I hadn’t meant to go to the party that night. I really hadn’t. My mom’s back pain had been flaring that week. Worse than ever, and it scared me to see her like that—writhing helplessly, unable to get out of bed even to use the bathroom. I fretted and tried dragging her to the ER; hell, there was only so much I could do, no matter what she said about those doctors, how they looked down on her and made her feel like crap for needing help. For needing anything.
She wasn’t having it, though, and after going a few rounds with me, she ordered me to leave the house. To go be with Rose and not come home until morning. I tried to protest—she’d never kicked me out before—but I wasn’t dumb. My mom was forever warning me off sex, despite my swearing up and down I wasn’t doing it. But that never stopped her from lecturing me on the subject, always at times when I was least interested in hearing about it.
“You can ruin a girl,” she’d hiss at me, “without even knowing it. That’s what boys don’t understand. They don’t understand anything. They think nothing of their few seconds of thrusting, and then they’re gone. Onto the next one. The girl forgotten. But she’ll remember, Ben. It’s in her nature to be changed by that, to let someone else inside of her.” It always made me shudder to hear how gross I was for ruining Rose’s body or whatever—although when had I ever forgotten her?—but when my mom went off like that, the best thing I could do was smile and nod and pray she didn’t bring Jesus into it, like she would’ve if Marcus had still been around.
The point is, my mother’s pushing me to spend the night with a girl she hated let me know very clearly who she’d be inviting over to the house once I was gone and why. And, look, you can spare me the sanctimonious lectures on enabling and addiction. I’m neither stupid nor willfully ignorant, but I don’t make it a habit to police my mother’s choices. Pain is always personal. I should know that better than anyone.
So I left, and by the time I got over to the Richards’ farm, the place was packed. I had to park the Ford in the far pasture, way past the barn where the horses slept, and close to the waterline in a low spot slick with mud. Then I made my way back toward the main house. Everyone was crowded outside on the back patio because Connie Richard wisely didn’t want her parents returning to a trashed home. Walking up the drive, I witnessed my classmates doing the things they always did when they found themselves out of reach of adult awareness: laughing, shouting, drinking, fucking, whatever.
Bad music blared from a blown speaker, the air reeked of alfalfa dust, and that night there was a weight on my chest so heavy it almost got me to turn around and sink myself in the river. No one would miss me; I hadn’t told Rose I’d changed my mind about coming—or really, had it changed for me—because autonomy equaled pride and getting kicked out of my own house so that my mom’s dealer could drop by was wholehearted shame.
I made a beeline for the keg instead. I must’ve looked desperate, because Walt Nunez, who lived two doors down from me, shoved a beer in my hand even before pouring his own. Then he peeled away from the crowd to stand with me in the dark beneath a giant willow tree.
“Cheers,” I said, before gulping half the beer and ignoring the foam spilling down my arm.
“Cheers.” Walt watched me drink before taking his own sip. “Rose is here, you know.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“I don’t see you much without her these days.”
“I don’t see you much at all.”
Walt’s eyes widened, like I was being an asshole or something. That wasn’t my intent, and my first impulse was to apologize—it always was—but I resisted. Drank more instead.
“You having a good time?” I asked after a moment.
He shrugged. “Not really. It’s been kind of a shit year. Guess that makes tonight kind of a shit night.”
I nodded. Once Teyber Union’s prized defensive back, Walt had torn his MCL during a losing game that fall, tearing more than one heart in the process, along with his Division I dreams. Multiple surgeries later and no more football meant he’d gained a good twenty pounds since. Walt and I had never been close, despite our proximity, but even I knew there was nothing about his current situation that wasn’t depressing as hell. I caught sight of him every now and then, limping around school, around the neighborhood, with his eyes dull and his head hung low. More than anything, he’d come to resemble a shelter dog nearing the end of its days, and it was hard sometimes, not to look away.
“Want to smoke?” he asked brightly, tapping the breast pocket of his shirt.
“Sure,” I said, because that was the easiest answer. It was Humboldt, after all, and smoking meant weed not tobacco. Walt’s eyes lit up at my agreement, making me wonder if the cause of his newfound moroseness wasn’t so much that he could no longer play a game he loved, but that no one had a reason to hang out with him anymore.
We walked back down the hill toward the rows of cars. I sat in the front seat of his truck while Walt rolled a joint on the knee of his jeans—his good knee, although I couldn’t tell you why he bothered. Then we got high together. It was a soft, lazy high that didn’t take me anywhere I hadn’t already gone but which made the stars loom large and my heart ache less.
The air inside the truck remained crisp, our breath mingling with the weed. Walt put music on—he didn’t seem to want to talk—and after a moment, I closed my eyes, rested my head against the seat back. The weight on my chest didn’t ease, but I’d stopped caring. Not caring was easier, a languid release, and there was a word, I realized, for my preferred mode of travel along the path of least resistance; it was called surrender.
Someone tapped on my window, making me jump. My eyes flew open and I turned my head. Saw nothing.
“What the fuck?” Walt growled.
I shoved the truck’s door open, letting in the night breeze and the crappy thud of the bass from the music playing up the hill. I’d placed one foot down on solid ground when Rose sprang from the darkness with a roar. She bounced against me hard, a feral girl, then fell into my arms, bubbling over with laughter.
“Ben!” she exclaimed. Her eyes were brighter than I’d ever seen, her pupils like saucers. “Come on!”
“Shhh,” I told her.
“Don’t shush me.”
“I’m not shushing you.”
“You just did.”
“It’s just . . . your voice, it’s kind of loud right now.”
“My voice is loud?”
“Not in a bad way,” I said quickly.
“Uh-huh.” She took a step back from me. Put her hands on her narrow hips. “Well, you need to tell me where you’ve been. Tomás said he saw you pull in over half an hour ago, but I haven’t seen you anywhere. You didn’t even text me.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I didn’t ask if you were sorry.”
“Walt and I were just hanging out.”
“Walt?”
“Nunez.”
“Oh.” Rose made a sound of impatience. She clearly didn’t care what I’d been doing. “Well, come on. They’re waiting.”
“Who’s waiting?”