Later, in Blair's room and on my fifth beer, I mentioned what Jerry had said, and Blair frowned at me. "You never told me you wanted to be a writer."

"You never asked." I reached for the dragon and the lighter.

"You should tell your best friend these things, you know. You want to write fiction or screenplays?" He handed me the bag of weed. "I think that's empty."

"Fiction. I want to write books." I loaded the bowl and took a hit. "I want to be a bestselling author whose books are turned into movies, whose books inspire people to be better people, and be rich and famous and well-respected, asked to speak at colleges . . ." I grinned, "That kind of thing." I shrugged. "I know, it seems silly, but that's what I dream of."

"Why do you think it's silly?" Blair demanded, standing up and walking over to the refrigerator. "You should have dreams-otherwise how are you going to know what you want?"

I dream about you all the time, I wanted to say, but instead I said, "My parents-" I hesitated. "My parents tell me I should get a degree in something useful, so I'll have something to fall back on if I don't make it as a writer." I probably wouldn't have admitted that if I hadn't been stoned. It hurt when my parents told me to major in business rather than creative writing. Don't you believe in me? I'd wanted to scream at them, but they were just being practical, and it was from love.

Or so I told myself every day.

"Parents. Blech." Blair knelt down in front of the refrigerator. "Well, then Jerry's right, you should be writing every day." Blair opened the refrigerator and got us both another beer. "You shouldn't be wasting all your time-not of course that time spent with me is time wasted."

"Lighten up, dude." I giggled. "What do you want to be when you grow up? You've never told me either."

"I want to be an actor." He glanced at his father's posters. "Not like him, but like her." He walked over to his mother's images and stared up at them. "She's an actress, a true talent, not like Dad, who's just kind of good looking in a generic kind of way. Oh, don't get me wrong, he has charisma or whatever you want to call it-the kind of thing stars havebut Mom, she's got real talent." He looked back at me. "She can play anything, you know? She is amazing. She's not the prettiest actress out there, she's not the most charismatic, but there's just something about her ... when she's on camera, you can't look away from her."

"I've never seen one of her movies," I admitted.

"Well, one of these days we'll have to have a Nicole Blair film festival." He replied with a grin. "Would you like that? We could watch To the Lighthouse-that's my favorite, even though she won the Oscar for Mary Queen of Scots, which is also a good one, but I think the romance she did with Burt Reynolds-that's her best performance, probably. I mean, she was convincing-and it can't be easy to convince people you're in love with him. "

"Sure." I couldn't ever say no to Blair about anything. I wanted him to smile at me. I kept thinking, If I could just please him, if I could just make him happy, maybe he would kiss me again. There were times when I thought I should make the first move-maybe he was just waiting for me? At night, in my bed, after I had wiped my come off myself with a Kleenex and lay there staring at the ceiling, wondering if the day would ever come when he would want me again, I would decide to be more assertive-to grow some balls, to know what I wanted and go for it. But in the light of day, when I was face to face with him, I just couldn't bring myself to do it, to say anything. There was no amount of beer or pot I could have inside of me that would make a difference, that could give me the courage to say, Blair, I want you, I want to kiss you and hold you, and run my tongue down your happy trail, and put your dick in my mouth.

And so, he would drive me home and drop me off, give me a friendly wave at the foot of the driveway, and then drive off. I would stand there in the yellow light from the street lamp, watching his tail lights disappear down the street before I would go into the house and go to bed and miss him.

You just need some experience.

But where would I get it from ? And with whom?

"I won't be in class tomorrow, so I won't be picking you up," Blair said one Wednesday night as he dropped me off. "Just come by the house after class, and we can hang out then."

"Why aren't you coming to class?" I asked. Blair was very serious about attendance. I was always ready and willing to skip class every day to spend it with him. But Blair always insisted: "You can pull a C just by showing up every day."

"Because I have a doctor's appointment-nothing serious," he added hastily when he saw the look on my face. "Just a check-up, that's all, I've been putting it off for a long time and Mom goes nuts on me about shit like that, so I'm going in tomorrow." He scowled. "I keep telling her I'll do it when I go back to LA in a couple of weeks, but-"

"You're going back to LA?" My heart sank to my feet. It was the first I'd heard of these plans.

"Well, yeah. Summer session's over, so I'm going to go stay with my dad for a few weeks." He gave me a funny look. "It's not the end of the world, you know You can still come by the house every day-everyone likes you, you're a shoo-in to get a bid during rush-and it's only for a few weeks until school starts again."

"So you'll be gone during my birthday?" I felt incredibly betrayed, and struggled to keep a handle on my emotions.

"It's not that big . . ." he sighed. "Look, we'll talk about this sometime when you're not so stoned, okay?"

I got out of the car and slammed the door. He sat there a moment, looking at me, before he finally shrugged and drove off. Almost immediately, I was sorry. I got out my cell phone and almost called-but then decided it wasn't a good idea. And besides, was it so wrong to be disappointed that my so-called best friend wouldn't be in town for my birthday? Was he really so selfish that he couldn't understand why that would bother me?

He doesn't really like you, that voice kept telling me as I undressed, otherwise he wouldn't be gone for your birthday. And he never once mentioned that he was going home for a few weeks after summer session ended. Never once, and he had plenty of opportunities. You're not really his friend. You're just someone to hang out with until everyone comes back this fall.

I didn't sleep well that night. I kept alternating between hurt and anger, would start to drift off to sleep after a while-and then my mind would start up again.

Just come by the house and hang out, everyone likes you.

Doesn't he understand the only reason I even go over there is for him 2

I finally decided, Fuck him, I'll come home after class.

And then I was finally able to go to sleep.

But once class was over and I was in my car, I found myself driving over to the house. I'll justsee if hes there and if he's not, I won't stay.

The Lexus wasn't in the parking lot, but I drove in anyway.

I parked the car and got out. I stood there for a minute, debating, and then decided to just go ahead and go inside and wait.

I waved up at Jerry in the window and he waved back down to me with a smile. I can always get high with Jerry, I thought as I went into the downstairs hall.

"Hey man, Blair's not here," Rory Armagh called as I walked past his room.

I stopped and walked back to his door. "Blair's not the only reason I come by the house, ya know," I said with a big smile. "I'm going to pledge."