My Life With the Walter Boys

In my right mind I would never cut class, but after what had just happened with Mary, the thought of being whisked away by Cole was a nice distraction. “Fine,” I said, climbing to my feet. “Lead the way.”

 

 

As soon as I spotted the truck and the people sitting in the back, I remembered the conversation I’d heard between Cole and Nick this morning. Sure enough, Cole’s friend was leaning against the tailgate, and I was starting to get the impression that the frown on his face was a permanent feature. Besides Nick, I couldn’t remember the names of anyone else, but they were all friends that sat with Cole at lunch.

 

“Cole, it’s your turn to drive,” said one of the girls as we approached. She had dirty blond hair with a strip dyed hot pink, and suddenly I remembered that she had come over to the Walters’ house this past week to swim with Cole.

 

“I never would have guessed, Kate,” he said, opening the tailgate so I could climb up. “Considering we’re taking my car and all.” Then he held out his hand and offered me a boost up.

 

“If you’re driving,” I said quietly, so the others wouldn’t hear, “I’d like to ride up front.”

 

“Of course you would.” The satisfied smirk on his face almost made me change my mind, but I didn’t want to sit with all the strangers. Walking around the side of the truck, I opened the passenger door and climbed in. The truck felt strangely empty without the rest of the Walters in it, but Cole didn’t seem to notice as he got in next to me.

 

I didn’t know what I was expecting, but it definitely wasn’t what Kate offered me after she slid open the back window from the bed of the truck.

 

“Want one?” she asked me, holding out a beer.

 

“No,” I replied instinctively. I didn’t even stop to consider it.

 

“Yes, she does.” Cole grabbed it from Kate and dropped it in my lap. “A cold beer always fixes a bad day.”

 

“What are you doing?” I hissed at him as he started the truck.

 

“Making you feel better.” He reached for the radio and cranked up the music.

 

The thought of unbuckling my seat belt and jumping out crossed my mind, because I didn’t want to get in any trouble. But before I could make my decision, Cole put the truck in reverse and we were moving. At first, as we ripped out of the parking lot, I couldn’t breathe. What had I gotten myself into? I let a girl I didn’t even know affect me with one sentence. I’d spun out of control and now I was in an even worse situation.

 

But then I turned to Cole. He had the window rolled down, his arm hanging out over the side of the door, and as the song we were listening to hit the chorus, he started to shout the lyrics at the top of his lungs. I heard a few hollers join in from the back, and somehow their mood was contagious. Cole smiled, the warm sun hitting his face just right, and then I was smiling too.

 

“You gonna drink that?” Cole asked, pointing at the beer in my lap.

 

Glancing down, I stared at the can. It was melting in the warm air, trickles of cool water raced down the aluminum. Skipping school was bad enough; I didn’t need to add underage drinking to my list of crimes. But then again, I was already here…

 

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” I said and popped open my first ever can of beer.

 

***

 

Sal’s diner was near the outskirts of town. Nick insisted on eating lunch there, because he didn’t want to get caught skipping school. The service was slow even though we were the only customers, and by the time we finished our greasy burgers, my English class was starting. Next we stopped at Kate’s house so she could grab more beer that she had hidden under her front porch. Our final destination was an abandoned warehouse with boarded-up windows, an hour outside of town, and when we finally arrived school was letting out. I didn’t know what I was expecting—maybe someone’s lake house or hunting cabin, but not somewhere so creepy. Cole assured me plenty of people hung out here when they skipped school, and that a few great parties had even been thrown here.

 

I didn’t discount that. On the inside, the space looked as if many generations of high school students had used it. The first thing I noticed was the layer of graffiti—hearts with initials covered every inch of the walls. There were crates and camping chairs to sit on, an assortment of plastic coolers, and even an old ping-pong table. In the corner of the room was a pile of sleeping bags and blankets, along with a box that had the words “Survival Kit” written across it in Sharpie. Inside was a collection of supplies: batteries, candles, plastic cups, a bottle opener, Band-Aids, and a flashlight.