But I don’t really feel like going to a party. Sitting alone in someone else’s house getting wasted doesn’t sound that good to me for once. I’m thinking maybe I’ll stay in instead, work on my comic for a while, when my phone rings.
My first thought is that it’s Zoe, and I shake my head at the hopeful feeling in my chest. I really am turning into a pussy. When I see that it’s Preston, I groan. I don’t want him to know how much time I’ve been spending with Zoe or how I’m starting to feel about her. He’s been bugging me to hang out now that Fred is home, and if I keep putting him off he’ll get curious. A curious Preston no good for anyone. I answer my phone.
“Hey, man,” he says. “Where’ve you been?”
“Around. Working. You know.”
“Right, right. So, you going to that party at Jeff’s?”
“Nah, man, I’m not in the mood.”
“Dude, don’t be a dick. I’ve been home three weeks, and I’ve only seen you once. It’s like you’ve disappeared this summer.”
I bite back a curse. I know that Preston is mostly just looking for someone who parties as hard as he does. Preston is your typical frat boy, has been since long before he actually joined a frat. Few of his friends can keep up the way I can. It’s pretty much only this fact that’s kept us friends for all these years. Along with Fred, he’s one of the few ball players who didn’t ditch me when I quit the team. But while Fred stuck around because he actually cared, Preston did because he liked that I was now spending so much time drinking and that I’d suddenly found a source for weed.
“Fine, I’ll go,” I say. “Meet you in twenty minutes?”
“Cool, man. Sounds good. Fred coming too?”
“Probably.”
I hang up and text Fred, letting him know we have plans with Preston for the evening. He texts back a string of expletives, not being much of a fan of Preston, but agrees to come get me.
Before I jump in the shower, I send Zoe a quick text to let her know where I’ll be if she ends up being free. As I do, I have the sinking realization that I’m participating in textbook boyfriend behavior but try to push that thought out of my mind.
Half an hour later, Fred and I walk through the front door of Jeff’s parents’ house. We see Jeff as soon as we set foot in the foyer.
“Fred, bro, what’s up?” he calls out. He doesn’t acknowledge me, and I smirk. Jeff is one of the assholes who never forgave me for quitting the team when we had a chance at the state title. Jeff is also totally afraid of me, has been ever since senior year when he saw me beat the hell out of Todd Huntington, another little shit who was giving me a hard time about quitting the team. I could give a fuck what he thinks about me. It’s not going to stop me from availing myself of the fine booze in his dad’s liquor cabinet.
We run into Preston in the kitchen, and he and Fred do that half-hug handshake thing guys do. “Good to see you man. School good?” Preston asks Fred, glancing at me like he’s scared he’ll hurt my feelings or something. I grit my teeth. He’s always pulling shit like that, acting like I’m too fragile to hear about their college experiences. Like I give a shit.
“I’m getting a drink,” I say, looking around for the keg.
“Nah, man,” Preston says, grinning. “I have tequila downstairs and the pool table reserved. Come on.”
I’m not really in the mood for tequila, or the way it will make me feel in the morning, but it seems like as good an option as any so I follow the guys down to the billiards room. Jeff’s house is pretty much a carbon copy of Preston’s, as are most of the McMansions on this side of the neighborhood. Whenever I complain about this conformity Fred laughs and calls me a poor little rich boy. Like my parents’ money has ever done me any good.
Preston has a pair of girls sitting on the pool table fending off those who would want to play. I try to keep my irritation at bay as he thanks them, kissing them both just below the ear and sending them off with his smarmy little smile. “Not bad,” he mutters, watching as they walk away.
“A little young, don’t you think?” Fred asks. “What are they, high school seniors?”
Preston shrugs. “Who cares? They’re hot.”
I pick up a cue. “One day you’re going to get mixed up with a girl that’s a little too young.”
He grins widely. “Ain’t no such thing.”
“I’ll remember that when I’m called as a character witness for your harassment trial.”
