floats as their riders throw down slabs of green beads and random trinkets. Luke catches a purple stuffed penguin, Joanie catches an Irishman’s hat, and Wally snags more beads than the rest of them put together. Clay manages to catch two Jello shots, thrown down to him in white paper cups quivering with green gelatin.
They gather together after the parade has passed through and compare their treasures. Joanie takes pictures of them all, weighed down by beads and sweating in the early spring heat, everything around them green and lively.
They start the trek back to Hannah and Joanie’s house on Olive Street, darting their feet onto clear patches of asphalt, occasionally slipping on rogue strings of beads. Above them, tangled on tree branches and street lamps, hang the far-flung beads that never made it into the hands of parade-goers. They sparkle in the sunlight, each one of them seeming pathetic and desperate on its own, but the whole scene magical when taken together.
“My neck hurts,” Joanie says when they get home. “I need a drink.”
“Are your parents home?” Clay asks.
“No,” Hannah says, “why?”
Clay takes on that look he gets when he knows he’s about to get his way. “I have some stuff in the car.”
“What kind of stuff?”
“Alcohol, Han, what do you think?”
“I don’t know if we should—”
“Come on, Hannah,” Joanie says in a lofty voice. “You know they’re at the Mason’s. They won’t be home for hours. We can drink on the porch and clean it all up before they get back.”
“Sounds good to me,” Luke says.
“Hold on, I’ll go get it,” Clay says, hurrying out to his car.
He comes back in with a handle of Absolut and a two-liter bottle of Sprite. Joanie sets about filling glasses with ice while Luke grabs snacks from the pantry.
“You alright?” Baker asks Hannah under her breath.
“We can still shut them down,” Wally offers.
“It’s fine,” Hannah says, not looking at either of them. “We just have to be careful.”
They sit around the table on the back porch and drink their vodka Sprites, all of them still wearing green, Luke wearing Joanie’s Irishman hat. Joanie produces a deck of cards for them to play Kings, with Clay reminding them of the rules and Luke attempting to change them. “Why does it have to be ‘3 is me ’?” he says. “We should make it, like, ‘3 is naked spree ,’ and everyone has to run around naked.”
“How much vodka have you had?” Joanie says, rubbing his hair. “No way in hell are we doing that.”
“Dude, just shut up for a second,” Clay says. “Okay, one more time: 2 is you, 3 is me, 4 is floor, 5 is guys, 6 is chicks—”
“We know ,” Hannah says. “Can we just get started? I have no idea what time my parents will be back.”
“Hannah, they are at a party ,” Joanie says, regarding her with distaste. “And they’ll probably stay there for a while because, unlike you, they actually know how to have fun.”
“Shut up, Joanie.”
“Alright, hey, let’s just get started,” Wally says.
They play several rounds of Kings, with the vodka diminishing faster than Hannah anticipated. She starts to feel the alcohol and knows that her friends are feeling it too. Wally laughs much more readily than he normally does, Clay’s voice gets louder and louder, and Baker’s eyes get smaller and smaller.
“Dude, Clay, you’re up,” Wally says, hitting his shoulder. “Get a good one.”
“Okay…8,” Clay says as he reads his flipped card. “8, Pick a Date. Alright, who thinks they can keep up with my drinking?”
“Don’t pick me,” Luke slurs. “Joanie’s making me drink too much.”
“Sorry, man, but you’re not what I envisioned for a date anyway. Okay, how about…Baker?”
Baker looks across the table at him. “You want me to match your drinking?” she asks, her voice carrying her smile. “I don’t know if I can.”
“I think you can,” Clay grins.
They hold their drinks
They gather together after the parade has passed through and compare their treasures. Joanie takes pictures of them all, weighed down by beads and sweating in the early spring heat, everything around them green and lively.
They start the trek back to Hannah and Joanie’s house on Olive Street, darting their feet onto clear patches of asphalt, occasionally slipping on rogue strings of beads. Above them, tangled on tree branches and street lamps, hang the far-flung beads that never made it into the hands of parade-goers. They sparkle in the sunlight, each one of them seeming pathetic and desperate on its own, but the whole scene magical when taken together.
“My neck hurts,” Joanie says when they get home. “I need a drink.”
“Are your parents home?” Clay asks.
“No,” Hannah says, “why?”
Clay takes on that look he gets when he knows he’s about to get his way. “I have some stuff in the car.”
“What kind of stuff?”
“Alcohol, Han, what do you think?”
“I don’t know if we should—”
“Come on, Hannah,” Joanie says in a lofty voice. “You know they’re at the Mason’s. They won’t be home for hours. We can drink on the porch and clean it all up before they get back.”
“Sounds good to me,” Luke says.
“Hold on, I’ll go get it,” Clay says, hurrying out to his car.
He comes back in with a handle of Absolut and a two-liter bottle of Sprite. Joanie sets about filling glasses with ice while Luke grabs snacks from the pantry.
“You alright?” Baker asks Hannah under her breath.
“We can still shut them down,” Wally offers.
“It’s fine,” Hannah says, not looking at either of them. “We just have to be careful.”
They sit around the table on the back porch and drink their vodka Sprites, all of them still wearing green, Luke wearing Joanie’s Irishman hat. Joanie produces a deck of cards for them to play Kings, with Clay reminding them of the rules and Luke attempting to change them. “Why does it have to be ‘3 is me ’?” he says. “We should make it, like, ‘3 is naked spree ,’ and everyone has to run around naked.”
“How much vodka have you had?” Joanie says, rubbing his hair. “No way in hell are we doing that.”
“Dude, just shut up for a second,” Clay says. “Okay, one more time: 2 is you, 3 is me, 4 is floor, 5 is guys, 6 is chicks—”
“We know ,” Hannah says. “Can we just get started? I have no idea what time my parents will be back.”
“Hannah, they are at a party ,” Joanie says, regarding her with distaste. “And they’ll probably stay there for a while because, unlike you, they actually know how to have fun.”
“Shut up, Joanie.”
“Alright, hey, let’s just get started,” Wally says.
They play several rounds of Kings, with the vodka diminishing faster than Hannah anticipated. She starts to feel the alcohol and knows that her friends are feeling it too. Wally laughs much more readily than he normally does, Clay’s voice gets louder and louder, and Baker’s eyes get smaller and smaller.
“Dude, Clay, you’re up,” Wally says, hitting his shoulder. “Get a good one.”
“Okay…8,” Clay says as he reads his flipped card. “8, Pick a Date. Alright, who thinks they can keep up with my drinking?”
“Don’t pick me,” Luke slurs. “Joanie’s making me drink too much.”
“Sorry, man, but you’re not what I envisioned for a date anyway. Okay, how about…Baker?”
Baker looks across the table at him. “You want me to match your drinking?” she asks, her voice carrying her smile. “I don’t know if I can.”
“I think you can,” Clay grins.
They hold their drinks
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