He ended up drinking more beer than he should, getting pulled into the lake by a bunch of guys from the wrestling team, and missing the moment when Fern left. He saw the Sheen's old blue van pull away, crunching across the gravel, and he felt a twist of regret slice through him.
He was wet and mad and a little drunk–and not enjoying himself at all. He stood next to the fire trying to squeeze the water from his clothes, and he wondered if the regret he felt over Fern was just his way of digging in his heels at the last moment, grabbing for something to hold onto as his old life slipped away and the future dawned, scary and new.
He let the fire dry the worst of the wet from his jeans and T-shirt and let the conversation flow around him. The flames looked like Fern's hair. He cursed aloud, causing Beans to pause in the middle of introducing a new game. He stood up abruptly, knocking the flimsy lawn chair over, and walked away from the fire, knowing he should just leave, knowing he wasn't himself. He was such an idiot. He'd twiddled his thumbs all summer long with not a damn thing to do. Now here he was, the night before his last day in town, and he was just discovering that he might like a girl who had all but thrown herself at him more than six months before.
He was parked at the top of the hill, and the cars that were nestled close to his were empty. Good. He could just sneak away. He was miserable, his crotch was wet, his shirt was stiff, and he was all partied out. He headed up the hill only to stop in his tracks. Fern was picking her way down the path to the lake. She was back. She smiled as she approached him and fingered a strand of her hair that had come loose and was curling against her neck.
“Bailey left his ball cap, and I offered to come back for it after I dropped him off. And I wanted to say goodbye. I got to talk to Paulie and Grant, but I didn't get to talk to you. I hope it's okay if I write you sometimes. I would want people to write me . . . if I were leaving . . . which I probably never will, but you know,” she was growing more nervous as she spoke, and Ambrose realized he hadn't said a word. He'd just stared at her.
“Yeah. Yeah, I'd like that,” he rushed to put her at ease. He ran his fingers through his long damp hair. Tomorrow the hair would go. His dad said he'd shave it off for him. No use waiting until Monday. He hadn't had short hair since Bailey Sheen told him he looked like Hercules.
“You're all wet.” She smiled. “You should probably go back by the fire.”
“You wanna stick around, maybe talk for a minute?” Ambrose asked. He smiled like it was no big deal, but his heart pounded like she was the first girl he had ever talked to. He wished suddenly that he'd had a few more beers to take the edge off.
“Are you drunk?” Fern narrowed her eyes at him, reading his thoughts. It made Ambrose sad that she thought he wouldn't want her around unless he was smashed.
“Hey Ambrose! Fern! Come 'ere! We're starting a new game. We need a couple more players,” Beans called out from where he crouched by the fire.
Fern walked forward, excited that she was being included. Beans hadn't been exactly nice to Fern through the years. He usually ignored girls he didn't think were good looking. Ambrose followed a little more slowly. He didn't want to play stupid games, and if Beans was running the show, it was sure to be mean or stupid.
It turned out the new game wasn't new at all. It was the same old version of spin the bottle they'd been playing since they were thirteen and needed an excuse to kiss the girl sitting next to them. But Fern seemed intent on the whole thing, her brown eyes wide and her hands clenched in her lap. Ambrose realized she probably hadn't ever played spin the bottle. It wasn't like she came to any of their parties. She hadn't been invited. Plus, she was the pastor's daughter. She probably hadn't ever done half the things everyone else sitting around the fire had done, multiple times. Ambrose laid his head in his hands, hoping Beans wasn't going to do something that would embarrass Fern or make it necessary to beat the shit out of him. He really didn't want that strain on their relationship heading into boot camp.
When the bottle landed on Fern, Ambrose held his breath. Beans whispered to the girl beside him, the girl who had spun the bottle. Ambrose glowered at Beans and waited for the axe to fall.
“Truth or dare, Fern?” Beans taunted. Fern seemed petrified of either one. As she should be. She bit her lip as twelve pairs of eyes watched her grapple with the choice.
“Truth!” she blurted out. Ambrose relaxed. Truth was easier. Plus, you could always lie.
Beans whispered again, and the girl giggled.
“Did you, or did you not, write love letters to Ambrose last year and pretend they were from Rita?”