kind of lie. It’s not a bad lie, though. Maybe it will make him feel better. I look him in the eyes and I say, “Thank you.”
It doesn’t have the desired result. It doesn’t make him feel better. Instead, Cary seems to get sadder. He forces a half smile at me, but I see through it.
“Let’s go back,” he says.
When I get to the auditorium, everyone looks at me and that makes it feel more like high school than anything. Before anyone can speak, Trace crosses the room and hugs me. It hurts. He doesn’t speak, just holds me until Rhys finally says, “I went out there too.”
“And you got your pat on the back.” Trace releases me and when he looks at me, his eyes are all warmth. “Thank you for what you did for us, Sloane.”
“Forget it.” I want everyone to forget it.
“I want you to know it means something to me that you tried.” He looks past me and the warmth disappears from his eyes. “Unlike some people.”
“Fuck you,” Cary says tiredly.
“Who’s got breakfast?” Rhys asks. “I did it yesterday. Not doing it today.”
“I do,” Trace says.
Surprising. I don’t think Trace has gotten breakfast once since we got here, and it’s not like there’s anything to prepare. Grab packaged food, an assortment of drinks, toss on tray. He jogs over to the stage and hoists himself up, disappearing behind the curtain.
“Kitchen’s the other way,” Rhys calls. No sooner is it out of his mouth than Trace reappears with—the whiskey. “That’s not exactly what I had in mind when I said breakfast.”
“Why didn’t we get drunk on this the day we found it?” Trace hops offstage. “What exactly are we waiting for again? I don’t think we have time to wait on this.”
“All we have is time,” Grace says.
“Yeah, but who knows how long that is? Fuck tomorrow and the day after and the day after that.” He opens the bottle, moves to take a swig, and stops. He holds it out to Rhys and me. “It should be you two first. For what you did.”
“You’re a douchebag,” Cary says.
Trace ignores him and pushes the bottle at us. Rhys takes the whiskey first, brings it to his mouth, and drinks it easily. He hands the bottle to me. I mimic Rhys but unlike him, I nearly choke. It burns all the way down. I hand the bottle back to Trace. He drinks and hands it to Grace, who grudgingly passes it to Cary after she takes her swig. We go in a circle. Harrison has such a hard time with it, he grabs a bottle of juice from the kitchen to cleanse his palate. In that moment, he looks too young to be alive.
“Pussy,” Trace says.
Grace elbows him. “Better than wasting it.”
And then we realize this is it as far as booze goes, at least. A bottle of whiskey. This is all we have. It’s unlikely there will be any more hidden around the school, waiting to be found.
Trace sets the bottle on the floor and we all have this convoluted discussion about how much we should drink, if we should just go for it or if, you know, moderation is the key.
“It should be fair,” Cary says.
“Hey, if life was fair, you wouldn’t be here,” Trace says. Cary doesn’t rise to it. I feel so bad for him today. “Also, fun isn’t always fair.”
“Well, we’re not staying sober while you get wasted,” Rhys says.
“Now that’s a good idea,” Trace says, but no matter how hard he tries, he can’t rouse the rest of us into agreeing with him. I don’t know who says drinking games first but someone does, and that is how we all end up on the floor playing I Never. Trace seems really satisfied about this turn of events, so maybe he’ll have some kind of edge on the rest of us. Maybe he’s done everything or maybe he’ll just lie and say he has. He starts us off, anyway.
“I have never skinny-dipped in Pearson Lake.” An awkward silence follows and Rhys and Cary drink. A ghost of a smile crosses Trace’s face. “At the same time?”
“Fuck off.” Rhys grabs the bottle from Cary. “I’ve never cheated
It doesn’t have the desired result. It doesn’t make him feel better. Instead, Cary seems to get sadder. He forces a half smile at me, but I see through it.
“Let’s go back,” he says.
When I get to the auditorium, everyone looks at me and that makes it feel more like high school than anything. Before anyone can speak, Trace crosses the room and hugs me. It hurts. He doesn’t speak, just holds me until Rhys finally says, “I went out there too.”
“And you got your pat on the back.” Trace releases me and when he looks at me, his eyes are all warmth. “Thank you for what you did for us, Sloane.”
“Forget it.” I want everyone to forget it.
“I want you to know it means something to me that you tried.” He looks past me and the warmth disappears from his eyes. “Unlike some people.”
“Fuck you,” Cary says tiredly.
“Who’s got breakfast?” Rhys asks. “I did it yesterday. Not doing it today.”
“I do,” Trace says.
Surprising. I don’t think Trace has gotten breakfast once since we got here, and it’s not like there’s anything to prepare. Grab packaged food, an assortment of drinks, toss on tray. He jogs over to the stage and hoists himself up, disappearing behind the curtain.
“Kitchen’s the other way,” Rhys calls. No sooner is it out of his mouth than Trace reappears with—the whiskey. “That’s not exactly what I had in mind when I said breakfast.”
“Why didn’t we get drunk on this the day we found it?” Trace hops offstage. “What exactly are we waiting for again? I don’t think we have time to wait on this.”
“All we have is time,” Grace says.
“Yeah, but who knows how long that is? Fuck tomorrow and the day after and the day after that.” He opens the bottle, moves to take a swig, and stops. He holds it out to Rhys and me. “It should be you two first. For what you did.”
“You’re a douchebag,” Cary says.
Trace ignores him and pushes the bottle at us. Rhys takes the whiskey first, brings it to his mouth, and drinks it easily. He hands the bottle to me. I mimic Rhys but unlike him, I nearly choke. It burns all the way down. I hand the bottle back to Trace. He drinks and hands it to Grace, who grudgingly passes it to Cary after she takes her swig. We go in a circle. Harrison has such a hard time with it, he grabs a bottle of juice from the kitchen to cleanse his palate. In that moment, he looks too young to be alive.
“Pussy,” Trace says.
Grace elbows him. “Better than wasting it.”
And then we realize this is it as far as booze goes, at least. A bottle of whiskey. This is all we have. It’s unlikely there will be any more hidden around the school, waiting to be found.
Trace sets the bottle on the floor and we all have this convoluted discussion about how much we should drink, if we should just go for it or if, you know, moderation is the key.
“It should be fair,” Cary says.
“Hey, if life was fair, you wouldn’t be here,” Trace says. Cary doesn’t rise to it. I feel so bad for him today. “Also, fun isn’t always fair.”
“Well, we’re not staying sober while you get wasted,” Rhys says.
“Now that’s a good idea,” Trace says, but no matter how hard he tries, he can’t rouse the rest of us into agreeing with him. I don’t know who says drinking games first but someone does, and that is how we all end up on the floor playing I Never. Trace seems really satisfied about this turn of events, so maybe he’ll have some kind of edge on the rest of us. Maybe he’s done everything or maybe he’ll just lie and say he has. He starts us off, anyway.
“I have never skinny-dipped in Pearson Lake.” An awkward silence follows and Rhys and Cary drink. A ghost of a smile crosses Trace’s face. “At the same time?”
“Fuck off.” Rhys grabs the bottle from Cary. “I’ve never cheated
Similar Books