“Are you going to break, or what?” Fred asks, and we start playing, me against Preston with Fred taking the winner. They both pound the tequila, but I lay off a bit. I’m hoping Zoe ends up getting out of the house tonight, and I want to be conscious if that happens.
I beat Preston easily. He jumps up on the counter of the wet bar to watch as Fred sets up the balls to break. “So, where’ve you been, man?” he asks me. “You got a chick or something?”
I bristle at that and give Fred a look, hoping he gets the hint. I don’t want to talk about Zoe with Preston.
But it’s too late; Preston points at me. “I saw that look,” he says. “There is a chick, isn’t there? Who is it?”
I take my shot, sinking the six ball before standing up to lean on my cue. “Her name is Zoe. I don’t think you know her.”
“That chick from my party?” he asks, and I grimace. I forgot that we’d talked about her the following day.
“Yeah.”
“Wow, dude. Well done. She’s hot. Hey, you think you can hook me up with that Ellie chick? I’ve been dying to hit that for weeks.”
Out of the corner of my eye I see Fred tense over his cue and miss his shot completely. I’ve been getting a vibe from him that he might like Ellie, but I figured he was too scared of her to do anything about it. Not that I blame him—she could kick either of our asses. “I don’t think so, man,” I say. “She thinks you’re a rich asshole.”
That relaxes Fred, and Preston scowls. “Her friend doesn’t mind that you’re a rich asshole,” Preston says.
I shrug. “I guess I have more charm.”
Fred laughs behind me, and I turn back to the table, hoping that’s the end of the conversation.
“So are you like, into her? Is it serious?”
I glare at Preston. “Seriously, dude? Are we gonna play truth or dare next?”
He crosses his arms. “I’m just surprised, is all. You never hang out with the same girl for more than a few nights. If you’re getting serious about someone, I would have thought you’d pick someone you could take home to your parents.”
I straighten to my full height. “What the hell does that mean?”
“Oh, come on, Jet. Like your parents won’t have a heart attack if you bring that girl home. I can just see your mother asking her about the best places to find diamonds for her nose ring.”
Fred catches my eye and shakes his head a little. His meaning is clear: not worth it. He has a point. Defending Zoe would just prove to Preston that we were serious, and I really do not need him spreading that around. Preston is a bona fide shit stirrer, and I don’t want him anywhere near my relationship with Zoe.
“We’re just having fun, man,” I say. “No big deal.”
He grins again. “You hit that?”
I make a noise in the back of my throat and turn my back on him, done with the conversation.
He only laughs. “When did you turn into such a gentleman?”
“Whatever, man.”
Much to my relief, he drops it after that. Fred switches to water, leaving the bottle to Preston, and we play a few more games of pool, Preston easier to beat the more tequila he drinks. Eventually one of the girls from earlier comes over under the guise of wanting to watch him play. She giggles at everything he says, and it really gets on my nerves.
“I’m out, man,” I finally say. “Last game for me.”
“What about you?” Preston says to the girl, wiggling his eyebrows at her in a way she apparently finds charming. “You play pool?”
�
�I don’t know how,” she says, twirling her hair around her finger.
I resist the urge to gag.
“I’ll teach you,” Preston says.
“See you around.” Fred and I both wave and walk away. “You wanna get out of here?” I ask him.
“Hell yeah,” he says. “These parties have really lost their appeal.”
“Yeah,” I say, thinking about the last few times we’d hung out with Zoe and her friends. We’d spent a few hours in Everett’s living room the previous Thursday, playing poker and drinking beer. It had been a fun, chill night, even though Ellie had beaten us all handily.
It’s only eleven when we make our way outside, but Fred tells me he’s calling it a night. “I have to work tomorrow. I went in hungover Friday. It’d be nice to go to bed sober tonight.”
