The front door of the Carter house swings open as if on cue, and Dean’s dad appears on the front step, holding his hand up to wave. Dean rushes to his side several moments later, struggling to put his backpack on. His dad, Hugh, helps him with the strap and then they both make their way across their lawn toward us.
We’ve been picking Dean up for school every morning for as long as I can remember. The Carters are practically family, and Dad does the morning run to school, while Hugh does the pickup. Dean opens up the car door and climbs into the backseat at the same time as Dad rolls down his window to talk to Hugh.
I crane my neck and turn around slightly in my seat, looking back at Dean as he tugs on his seatbelt. When he clicks it in place, he glances up at me and curls his hand into a fist, holding it up to me. I bump my fist against his and give him a smile, tuning out Dad and Hugh’s conversation.
“Did you do that science project?” Dean asks, sinking back against the leather of the backseat. “I got my mom to do half of mine.”
“Yeah. I handed it in last week,” I tell him.
Hugh clears his throat and ducks down a little at the window, looking past Dad at both me and Dean. “Right, you two,” he says, “I’ll be there waiting at three.” When he smiles, it’s genuine, and he throws us a thumbs-up before stepping away from the car. I like Hugh. Sometimes I wishhewas my dad and not the guy sitting next to me.
Dad rolls the window back up and drives off. The radio is on again, but the volume is low enough to allow him to maintain hisfriendly persona, where he fills the remainder of the drive to school with questions about our classes for the day and football and if Dean’s excited for his birthday next week. I don’t know what’s worse: Dad when he’s mad or Dad when he’s nice. It’s always so confusing to me.
By the time Dad cuts the engine just around the corner from the school entrance, I’ve already got my seatbelt off and my hand on the door, ready to escape his constant expression of disapproval for a few hours. Dean hates school. I like it because it’s the only place I can really get away from Dad for a while.
“I hope you both have a great day,” he tells us with that tight smile of his. He leans over into the backseat, holds his palm out, and lets Dean low five him. Then, as both Dean and I push open the car doors and jump out onto the sidewalk, he quickly adjusts the cuff of his shirt.
“Tyler,” he says right before I shut the door behind me. I glance over my shoulder to find him leaning over to look at me, his expression neutral. He stares at me for a long moment until his features begin to shift again. His eyebrows pull together as the corners of his lips pull into a small, sad smile. For the first time all week, I see the tiniest hint of guilt in his green eyes. “Work hard,” he murmurs, swallowing. “I love you.”
No, I think as I turn away from him and slam the door shut.You don’t.
6
Present Day
It’s nearing ten by the time I’m driving across the city. I’ve already stopped by the liquor store and now have two six-packs taking up my passenger seat. Not to mention the fresh pack of Marlboros. The cashier demanded twenty bucks in exchange for him turning a blind eye to the fact that I’m four years off of twenty-one, but lucky for him, I’m a loyal customer. And most likely his favorite considering the hefty tips I give.
The party is being thrown by some girl named Lucy who I can’t quite put a face to, and although I’m turning up earlier than I usually do, Kaleb also says that mostly everyone is already there. I can’t remember the last time I showed up at a party on my own. At the very least, I always have Tiffani by my side. But tonight I’ll have to deal with being that fucking moron who only has beer by his side rather than his friends.
It’s almost dark out as I crawl along Stanford Street on the very outskirts of the city until I arrive at the address Kaleb has given me. There are already several cars parked outside and a couple guys lingering on the porch, cups in their hands and lazy grins on their faces. Irecognize them only vaguely from school. Their attention shifts to me as I pull up against the sidewalk across the street and kill my engine, and I notice them cocking their heads to the side as they check out my car. I pretend to ignore it, but their jealous attention is still satisfying; it always will be.
