? Mitchell would never tell her about me.) I watched them walk away and started to refill my cup. I looked over and remember seeing Dennis Jenkins, this scrawny, ugly dramafag staring at me. (Dennis Jenkins was one of many reasons why I despised being a Drama major). I sighed and told myself that if I went to bed with him tonight I would kill myself in the morning. I finished filling the cup, which was mostly foam since the keg was running out, and when I looked up Sean Bateman was standing there, waiting. I had known Sean like everyone knows everyone else at this place, meaning we had probably never spoken to each other but knew of each other’s cliques, and we had mutual acquaintances. He was handsome in a vague, straight way, always spilling beer and playing video games or pinball in The Pub, and I wasn’t much interested, at first.

“Hi, Sean,” I said. If I hadn’t been more than slightly drunk I probably would have said nothing; nodded and walked away. I was fairly sure he was majoring in Mechanics.

“Hi, Paul,” he smiled, staring off.

He seemed nervous and I followed his gaze to the darkness of the college, back to the houses on campus. I don’t remember, or know, why he was staring off like that. Maybe he was just nervous and too shy to talk to me. Behind him people were leaving End of the World and heading either back home or to The Graveyard.

“Do you know that girl with Mitchell?” he asked, which I took as a lame conversation starter.

“You mean Candice,” I said, gritting my teeth. “Her name is Candice.”

“Yeah. That’s right,” he said.

“I was in a class with her but I failed it,” I said, getting wistful.

“I was in that class too. So did I,” he said, surprised.

In that instant, looking back, mutual rapport was established.

“I didn’t ever see you in there,” I said, suspiciously.

“That’s why I failed it,” he admitted; a sheepish smile.

“Oh,” I said, nodding.

“I can’t believe you failed it,” he said.

I hadn’t failed it. I had actually gotten an incomplete, which I finished over the summer. In fact it was an incredibly easy, undemanding class (Ethnic Chamber Drama) and I was shocked anyone could fail it, whether you showed up or not. But Sean seemed impressed by this and I kept it up.

“Yeah, I failed two others,” I said, trying to gauge his reaction.

“You did?” His mouth, the lips were full and red, sexy, maybe sensitive but not really, fell open.

“Yeah.” I nodded.

“Boy, I’d never think that you’d fail anything,” he said, making it sound like a compliment.

“You’d be surprised,” I said. The first outright flirting of the conversation. It comes easily at Friday night parties.

“My type of guy,” he laughed, self-deprecatingly. Then he remembered that he came for the beer, or had he? He reached for the tap, but it was all gone.

I stood there, looking him over. He was wearing jeans and boots and a white T-shirt and a fairly tacky leather jacket with fur trim: the casual American boy look. And I was thinking it would be quite a coup to get this person into bed. Then I sighed and realized I was being so stoopid. The party was ending and I was getting depressed and the keg was sputtering, so I cleared my throat and said, “Well, see you around.”

And then he said the strangest thing. The thing that started it all off. I wasn’t that drunk to misunderstand and I was taken aback at such a bold proposition. I didn’t ask him to repeat his invitation. I simply rephrased what he had asked me: You wanna get a quesadilla?

“You want to go and get a quesadilla?” I asked. “You want to go out to dinner tomorrow night? Mexican? Casa Miguel?”

And he was so shy, he looked down and said, “Yeah, I guess.” He looked bewildered almost. He was hurt. I was touched. The Supremes were singing, “When the Love Light Starts Shining Through His Eyes.” And even though it seemed like he wanted to go now, we arranged to meet tomorrow night at Casa Miguel in North Camden at seven.