“You don’t want to get some food or something?” As much as I’m ready to leave the party, I don’t relish the idea of going back home. My mom will surely still be awake, and she’ll be pissed if I don’t stop in to say goodnight. Of course, she’ll be pissed if I do stop in to say goodnight. I’m not sure if I can handle seeing her tonight.
“I guess we could hit up the Burrito Barn,” he says, a hopeful note in his voice, and I wonder if he thinks he might catch Ellie there. Before I can agree, my phone buzzes. It’s a text from Zoe and her face scowls up at me—she’d refused to smile when I demanded she let me take her picture for the contact.
Hey, you still out? Wanna meet up?
“Or we could call it a night,” I tell Fred, looking at him hopefully.
He laughs. “Tell Zoe I say ‘hi.’”
I grin and return to my phone. I’m heading home. I can come pick you up.
We’re practically at my house by the time she replies. I’m already on my way. See you in a few.
I frown, not liking the idea of her walking in the dark. It’s a good twenty minutes on foot. Fred pulls up in front of my house. “Later, man.”
I get out and go straight to my car, hoping my mom won’t be looking out the window. I find Zoe a few blocks away, her head down, her hands stuffed into her pockets. I slow beside her, and she looks up at me.
It’s clear that she’s been crying. I have the strongest urge to hug her and hit someone all at the same time. Whoever made her cry deserves a punch in the face. Without being aware of deciding to do so, I jump out of the car and pull her into my arms. “What happened?” I demand. “Are you okay?”
She’s shaking slightly, but I feel her nod against my chest. “I’m fine.” Her voice is muffled. I lean back to look down at her and gasp—her face is red and swollen along her cheek bone. Like someone hit her.
“Who did that?” I ask, my voice low. My hands are shaking, and I swear I actually see red. I haven’t been this angry in a long time, and I don’t care. I just want to know whose ass I’ll be kicking.
“It’s fine,” she says, looking down as she pulls away. “Can we just go?”
“Zoe—”
She wiggles out of my arms and walks around the car to the passenger door. I curse loudly and follow her, jumping into my seat so I can look at her full in the face. “Zoe, who did that?”
“It doesn’t matter.” She stares straight out the window.
“Your mom?”
She shakes her head slightly and my stomach clenches. “Your step-dad?”
She doesn’t respond, and I feel the air leave my lungs. “I’m going to kill him.”
“No,” she says, her voice suddenly strong. “You’re not going to do that because that would mean we’d have to go back there. And I don’t want to go back there tonight.” She finally turns to face me, and I’m surprised to see fire in her eyes. She no longer looks scared or embarrassed—she looks fierce.
“I called you because tonight really, really sucked. And all I could think about was getting out of there. And when I thought about where I should go, where I would go if I could go anywhere, I thought of you. Please, Taylor.”
Well, what the hell can I say to that? I nod once, closing my eyes and taking deep breaths through my nose. My hands are still shaking, my vision still clouded. I’m used to feeling like this. Ever since Jim I’ve had what my probation officer calls “anger issues.” It’s landed me in a lot of trouble, including a short stint in jail two years ago.
It takes me a minute to realize Zoe is rubbing the backs of my hands, her fingers light and soothing. I let out a shaky laugh. “You shouldn’t be comforting me.”
“You’re upset,” she says simply.
I turn to face her. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
She nods. “Can we please just go to your place?”
I need another minute before I’m ready to drive. I’m relieved we’re only a few blocks away. I just want to put my arms around her.
The lights are all off now in the main house, and I breathe a sigh of relief as I pull up to the curb. I jump out of the car and run around the front so I can get her door. When I take her arm to help her out of the car, she makes a scathing noise in the back of her throat.
“I’m perfectly capable of walking,” she tells me.
I shove my hands into my pockets, a little surprised by the visceral reaction I’m experiencing. If it were up to me I’d pick her up and carry her up the stairs to my place. I hate the idea of someone hurting her, of someone stronger than her putting his hands on her. I want to protect her with everything in me.
I don’t tell her any of this. She’d probably just call me a loser.