I remove my seatbelt, then roll my window down a couple inches to allow the faint pumping of music to enter my car, then I reach over and yank a bottle of beer from the pack. Not only have I never turned up at a party this early and alone before, I’ve also never turned up at a party sober. I’ve dried out from the booze from earlier, and now I’m left dreading the idea of walking through that front door sober. It’s a whole lot easier to maintain my act in front of a crowd when I’m drunk. Cracking open the cap with my teeth, I take a single swig of my beer, swallow it back, then chug the remainder of it. Shoving the bottle into my glove compartment, I sigh and shift my gaze to my reflection in my rearview mirror. My eyes seem more intense, more of a vibrant green than usual, yet my expression seems too soft for my liking. I press my lips together, clenching my jaw while narrowing my eyes slightly until my entire expression is sharper, more hardened, and then I grab my keys, my cigarettes, and my beer.
I step out of the car and nudge the door shut behind me. I set the beer down on the hood, shove my keys into my back pocket, and retrieve my lighter instead. I pull a cigarette out of the pack, place it between my lips, then light it.
One of the guys from up on the porch takes a sip of his drink and then calls across the lawn, “Are you here for the party?”
I take a long drag as I study him, allowing the smoke to fill my lungs for several seconds before I exhale, blurring my vision with the plume of smoke that fills the air around me. “Nah. Here for the view,”I deadpan. What a fucking moron. Placing the cigarette back between my lips, I grab my beer and head toward the house, cutting across the lawn and over to the porch. The music grows louder the nearer I get, but it’s still not as loud as it should be, which makes it pretty obvious that the host is a first-timer. That and the fact that the house doesn’t appear to be packed.
“I didn’t know that you’d be coming,” the guy says when I reach him and his friend on the porch. Very quickly, he looks me up and down, and when I move my cigarette from my lips again to exhale, he holds his breath. They both look too young to be here, and I begin to wonder that they might not even be juniors, but maybe sophomores. Yikes.
“Is this your first party?” I ask, my words muffled against my cigarette. I raise an eyebrow while stepping past them. The last thing I want to do is stop and end up in a conversation with some dumb-ass sophomores. I want to get inside and see who’s here. I want to crack open another beer. I want to hunt down Declan Portwood.
“Yeah,” the guy says.
He exchanges a confused glance with his friend, and I don’t even attempt to hold back my laugh when I reply, “I can tell.”
I push open the front door a crack and immediately the music floods my ears, laced with laughter and the sound of a drink being smashed. Before I head inside, I turn around and press my back against the front door, smirking as I push it open backward. “Words of advice?” I offer, as I flick the butt of my cigarette to the ground and step on it. “Stop standing out here on the porch and get your asses inside.”
Spinning back around, I’m greeted with a party where personal space seems to actually exist for once. There’s no one that I immediately recognize, besides the familiar faces I’ve seen at parties before, but I know that Kaleb is already here, so I weave my way across the livingroom in search of him. I don’t smile at anyone as I pass them, despite the fact that I keep receiving small nods of acknowledgment, and I edge my way through a small group of girls blocking my path into the kitchen.
“Tyler!” Kaleb calls at the exact same second that I spot him perched up on the countertop. The center island is covered in all sorts of booze, which makes it the most popular spot in the house, and I have to squeeze my way around everyone in order to reach Kaleb. “You’re finally here, man,” he says, resting his hand on my shoulder once I step in front him. I can smell not only the beer on him, but the weed too, and his bloodshot gaze scans the kitchen as though he’s missing something. “Where’s Tiffani? Dean? Everyone else?”
“They’ll be here soon,” I say. I nudge his hand off me and slide my beer onto the countertop, pulling a bottle free from the pack and cracking it open. “What about Declan? Is he around tonight?”
Kaleb props his elbow on the coffee machine and just shrugs, but at the same time he gives me a knowing grin. He’s high as fuck. “Later. What are you game for tonight?” He leans forward again and raises an eyebrow at me, then taps the front pocket of his jeans twice with his index finger. “You don’t have to wait until Declan gets here,” he murmurs, his voice hushed as the music around us thumps continuously. “I can hook you up.”
I study him intently as I swig at my beer. Sometimes I wonder how Kaleb even ends up at these parties. Both he and Declan are college freshmen, but Kaleb has the face of a fourteen year old, so I can understand that perhaps he fits in better at high school parties than he does at the college ones. As for Declan, he seems to be friends with everyone. He once told me that having good connections is the first rule in business.
