up to each other and cheers over the table. Hannah shakes the ice in her glass and takes another swig of her vodka.
By the late afternoon, with the sun beating down on them and two-thirds of the vodka gone, Hannah knows they are all drunk. Luke and Joanie lie slumped against their chairs and Clay rubs at his eyes every other minute. “I think everyone needs a nap,” Baker says, her eyes small and glazed over.
“You want to send everyone off to a bed and I’ll get this stuff cleaned up?” Hannah says. “Just try to keep them, like, hidden.”
“Sure thing,” Baker says, rising from her chair. “I’ll be back in a minute to help you.”
“I can do it,” Wally says, sitting up straighter. “Go ahead, Bake, I’ll help Hannah.”
Baker hesitates, looking back and forth between Wally and Hannah, but then she turns and taps the other three to lead them inside. Hannah turns to Wally, who’s looking at her.
“Y’okay?” he says.
“I’m good. Are you?”
“Yeah. Thanks for letting us hang out.”
They clean up the table without talking. Hannah rinses the glasses and watches Wally through the kitchen window: he wipes down the porch table with a deliberate attentiveness, his arm muscles straining as he scrubs away a spill.
“Thanks,” Hannah tells him when he comes back inside. “Can you get rid of that vodka bottle? I’m going to check on everyone and make sure they’re okay.”
She finds Joanie asleep in her bed, with Luke sprawled out on the floor, a blanket covering him. She imagines Baker tucking the blanket around him, touching his shoulder just before she pulls away, like Hannah has felt her do many times before.
The guest room door is slightly ajar. Hannah tiptoes toward it, not wanting to wake Clay, who is probably asleep in there, or Baker, who is probably asleep in Hannah’s room next door. She’s about to nudge the door open when she catches sight of something in the room.
Clay and Baker are both in there, but they’re not sleeping. They’re making out.
Clay stands against the bed, the backs of his legs scraping against it, and Baker stands with her body pressed into him, her hands rubbing over his shoulders while they kiss. Hannah ducks away from the door before they can notice her, her heart beating hard in her chest, but even as she hurries quietly back down the hallway and down the stairs, the image of them kissing burns itself on her mind: all she can see is Clay’s mouth on Baker’s, and Baker’s mouth on Clay’s, and the way their bodies had moved against each other.
“Hey,” Wally says when she returns to the kitchen. Then, upon seeing her, he says it again. “Hey,” he says, his voice softer and more concerned. “What’s up? You look upset.”
“Oh—nothing. I thought I saw a stain on the hallway carpet. I thought somebody had spilled.”
“But it’s all good?”
“Yeah,” Hannah says, her heart aching. “It’s all good.”
Baker never mentions the kiss to Hannah. They go all through the following school week without her saying anything about it, even though Clay flirts openly with her and tries to grab her hand when they all hang out in the parking lot. Hannah thinks back on the previous conversations they’d had about boys—after Baker kissed Joey Dietzen, and that boy Lance in New Orleans, and Luke’s cousin who came to visit; after Hannah kissed Ryder Pzynski, and Jonathan Owens, and Wally at the end of last summer—and Hannah wishes desperately that they could talk to each other now. She wants to talk about it, wants to hear it from Baker herself, even though at the same time she wants to push it from her mind, wants to remove it from her memory forever.
“Want to go to Sonic?” Baker says after school on Friday, and Hannah assumes that Baker wants to tell her now.
“Only if you let me pay this time,” Hannah says, and then they’re in the car and on their way.
They park at the Sonic on Perkins and roll their windows down to the
By the late afternoon, with the sun beating down on them and two-thirds of the vodka gone, Hannah knows they are all drunk. Luke and Joanie lie slumped against their chairs and Clay rubs at his eyes every other minute. “I think everyone needs a nap,” Baker says, her eyes small and glazed over.
“You want to send everyone off to a bed and I’ll get this stuff cleaned up?” Hannah says. “Just try to keep them, like, hidden.”
“Sure thing,” Baker says, rising from her chair. “I’ll be back in a minute to help you.”
“I can do it,” Wally says, sitting up straighter. “Go ahead, Bake, I’ll help Hannah.”
Baker hesitates, looking back and forth between Wally and Hannah, but then she turns and taps the other three to lead them inside. Hannah turns to Wally, who’s looking at her.
“Y’okay?” he says.
“I’m good. Are you?”
“Yeah. Thanks for letting us hang out.”
They clean up the table without talking. Hannah rinses the glasses and watches Wally through the kitchen window: he wipes down the porch table with a deliberate attentiveness, his arm muscles straining as he scrubs away a spill.
“Thanks,” Hannah tells him when he comes back inside. “Can you get rid of that vodka bottle? I’m going to check on everyone and make sure they’re okay.”
She finds Joanie asleep in her bed, with Luke sprawled out on the floor, a blanket covering him. She imagines Baker tucking the blanket around him, touching his shoulder just before she pulls away, like Hannah has felt her do many times before.
The guest room door is slightly ajar. Hannah tiptoes toward it, not wanting to wake Clay, who is probably asleep in there, or Baker, who is probably asleep in Hannah’s room next door. She’s about to nudge the door open when she catches sight of something in the room.
Clay and Baker are both in there, but they’re not sleeping. They’re making out.
Clay stands against the bed, the backs of his legs scraping against it, and Baker stands with her body pressed into him, her hands rubbing over his shoulders while they kiss. Hannah ducks away from the door before they can notice her, her heart beating hard in her chest, but even as she hurries quietly back down the hallway and down the stairs, the image of them kissing burns itself on her mind: all she can see is Clay’s mouth on Baker’s, and Baker’s mouth on Clay’s, and the way their bodies had moved against each other.
“Hey,” Wally says when she returns to the kitchen. Then, upon seeing her, he says it again. “Hey,” he says, his voice softer and more concerned. “What’s up? You look upset.”
“Oh—nothing. I thought I saw a stain on the hallway carpet. I thought somebody had spilled.”
“But it’s all good?”
“Yeah,” Hannah says, her heart aching. “It’s all good.”
Baker never mentions the kiss to Hannah. They go all through the following school week without her saying anything about it, even though Clay flirts openly with her and tries to grab her hand when they all hang out in the parking lot. Hannah thinks back on the previous conversations they’d had about boys—after Baker kissed Joey Dietzen, and that boy Lance in New Orleans, and Luke’s cousin who came to visit; after Hannah kissed Ryder Pzynski, and Jonathan Owens, and Wally at the end of last summer—and Hannah wishes desperately that they could talk to each other now. She wants to talk about it, wants to hear it from Baker herself, even though at the same time she wants to push it from her mind, wants to remove it from her memory forever.
“Want to go to Sonic?” Baker says after school on Friday, and Hannah assumes that Baker wants to tell her now.
“Only if you let me pay this time,” Hannah says, and then they’re in the car and on their way.
They park at the Sonic on Perkins and roll their windows down to the
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