“Oh, we’re just kidding,” Derek says. “You know we love Natalie.”
They’re still talking, but the door has creaked open, and I hear it swinging shut again over their voices. I listen as their conversation recedes down the hall, and, for a long moment, the boy and I don’t move or speak. I have a hard time even looking up at him. I don’t really care what Rachel or Derek say about me, but I’m a little embarrassed that they said it in front of a stranger I now have to talk to.
Finally I meet his eyes again, and after a long moment of silence, he dips his chin and says, “Hi.”
I laugh, but it comes out a little quiet and a little strange. Maybe that’s just because it’s dark and we’re still sitting pretty close together. “Hi.”
He holds the bottle out to me again, and I take it even though whatever’s inside it tastes disgusting. I down another sip with difficulty that I try to hide but surely don’t. His thick eyebrows quirk, and the corner of his mouth shifts up, amused, and I pass the bottle back to him.
“Keep it,” he says, leaving his hands loose in his lap. “I think you like it more than I do.”
“Oh, I doubt that,” I wheeze.
He laughs again and takes the bottle, looking at it as though trying to read the label through the paper bag. “Yeah, it’s pretty bad.”
“That’s what Satan’s pee tastes like when he has a urinary tract infection. What is that?”
“I have no idea,” he says. His voice is low and kind of slow, but in a nice way. He sounds like July to me, and I wonder where his family’s from that his accent’s a little thicker than that of most people around here. “It was a gift.”
“Ah,” I say. “Thus the wrapping paper, I guess.”
“You like that? That’s my dad—he thinks of everything.”
“Your dad gave you Satan Pee as a present? Do you want me to call child services? I have the world’s worst cell phone with me.”
He does another one of those inward laughs, where his shoulders lift and his heavy eyelids dip but he doesn’t make any real sound, and then he takes another swig.
“That really was a beautiful song. What was it?”
“I dunno,” he says, staring down at his hands with a faint grin. “Think I heard it in a Gary’s Used Auto Parts commercial or something.”
“Oh, right,” I say. “That must be where I’ve heard it too. Their commercials always move me to tears.”
The left corner of his mouth inches up, and his eyes lift up to mine, and I ignore an inclination to look away. “What were you doin’ in here anyway?” he asks.
“I happen to go to school here,” I tell him. “Or I did until today. What were you doing here?”
“Haunting,” he says, holding his arms out to his sides. The Satan Pee sloshes over the mouth of the bottle, running down his hand onto the window bay, and we both laugh and reach for the puddle, our hands fighting and failing to mop it up. “I’m sorry,” he says, looking up at me through the strands of dark hair that have fallen around his face. “I spilled whiskey all over your school. That was rude of me.”
“It’s fine,” I tell him. “Really, today was my last day. I don’t need this school anymore. Feel free to spill all over it.”
“But you’ve got it all over your hand too,” he says, and when he looks down to where my hand rests beside his, I feel my forehead and cheeks flushing. There are times I really appreciate my complexion, and this is one of them.
His gaze comes back to mine, and I straighten up, putting a more natural amount of space between us. “My friends are waiting for me,” I tell him. “I should get back.”
He nods. I hop down from the window, pulling the curtains back along their track to let the moonlight unfurl across the room. I look back at him and hesitate for a second. “Okay,” I say again, pulling at my ponytail, then head for the door.
“Hey,” he says, stopping me.
“Yeah?”
“Natalie—that’s your name?”
I nod. His face is etched with shadows, but I can still see the corners of his smile. “Natalie Cleary,” I say.
“Nice to meet you, Natalie Cleary,” he says.
“Nice to meet you too, . . . ?”
“Beau,” he tells me.
“Beau.”
He nods.
Beau.
“See you around.”
When I get back out to the parking lot, Matt Kincaid is saying the words “How ’bout Hooters?” and that’s how I know it’s time to go to bed.
“I think I’m just going to go home,” I say, and all four of them jump.
“Jesus, Natalie.” Rachel clutches her chest, and her eyelids flutter dramatically.
“Yeah, seriously, did you float here?” Derek says.
“Where were you?” Matt asks, and immediately I feel guilty. For hiding from them, for letting them look for me, and, if I’m being honest, for flirting with someone who isn’t him.
“At my locker.” I lift up my purse like it’s evidence.