When we’re upstairs, I finally pull her close. I sink into the couch, setting her in my lap and wrapping my arms around her. “Please tell me what happened.”
She sighs. “It’s not as bad as it seems. It was just a shitty night.”
I swallow. “Does he do this often?”
She shakes her head firmly. “No. I swear, Taylor. It’s not like that.”
“What’s it like then?”
She’s quiet for a moment before she continues. “My mother has…episodes. And when she does, he drinks a lot. Tonight was one of those nights.”
I have to take my hands off her. My anger is so strong I’m afraid I might hurt her. “So it’s okay he hit you because he was drunk?”
“Of course not.” She sighs again, obviously not eager to talk about this. “I had just gotten my mom to eat something, she was doing a little better. And then he came home, totally wasted, and started yelling about the mess in the house. Then he got…he got nasty with her. About her…condition. Then she—there was a lot of yelling.”
I close my eyes. I had no idea things were so bad at her house.
“Anyway, I eventually got her settled down, and the next thing I know he goes barging down the hall to their room. Said his buddy was coming to get him to go to the bar, and he wanted to change. But I’d just gotten her to sleep, and I didn’t want him making a scene and upsetting her. So I grabbed his arm to stop him. I just didn’t want him to wake her…”
She trails off, and I tense. “So he hit you?”
“He pushed me off. I don’t think he knew how close I was standing. He got me with the back of his hand.”
“Zoe, that is not okay—”
“I know it’s not okay, Taylor.” She sounds pissed suddenly, her voice tight. “It’s awful. Everything about that house is awful, okay? But it usually doesn’t go that far, and there’s not a lot I can do about it. So what’s the point of going over and over it? I want to forget it.”
“You shouldn’t be there. You should be in a place of your own.”
“Not an option,” she says flatly. “Drop it.”
“Zoe—”
“I swear to God, Taylor, if you don’t drop it I’m out of here.” I can hear in her voice how serious she is. “I came over here because I had a shitty night and I thought you might make me feel better. Is that something you’re interested in, or do you want to lecture me some more?”
“I’m not lecturing you.” She just looks at me, clearly unconvinced. “F
ine. Dropping it. Are you hungry?”
“Food would be great.”
We slide off the couch and head to the kitchenette. Since Zoe has been hanging out here so much I’ve been stocking more food in my own fridge. I still shop for the main house, but I’m determined that Zoe will never set foot in there again.
I open the fridge. “What do you feel like?”
“Do we still have that Chinese from the other night?” I don’t tell her how much I like hearing her say “we,” as if the contents of my fridge are equally hers, as if she feels at home here. Instead I get out the cartons of food while she rummages through a drawer for the chopsticks. “You want beer?” she asks, and grabs us each a can from the fridge before I can respond.
We curl up on the couch with our food, and she asks me about my night. I tell her about the party, and she frowns. “I don’t get why you hang out with that guy,” she says, meaning Preston. “You don’t seem to like him too much.”
“I don’t hang out with him that much. He’s just an old friend.”
She doesn’t seem convinced. “He stuck around after Jim. He wasn’t as supportive as Fred, but he was still there. So when he comes home in the summer we hang out sometimes.”
She’s quiet next to me, and I wonder what she’s thinking. “It’s weird, isn’t it?” she finally asks. “How everything feels different when they come home from school.”
“When who comes home?”
She shrugs a little. “Everyone. Just, like, all the kids we grew up with who went away. They come home with all their new stories and friends and experiences and…I don’t know. It just feels weird to me.”
I remember the first night we met, our discussion in Preston’s basement. She had told me that she hated the summer. I hadn’t thought of it much—I’d been too distracted by my own negative feelings about the season, but now I wonder why.
“Did you want to go away to school?”
She doesn’t respond for so long that I think she’ll ignore the question. But then she breathes out, so softly that I can barely hear it, and says, “I was supposed to go to U of M with my best friend, Grace.”
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