I snorted, and felt some of my beer go into my nose. I snorted again when he started playing the song. Rob suddenly put the ukelele down on the bench beside him and began rubbing between my shoulder blades as one might coax a baby into spitting.
"Stop." I elbowed his arm aside.
That mock concern vanished and he laughed a little too loud, as he did. I tried to hide my own smile but failed.
“You can never hang as much as everyone else,” he said. “It makes me play sad songs.” He started playing something that sounded vaguely like “My Heart Will Go On,” but the notes were off.
“You're an idiot,” I said.
The squeak of the door silenced us and Rob promptly smashed his joint down into the rice grains.
"I can smell that still," Bette said from the doorway.
Rob stuck his hands up as though she were pointing a gun his way. "I promise I'm not."
Bette was his girlfriend, a tiny thing with jet black hair and a smile that eclipsed the entire bottom portion of her rounded face. "It doesn't matter. I don't care," she said. "I already told you I don't care."
Rob's voice jumped an octave. "I don't want you to think that all I do is sit around playing a ukelele and smoking."
"Too late," she said.
I gulped down the rest of my beer, not looking over at her.
"I need a beer pong partner," she announced.
When there was silence, I finally did look over, and saw her staring at me. Her smile was friendly enough, but it didn't reach her eyes.
"C'mon," she demanded.