Nate hadn’t been particularly looking for anybody that evening. He’d given a polite hello to a few of his colleagues, had a cordial conversation with the dean so that he knew he’d showed, and he’d already downed the number of drinks he’d allotted to himself beforehand. He hadn’t been there nearly two hours. It wasn’t that Nate didn’t value the societal and historical aspect of the event; anyone who’d ever spent two minutes with him knew he did. The social event, however, was a different ballgame.
Though he’d never been one, he’d been around snobbish socialites all his life. At Princeton, Cornell, and even now in NYU - hell, his mother had always wanted to be one. He remembered the glimmer in her eyes when the two of them got the invitation for the parents’ reception his freshman year. He recalled how she spent weeks choosing an outfit, even longer saving up for it, and how it seemed to be the happiest night of her life. He had never enjoyed the social aspect of it nearly that much. At times, he wished he did.
Lost in his thoughts, he didn’t notice that someone else he knew had come into frame. It was only when the light brown hair caught the dim light in a way that was undeniably familiar did he realize it was Sophia. His mind raced: should he say hello? She hadn’t seen him yet; could he slip away without being seen? Would it be rude? She had denied him, after all, and it had stung a little more than he’d thought.
Deciding that ignoring her would be childish, he gripped his drink tightly in his hand, willing his feet to move forward. She still hadn’t noticed him, and he wondered if it was possible to get her attention in a way that seemed uncaring. Taking one last gulp, he steeled himself and tried to appear as casual as possible. “So,” he said, loud enough for her to hear, “is this more your scene then?”
