Nick & Norah's Infinite Playlist

NoMo must know this about me, because he doesn't come back in for more mouth-to-mouth contact. He says, "How the hell do you know Tris?"

Then I remember. Tris called him NICK. Noooooooooo. That's him! NICK! The Hoboken boy! The guy who wrote all the songs and poems about her, the best goddamn boyfriend the rest of us at Sacred Heart never had, the band-boy stud Tris hooked up with after meeting him on the PATH train at the beginning of the school year and has lied to and cheated on ever since. Does NICK not think it's weird that he dated her that long and never once met any girls from her school? IDIOT!

But of course Tris wouldn't introduce him to us. She wouldn't be worried we'd rat out her indiscretions to her boyfriend-she'd be afraid he'd fall for Caroline. Tris can have Caroline's rejects, but she'd never offer up one of her own to Caroline. Tris is so Single White Female, we like to joke that Caroline should get a restraining order against her, except Tris provides us too much amusement to completely let her out of our reach. It's like a love-hate thing we have going with her. We don't feel guilty about it because there's only a month of school left and I can't imagine we'll ever see her again after our "have a great summer, good luck in college" phony sentiment yearbook finales. And karmically, I have repaid my mean-girl debt to Tris many times over. If she passed Chemistry and Calculus this year, it's because of me. Fuck, if she graduates at all, it's because of me.

I don't bother answering Nick's question about how the hell I know Tris. I've got to find Caroline.

I stand up on the barstool. That's the only way I'll find her with all these people and this loud music and this stink sweat and this beer energy and this never-ending day that feels like it's only beginning in the middle of this night. I place my hand on Nick's head to steady my balance as I scan the crowd, and my hand can't help but rummage through his mess of hair, just a little.

There she is! I see Caroline huddling with Randy at a corner table by the brick wall just off the stage, to the right of Hunter from Hunter Does Hunter, who is now taking the mic. I don't know what song his band had prepared but the lyrics Hunter sings are clearly being made up on the spot and have nothing to do with the fast and furious guitar chords: Dev, go home with me, Dev Dev Dev, I want you to fuck this man.

I jump down from the barstool and take off toward Caroline, but Nick's hand clenches my wrist from behind me, pulling me back to him.

"Seriously," Nick says, "how the hell do you know Tris?"

His grip pinches the watch on my wrist, and the ow of the pinch turns my eyes from looking for Caroline to looking straight at him. I notice how lost he looks, yet eager for me to stay with him, his eyes kind and angry at the same time, and the noticing makes me remember a lyric from some song he wrote for Tris that she passed around in Latin class because she thought it was so lame.

The way you're singing in your sleep
The way you look before you leap
The strange illusions that you keep
You don't know
But I'm noticing

Fuck Tris. I would give body parts to have a guy write something like that for me. My kidney? Oh, both of them? Here, Nick, they're yours-just write more for me. I'll give you a start: boy in punk club asks strange girl to be his girlfriend for five minutes, girl kisses boy, boy kisses back, boy then meets girl-what did you notice about this girl? Nick, let's hear some lyrics. Please? Ready. Set. Go.