The smile stretches across my face like a child at Christmas at the thought of talking to her more.
“As you wish,” I say before hanging up the phone.
The split-second phone call has me in a whimsical haze. Just hearing her voice for a moment lifts my spirits. This is either a very good thing, or a very bad thing, and I’m afraid to think too much about it.
Pulling down a long gravel driveway, on a large acre of land, I see a large brick house with kids everywhere. Cars are parked every which way in the yard and beer bottles, red solo cups, and other paraphernalia are scattered on the ground.
Meanwhile, the kids are drinking, laughing, some dancing, and acting like this night was never going to end.
“It’s almost midnight,” I grumble to myself.
The party usually disperses when they know an adult shows up, but they are unphased when I pull up.
Do they know I was called?
I sit in my truck for a moment, scanning the crowd to see who’s here. Birdie and her cheerleader friends are standing on the deck, a group of baseball players are playing cornhole, Ethan Blake is standing by a keg with the other football players, but I don’t see Garrett anywhere, or Devon.
I climb out of the truck and Birdie clocks me fast.
As if I didn’t witness everything, she throws her drink over to the side of the house and yells, “Mr. B, what’s up!” Signaling my arrival to the others.
In an instant, the students simultaneously pour drinks out, stomp out their rolls, and kick trash away from their path in an attempt to hide the evidence. Some even mosey on to their cars and go to leave.
“Where’s Garrett?”
A few of them look around like they are hiding something, and no one answers my question.
“Alright, we can make this easy. Someone tell me where Garrett is, and I don’t need to make a phone call.”
“Man, we don’t know where they went,” Ethan says with a shrug.
“How long have they been gone?”
“Devon got into it with Travis, bad. Garrett broke it up and they left!” Birdie yells at me—the cheerleaders all nod in agreement.
I walk over to Ethan, knowing he will know what happened. He looks at me with a smug smile and I feel the very rare urge to punch one of my students in the face.
“Where are they?” I resist the urge to clench my fists and try to maintain my composure while he just smirks at me in response. I look at the other guys standing with him and throw my arms out to the side, silently asking, “Well?”
“Travis pissed him off . . .” Charlie, one of the baseball players, walks over and whispers, “They loaded him in the car and left. I think to take him home.”
I pat Charlie on the shoulder as a thanks and pull my phone out, dialing a number. I have a hunch I know where they are going. “I’m giving you all an hour to get this cleaned up and go home, then I’m calling the cops. Got it?” I shout at all of them, but fix my gaze on Ethan, the instigator and obvious leader of this pack. Most of these kids are eighteen or older or hit this party scene often so my threat probably wasn’t effective.
But I’m going to call the cops anyway.
Heading back to my truck, I press call on the number I dialed.
The call is answered after one ring. “They just got here, hurry up.”
“I’m on my way.”
Driving away from the house, I text Ellie:
I’m speeding now and don’t have time to overthink the fact that I just sent Ellie a heart emoji. Or that I want to fill her in on every little thing that has run through my mind today, and how she’s one of the things primarily keeping my mind occupied. I’m also trying not to think about the fact that this night is bringing back some dark memories for me and I want her to hold my hand and help me through it.
And I’m definitelynotthinking about how I want her here with me more than anyone.
Denial only gets us so far though, and the drive isn’t nearly enough time to finally admit to myself that I really like this girl. It’s about five minutes into the drive that I accept this isn’t just a small crush, but that I really likeher.
