He didn't have to know how long it had taken me to remove all of the labels and swap the bottle caps. Labor of love, baby.
"You get them cheaper when you buy the ones that are mislabeled or the labels got damaged."
"Really? Good to know." Paul made a face and took a swig.
"How will I know I'm getting drunk?"
"You'll start getting as funny as me. Well, funnier than you usually are, anyway. Every little bit helps."
Paul threw the bottle cap at me.
"Drink one before the food comes," I said. "It works better on an empty stomach."
I watched Paul drink half the bottle and then I jumped up and went to the CD player I'd brought with me. "Where are your CDs, Paul? We need some music for the event."
Paul gulped down the other half, choking a bit on the last of it, and pointed vaguely under his bed. I handed him another bottle before laying on the floor next to his bed and preparing myself for the worst.
I bit back a swear word with a great force of will. Nuala's eyes crinkled into evil humor, inches away from mine, glowing from beneath Paul's bed.
"Surprise," she said.
You didn't surprise me, I thought.
"Yeah, I did. I can read your thoughts, remember?" She pointed to the bottom of the mattress. "That's pretty funny, what you're doing. Is that real beer?"
I lifted my finger to my lips and silently made my lips go shhh.
Nuala grinned.
"You're not a good person," she said. "I like that about you."
She pushed Paul's CD binder to me and rested her freckled cheek on her arms. "See you later."
I stood up with his CDs and looked over to see how he was faring. He seemed more chipper already. God bless vanishing inhibitions. "So what have you got in here?" I asked Paul, but I started paging through without waiting for his answer. "These are all dead guys, Paul."
"Beethoven's not really dead," Paul pointed at me with the bottle. "That's just a rumor. A cover-up. He's doing weddings in Vegas."
I grinned. "Too right. Ohhh, Paul. Paul. What the crap. You have a Kelly Clarkson CD in here. Tell me it's your sister's. Tell me you have a sister."
Paul was a little defensive. "Hey, she has a good voice."
"God, Paul!" I flipped through more of the CDs. "Your brain is like a cultural wasteland. One Republic? Maroon Five? Sheryl
Crow? Are you a little girl? I don't even know what to put on that won't make me develop breasts and start craving chocolate."
"Give it to me," Paul said. He took the CD case and pulled one out. "Get me another bottle while I put this on. I think it's working."
So that was how we happened to be listening to Britney Spears
"Hit Me Baby One More Time" when the pizza guy delivered our sausage-and-green-peppers, extra-cheese, extra-sauce, extra-calories, extra everything.
Pizza guy raised his eyebrows.
"My friend is having his period," I told the pizza guy, and handed him his tip. "He needs Britney and extra cheese to get him through it. I'm trying to be supportive."
Paul was singing along by the time I got the box open and ripped the pieces apart. I handed him a piece of pizza and took one for myself. "This is awesome, dude," he told me. "I can see why college kids do it."
"Britney Spears, or beer?"
"E-mail my heart," Paul sang at me.
I'd created a monster.
"Paul," I said. "I was thinking some more about this metaphor assignment."
Paul studied the string of cheese that led from his piece of pizza to his mouth. He spoke carefully to avoid breaking it. "How it sucks?"
"Right on. So I was thinking we could do something else.
Together."
"Dude, I looked them up online. They're like, forty-five dollars."
I lifted up the top layer of cheese on my slice of pizza and scraped some of the sauce off. "What are you talking about?"
Paul waved a hand at me. "Oh. I thought you were talking about buying one of those papers online. After Sullivan mentioned it, I looked it up. They're forty-five bucks to download."
I made a note to remind Sullivan that we students were young and impressionable. "I actually meant doing something entirely different for the assignment. Would you really buy a paper online?"
"Nah," Paul said sadly. "Even if I did have a credit card. It's a sad statement about my lack of balls, isn't it?"
"Balls isn't buying someone else's term paper," I assured him.
"When you're sober, I have something I want you to read. A play."
"Hamlet's a play," Paul observed. He held out his hand. "Lemme read it now."
I grabbed the notebook from my bed and tossed it to him.
Paul scanned the text of Ballad while singing along with Britney.
He paused just long enough to say, "This is some good shit, James."
"I don't have any other kind," I said.
"Sullivan!" Nuala warned from under the bed. I looked sharply in the direction of the bed and then headed to the door just as the knock came. I opened the door and stepped out into the hall, shutting the door behind myself.