was coming from Jimmyâs truck, we hesitated at a strange sight across the field: a black Impala that resembled a stock car had some dinglehead sitting on top of the roof, his legs spread and his boots hooked into the opened windows like he was in a saddle.
Everyone was cheering him on right before someone shouted, âBust that bronc!â
The car revved its engine and . . . holy shit. It took off in a spray of dust while the fool gave a yell.
âThatâs Zachary Lowe!â Evie said.
I was trying not to let my jaw hit the ground because, somehow, our valedictorian had ended up doing rodeo tricks on a car. This wasnât like any party Iâd ever been to in town. Not that Iâd been a high school party girl, but . . . Wow.
When the Impala slammed on its breaks, Zachary went flying into a bunch of hay thatâd been set out, and a collective
âOoo!â
drowned out the music. No one moved.
âShit!â Evie whispered.
Was the smartest guy in our class dead? Paralyzed?
âZach!â Jimmy Holland, with his ranch-boy shoulders and plaid shirt, dove toward the idiot in the hay.
But when Zachary bounded up like a jack-in-the-box, his hands above his head in a victory cheer, everyone pumped their fists and drank their beer.
Evie pulled me toward the keg. âGood God. Iâve gotta get drunk.â
âYou think beerâs going to top that?â
âItâll ease the surreal nature of our surroundings, thatâs a guarantee.â
As we approached the keg, we were spotted by a bunch of kids I knew but didnât really know. Theyâd eaten at the tables on the opposite side of the high school cafeteria. Theyâd gone to parties after the football gamesâthe ones that standoffish girls like me and Evie never knew about until the next day at school, when gossip made its rounds. Theyâd worked after school on their familyâs ranches or farms while Evie and I had stuck around town, doing chores in our homes or parentsâ businesses.
âLook hereâthe brain squad!â shouted a guy I recognized from the football team whoâd graduated a few years ago. Heâd been a receiver, one of Rexâs favorite targets when my ex was a boy-wonder freshman whoâd made second-string varsity. Jefferson Mayes, with his short, curly black hair covered by a Stetson.
The moonlight danced over his dark skin. âFirst came Zachary, then you two. Is there a message on some nerd web page about making up for lost party time?â
âNo,â Evie said, accepting a Solo cup from a kid in a Texas Rangers cap whoâd been on the baseball team and sat in the back of my English classâReese Darnell. âWe nerds have a hive mind, so we know one anotherâs thoughts.â
Blank looks from the ânecks.
âNo one watches
Star Trek
?â Evie asked.
Some of them coughed, saying ânerdâ at the same time, but they did it teasingly, not cruelly.
Reese Darnell smiled shyly at me, like he kind-of-sort-of recognized me. No surprise, since I was taller, slimmer, and curvier now. My hair was longer and swimming poolâblonder than itâd been senior year, too, since Iâd taken a swimming class last semester. He started to fill a cup from the keg, but I asked for water from a nearby container instead. In the background, another rider was all set to go on the Impala, which revved its engine, gearing up for a second drunk to go flying.
Jefferson shook his head and hopped onto the truckâs tailgate. âHow long before someone gets himself killed over there?â
âJimmyâll stop it from happening,â another farm boy said. I didnât know who he was but I was pretty sure he was older than we were, based on his scruffy beard and an air of not really belonging. As a matter of fact, the more I looked around, it seemed that this was a more âmatureâ party that had landed
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