“Fuck being unhappy,” I said.
“Fuck being unhappy?” John repeated, giving me a curious look.
“Yes. Absolutely.”
The side of his mouth curved upward, his gaze lingering on me. From my face to my chest and back again. In all likelihood, the boy was inwardly laughing at how red my eyes were or something. I crossed my arms over my breasts, feeling self-conscious.
A breeze blew in off the lake, cooler than before. He’d been spot-on about the benefits of sitting on top of a warm engine, and who knew muscles cars could be so comfortable?
“You don’t look like a drug dealer,” I said quietly.
“Probably a good thing. For the business, I mean. It’s a hassle if the cops know straight away you’re dealing.”
“True.” I crossed my feet at the ankles. “Think you’ll start up again?”
“No, I’m done with that.” He pushed his hair back from his face, saying nothing for a minute. “Dillon started the business; I kind of inherited part of it when he left high school. But the heavier stuff he moved on to selling, it wasn’t good.”
Mouth shut, I listened.
“You were right about the Drop Stop changing things. Part of me felt like looking at Chris was maybe like looking at what Dillon will be like before long. And then looking at Dillon made me wonder what I might be like before long.” Again, he breathed the joint in deep, letting the smoke out slowly. “So yeah. I told Dillon I was finished and moved in with my uncle.”
“You don’t live with your parents?” One of the girls had mentioned as much. Still, weird.
“Dad got a job up north,” was all he said.
I nodded. It seemed like some response was required.
“Anyway, dealing pot’s got no future. Need to figure something else out.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right,” I said, studying the shadows on his face. The girls had wondered over his sudden interest in attending school and getting an education. Guess this answered why.
We didn’t speak for a while, each busy in our own head. Funny, the lurking signs of adulthood showed in him more clearly. His height and build, the depth of his voice, and the knowledge in his eyes. He turned back to staring at the night sky. Despite the draw of him, I did likewise. It wouldn’t do to get any stupid ideas, no matter how high I flew.
Midnight came and went, my curfew broken for the first time ever. With Mom at work, it wasn’t like it much mattered. Still, the good girl would have been scared stiff of somehow getting busted. Her fears were small, stupid things. Nothing that actually mattered.
“It’s such a beautiful night. Nature and stuff is great. This is my favorite thing, watching the moon and stars.” I took my turn with the joint, not coughing quite so much this time. Talking to John came easier every moment. I don’t know if it was our recent history, the jump, or the dope. But it felt good, letting the words flow with him listening. I happy sighed. “Along with books, they’re my favorite. And cake and coffee and music and . . . movies and shopping. You’re allowed as many favorites as you need.”
“Right.”
“Your turn.”
“Hmm.” He took his go doing the illegal drug thing. “Skateboarding.”
“Yep.” I waited. “And?”
He frowned as he thought. Apparently he had fewer words to let flow. “Shooting hoops with Anders.”
Thus he had his body and I had my body, and never the two shall meet. Sad but true. “Things besides sports?”
“Movies are okay. Action, horror, stuff like that.”
“Yes, agreed. What else?”
Quiet descended while he thought. Bugs, night birds, and the breeze shaking the trees took over. Finally, he gave a long sigh. “Honestly, I spent most of my time selling weed.”
And hooking up with cheerleaders, I silently added, because jealous bitch, etcetera. “You need a new non-illegal hobby.”
“Yeah.” His eyes narrowed on the heavens. “Bet that clerk from the tech college had plans. There were hundreds of people at his funeral. I saw his girlfriend; she was devastated.”
“You went to the funeral?”
He nodded. “Seemed like the right thing to do.”
“I was taking it easy with cracked ribs and stuff.” I frowned, unsure I’d have had the courage to go even if I’d been able.
Overhead, the moon did nothing. It was dependable in that way, circling the sky all nonjudgmental like, just doing its thing. Me and the moon were great friends, especially now. It kept me company during the long, awful nights. The moon kept my secrets, telling no one how many times I woke up in a panic, covered in a cold sweat.
“What are your nightmares like?” I asked.
He turned to me, eyes dark. He didn’t speak.
“I don’t want to sleep anymore.”
A nod.
“Think of all the time we lose sleeping anyway,” I said. “It’s a waste. I mean, I love my bed, but I could do without the dreams.”
Nothing from him.
“Thanks for tonight,” I said, keeping my voice low. “This is nice.”
He smiled. “Yeah, it is.”
“We should be friends.”
Brows arched, he gave me an amused look. He had nice lips. “We are, you goose.”
And John Cole teasing me, that felt damn good too. Another feeling, however, suddenly came front and center. “God, I’m hungry.”
We went to In-and-Out Burger before he dropped me home. Even without the high, talking to him now after everything felt easy, soothing. He understood because he’d lived through it too. Was still living through it. I even got to sleep without too much tossing and turning. Best night of my life.
Sunday night . . .
Me: You awake?
My cell buzzed a minute later. “Hello?”
“Hey,” he said in a low voice. “How you doing?”
“Good. How about you? What are you up to?”
“Just give me a second.” In the background, a girl asked John who he was talking to. Guess that answered that question. He mumbled something and I heard rustling, followed by the closing of a door. Eventually, he sighed. “Sorry ’bout that.”
“No problem.” I’d interrupted his Netflix and sex session. Awesome. Go, me.
“What’d you do today?”
“Ah, I hung out with my mom. Tried to do some studying, the usual. What about you?”
“Did some work on my car. Read Catcher in the Rye.”
I snorted. “What’d you think of it?”
“Thought you were a bit harsh about it, to be honest.”
“Maybe,” I said. “Though the heart of my loud, embarrassing, and irrational rant was more fear over what idiots have done in the book’s name.”
“Can’t really blame the book for that.”
“I suppose not.” I hummed. “Apparently, it’s a trigger book for me. Because I have triggers now . . .”
“Probably to be expected.”
Silence.
“Bad dreams again?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
“The one where you’re flying, but can’t get high enough to get out of trouble? Or the one where you die instead of Isaac?”
Crap. “I told you too much last Friday.”
A soft chuckle. “You’re safe with me. I get it, okay?”