“Went back to our place to study. How’s the beer-thrower?”
“Out cold.” I sat down beside him. “So… does that happen often? With her?”
“More lately.” He eased back on his palms, stretching his feet out. “Emotions are running high, I guess. You saw how invested she is in all this. The sale is a big deal.”
“Clark said this place is one of the last remaining big tracts of land around.”
“Mostly because the Judge hated developers,” he told me. “According to Kasey he kept a shotgun on the porch specifically to wave at them whenever they ventured up the driveway. Word spread pretty quickly it was better to leave this place alone.”
“Yikes.”
“Right?” He nudged one sneaker against the other, sending a bug that had been exploring there into sudden flight. “Kasey and Liz aren’t exactly enthusiastic. But they’re not going to shoot anyone.”
“To be honest,” I said, “my grandfather sounds kind of scary.”
“Agreed. But like most stuff, it depends on who’s talking.”
“Not my mom. She won’t discuss him at all.” I drew back as the bug now buzzed by me. “Hard to get the truth out of all that.”
“Truth is relative,” he replied. When I snorted, he added, “Literally, I guess, in this case.”
We sat there for a moment, quiet. Then I said, “You know, for someone hopelessly awkward, you were pretty impressive tonight.”
“My drunk-girl carrying?” he asked. “Well, thanks to you, I’ve had recent practice.”
I rolled my eyes. “The guitar.”
“Oh. Right.”
“Seriously,” I said. “Of all the things you do say, how come you never bothered to mention that you’re, like, really good?”
“I much prefer discussing my failings,” he replied.
I arched an eyebrow. “Should we unpack that?”
“No,” he said flatly.
We sat there for a moment. All I could hear was water hitting the dock.
“There is a reason,” he said finally. “Why I don’t do bands. More like a story, actually.”
“Yeah?” I turned so I was facing him. “Tell me.”
“Okay.” He held his hands up, thumbs and forefingers suspended to make a frame. “It’s freshman year. For the first time, if I don’t screw it up personally, I’ve got a whole four years in the same place.”
“Big deal,” I observed.
“Huge. So emboldened, I decide to try being a joiner,” he said. “I see a flyer for a band that needs a guitarist. Go to the audition. No one else shows up. I get the spot.”
“This story is so far not speaking to your incredible talent,” I pointed out.
He ignored this as he took a breath. “So as it turns out, this isn’t as much a band as a group of codependents who happen to play instruments together. Worse, the lead singer has a total God complex. Which, sidenote, I’ve since realized is pretty much always the case.”
“It is?”
“Yup,” he replied. “A week or two later, we have a gig, at a sorority rush event. Which leads to the first wrinkle, which is that we are a death metal band.”
I raised my eyebrows. “You play death metal?”
