Pete shakes his head before I finish asking the question. “Can’t. They said I need to be home because people are watching everything we do right now because of the bankruptcy thing. I don’t know who they mean, but they were clear I have to be home every night. They don’t get home from work for another hour, so I took a break while I had the chance.”
Pete stands, pulling himself up by the hut’s wall. “We better get going. I don’t want you to get in trouble either,” he says, heading for the stairs.
“You don’t seem right. This all sucks, what’s going on at home, but are you okay?”
He continues descending the spiraling steps. “Yeah, as good as I can be, I guess. I’ve just got a lot on my mind.”
“For good reason,” I follow.
Pete’s words are still stirring in my brain as I try not to succumb to motion sickness from Dad’s driving through the back roads to The Barrel House. “You’ve been awfully quiet, Brody. Is everything okay?” Mom asks.
Brett flicks me in the shoulder, and I punch him in return. The sound of my knuckles against his arm makes a loud smack that makes Mom whip her head around. Brett is acting like a wuss, grabbing the spot I just hit. “Yeah, everything is fine,” I tell her.
“Except he took the car out for a joy ride after school today,” Brett says, gleefully ratting me out.
“Dad gives me a look in the mirror—one that says we’ll be talking about this later.” There’s nothing better than having a sick pain in the pit in my stomach for hours, waiting for whatever wrath I have coming my way.
“Brody,” Mom sighs along with a disapproving groan.
“I can explain. Later,” I say.
There isn’t time now since we’re pulling into the parking lot behind The Barrel House. As usual, Dad pulls up right next to Mr. Quinn’s truck. He turns in his seat and points at me, then Brett. “No funny business tonight, boys. You understand?”
“Yes, sir, Brett and I say in unison.”
Brett isn’t usually the one responsible for causing trouble, or more like, he’s never the one who is caught. As for me, I can’t help boredom and curiosity. It gets the best of me, and they’re my weaknesses. Mom and Dad don’t see my character flaws the same way I do. Curiosity often leads to wonderful things. I read that somewhere in a book.
Per the norm of one of these kiss-butt bourbon parties Mr. Quinn throws, the four underage kids are told to stay in the backroom or in the basement away from the machinery.
will Journey and Melody are making those stupid paper fortune teller things that determine who they’re will marry or what kind of house they will live in someday. It’s a dumb girl game.
Brett has his Game Boy and I have nothing because I have no clue where my Game Boy is anymore. I could take a nap. It might be in my best interest, so I find an empty spot along the wall between a few crates of supplies and empty bottles and plop down.
“What are you playing?” Melody asks Brett.
God, that girl is in love with him, and the dork does not even have a clue. In fact, I don’t think Melody has a clue either. It’s kind of funny.
I lean my head back and close my eyes, replaying some things Pete said when we were sitting at the top of the tower. He rarely complains about shit with his parents, but I figured he didn’t have the best family situation since they rarely attend functions at the school together. It’s either Pete and his mom or Pete and his dad. I don’t think I’ve seen the three of them together in one place since we were in middle school.
I wouldn’t want to be going through the crap he is—it’s too much for a sixteen-year-old to worry about when we’re a couple months shy of finishing up our junior year. They say the summers before and after senior year to be the best one of a kid’s high school experience and I, for one, am counting down the days.
Knowing Pete the way I do, he’ll find a way to get a job doing something stupid so he can bring in the cash his parents need. He’ll mow four hundred lawns a day and sign up to be some old lady’s servant who will probably pay him under the table. He’s a fixer, and I assume he has a lot running through his mind right now. Maybe I should have offered to do something more than let him stay with us, but I don’t know what else I can do.
A bony shoulder presses against mine. The scent of vanilla body spray informs me Journey is beside me. I’m not sure why every girl between the ages of fourteen and sixteen flock to the scent of vanilla, but Melody hasn’t found a use for perfume yet, so I know it’s Journey.
“Whatcha’ doing?” she asks, ignoring the fact that my eyes are closed. I could very well be sleeping, but Journey isn’t the type to care whether she’s waking someone up.
“My eyes are closed, and my head is comfortably resting against the wall,” I respond.
“But you’re talking, so if you’re not sleeping.”
I open my eyes and twist my head to face the red-headed spitfire with black nail polish and a silver ring on each finger. “Hi, Journey.”
“Hi, Brody. Why so glum? You’re usually hosting our four-person dance party while the old-folk have a dandy old time out front.”
I’m not sure I’ve held a dance party here before, but I’m known to have been friendlier than I am at the moment. “It’s been a long day,” I tell her.
“Long, like, you had a test and ran like four miles after school?” Actually, I did neither, which would be a typical reason for my exhaustion.
