Damon tried to relax. He watched the sky and held on to the forty that dripped dew into his palm. The sky he could see was so minimal. That deep in the canyon, it was all just trees. He could hear the creek splashing along in the darkness down below. Over the edge of the deck, there was nothing, and he felt like an astronaut, staring down the kind of black that didn’t end. It was some spooky shit. If he tried to bring his horses, they’d be like, Fuck no, you can stay, we’re getting up out of this bitch.
He started picking at the label on the bottle. He held it up to his face and scratched at it with his fingernail. Shit stuck to his fingers, but he got a few good strips off and shook them onto the deck. Like Lance said, living in the moment. His boys kept up the conversation and the braces girl blushed in his direction and the night was fine (but the air kinda tingly and strange, a rim of a cloud at the edge of the sky) and everything was chill. And then out of nowhere the rain came down.
—
Hammered them like a motherfucker.
They ran inside. Damon and Ryan were fastest and claimed the two white couches in the living room while Nick went to handle the stereo. Ryan took the shorter one, but the girls flocked around him in two seconds, even the braces girl from the deck, and the ones that didn’t make it sat around him on the floor. Most were freshmen and sophomores, but there were a few juniors too—like Emma Fleed, who was short and on the thick side actually, but okay looking, and pretty much DTF with whoever but especially Ryan. And he had the hottest freshman, little Asian-looking chick Emily, perched on the edge by his head and Damon gave him a look like Get there.
Damon’s head and face were wet from the rain. He grabbed a fuzzy white blanket from the back of his couch and rubbed its soft face on his. “Fuck, I gotta get me one a these,” he said. “This shit is the bomb.”
“Ima get one a these couches in my dorm room,” Ryan said. “And put like cozy-ass shit all over it. Ima have all the bitches up in there.”
“What dorm room?” Damon said.
“Fuckin’ college?” Ryan said. “Hello?”
“You’re going to college,” Damon said, and laughed.
“Fuck yeah I’m going to college. My grandpa’s on the board at Pepperdine. Know where that is? Malibu, motherfucker. Ima do my classes at the beach.”
Damon’s heart began to disturb his ribs. Like, When the fuck did this happen? He tried to have his face not show it.
After Ryan, everyone started bragging. Jonas Everett was going to CU Boulder to snowboard. Nick could get in anywhere, everyone said so, but wanted something in The City. Abigail Cress was talking East Coast Ivy League. Dave Chu had scraped the SAT and seemed pretty sure about Berkeley. Emma Fleed had some dance thing in New York. They all knew their GPAs by heart. Took the SAT two, three times already.
Like, When the fuck did this happen?
Out the window the beach kids were crazy dancing in the middle of the storm. Cally Broderick and this hot piece Alessandra Ryding and these weird-ass hippie dudes he knew but didn’t know. They all were soaking wet and the girls’ shirts turning see-through like some kinda magic and it was a good distraction from the inside conversation, Alessandra’s little brown nipples and Cally’s broader pink ones perking through as they spread their arms and licked the sky. Were they going to college too? he wondered. Were they in this secret get-your-shit-together club like everyone but him?
No one had talked to Damon about the SAT. His parents had talked a couple times about the community college that was fifteen minutes away. And he’d said, “Whatever.” Who cared about college, anyway. Sounded boring as fuck.
Now he saw it. Everyone was going but he was not. This was the last big party of the year. It was gonna be summer, then senior year. It wasn’t too late to apply to places, but D’s and C-minuses weren’t getting him anywhere good. Plus three years of summer school. Getting wrapped. Going to rehab. Not even taking the SAT—was it too late? Could he take it in September? He was so far behind already.
He was an idiot. The fuck did it matter if he did this little homework assignment or that one. Big deal he could stay sober for twelve weeks. Like that meant anything to anyone.
There was one year left before his friends left him behind. Even Ryan, who wasn’t any smarter than him—Damon always thought they’d get an apartment together, hang out and host functions and get all the girls from there to Terra Linda with no problems. And have the time of their lives. But no. Ryan out of nowhere was going to some school on a L.A. movie set. Ryan all of a sudden had a plan. Now he was talking about going to visit. Talking actress girls everywhere, hot tub parties, bonfires on the beach.
What was Damon working so hard for? Since rehab he’d been torturing himself, for what? He cocked the forty to his lips and drank until he felt like his gut and heart and lungs were full of it. Wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Let’s get housed!” he yelled, and all around him a cheer went up.
—