holidays and pulling chairs
out and wearing ties.
His ambition was to be president, and
he always said if you wanted to be
president the first step was looking like one.
Granted, I’d also dressed very differently
then. Yes, I’d had skirts and blazers and
pumps and even brooches for my neck
scarves. I’d boxed all of it up and left it at
Mom’s house when I’d moved into my
dorm room this year. No need for any of
that anymore. I’d quit all the clubs I’d been
in, even Student Council, much to the
dismay of nearly everyone there. Mostly
because I kept the minutes and no one else
wanted to do it.
“So what’s your story, Joscelyn Archer?”
Dusty said as he pulled out behind Taylor’s
Charger. “Have you always had that chip on
your shoulder, or is it new?”
Why the hell did he care?
“What’s your story, Dustin Sharp?
Renee’s never mentioned you before.”
Instead of turning on the radio, he made his
own music by tapping on the steering wheel
and making snare drum sounds with his
mouth. I was beginning to think he had
ADHD. It would explain a lot.
“I bet yours is more interesting than
mine,” he said, turning to look at me. I
stared out the window, pretending to be
fascinated with the houses that passed by.
“Okay, fine. You win,” he said when I
didn’t answer. “Let’s just say I wasn’t always
this good-looking and talented. I, uh, got
myself into a lot of trouble when I was
younger, if you can believe that.” Could I?
You bet.
“And I screwed up a lot and then
something happened to me to…yeah, this
part sounds lame, but something happened
to put things in perspective, you know? And
I stopped screwing around, and I started
actually giving a shit about what I wanted to
do with my life.”
“And how did you become buddies with
Hunter?” That was what I was most curious
about.
“I met Hunter in one of my classes, and,
for lack of a better, more masculine term,
we formed a bromance. We see each other
all the time now, since he changed his
major. So, yeah. That’s my rambling and
completely weird story.”
It wasn’t what I’d expected, but before I
could answer he was pulling into the
parking lot.
“So, on the way back it’s your turn,
Red.”
This time I opened the door myself
before he could get around the car.
Dinner was…interesting.
Everyone—except me and Dusty—greased
their wheels with the wide selection of beer
on tap.
Even though Taylor wasn’t of age,
Hunter just ordered two glasses at a time
and handed her one when the waiter
wasn’t looking. I didn’t even bother to try
that, because Renee’s eyes were on me the
entire time. She kept herself to one beer,
but I knew from experience that she could
pound them back when she wanted.
The more alcohol the group consumed,
the dirtier the stories got. Renee kept trying
to shush them, as if they were going to
poison my precious ears. Like it wasn’t
anything I’d heard already. I’d been in
college before. I also had the sneaking
suspicion they’d been on their best
behavior with me in the house.
“Oh, my God, do you remember that
time I walked in on you in the shower?”
Mase said to Renee.
“No, I cannot recall,” she said, becoming
really interested in the half-devoured onion
blossom. “But even if I did, that doesn’t
mean it’s the kind of story one would tell in
front of one’s impressionable younger
sister.” Her words were sharp as knives and
I think Mase and everyone else got the
message.
Then there was one of those silent
moments where everyone is super
uncomfortable and doesn’t know what to
say. It stretched out until Dusty cleared his
throat loudly and then made a whistling
sound like an airplane diving and then
crashing in a giant explosion. It was pretty
accurate-sounding and made everyone
laugh nervously. Our waiter chose that
moment to come over and ask if anyone
wanted more drinks. I got myself
out and wearing ties.
His ambition was to be president, and
he always said if you wanted to be
president the first step was looking like one.
Granted, I’d also dressed very differently
then. Yes, I’d had skirts and blazers and
pumps and even brooches for my neck
scarves. I’d boxed all of it up and left it at
Mom’s house when I’d moved into my
dorm room this year. No need for any of
that anymore. I’d quit all the clubs I’d been
in, even Student Council, much to the
dismay of nearly everyone there. Mostly
because I kept the minutes and no one else
wanted to do it.
“So what’s your story, Joscelyn Archer?”
Dusty said as he pulled out behind Taylor’s
Charger. “Have you always had that chip on
your shoulder, or is it new?”
Why the hell did he care?
“What’s your story, Dustin Sharp?
Renee’s never mentioned you before.”
Instead of turning on the radio, he made his
own music by tapping on the steering wheel
and making snare drum sounds with his
mouth. I was beginning to think he had
ADHD. It would explain a lot.
“I bet yours is more interesting than
mine,” he said, turning to look at me. I
stared out the window, pretending to be
fascinated with the houses that passed by.
“Okay, fine. You win,” he said when I
didn’t answer. “Let’s just say I wasn’t always
this good-looking and talented. I, uh, got
myself into a lot of trouble when I was
younger, if you can believe that.” Could I?
You bet.
“And I screwed up a lot and then
something happened to me to…yeah, this
part sounds lame, but something happened
to put things in perspective, you know? And
I stopped screwing around, and I started
actually giving a shit about what I wanted to
do with my life.”
“And how did you become buddies with
Hunter?” That was what I was most curious
about.
“I met Hunter in one of my classes, and,
for lack of a better, more masculine term,
we formed a bromance. We see each other
all the time now, since he changed his
major. So, yeah. That’s my rambling and
completely weird story.”
It wasn’t what I’d expected, but before I
could answer he was pulling into the
parking lot.
“So, on the way back it’s your turn,
Red.”
This time I opened the door myself
before he could get around the car.
Dinner was…interesting.
Everyone—except me and Dusty—greased
their wheels with the wide selection of beer
on tap.
Even though Taylor wasn’t of age,
Hunter just ordered two glasses at a time
and handed her one when the waiter
wasn’t looking. I didn’t even bother to try
that, because Renee’s eyes were on me the
entire time. She kept herself to one beer,
but I knew from experience that she could
pound them back when she wanted.
The more alcohol the group consumed,
the dirtier the stories got. Renee kept trying
to shush them, as if they were going to
poison my precious ears. Like it wasn’t
anything I’d heard already. I’d been in
college before. I also had the sneaking
suspicion they’d been on their best
behavior with me in the house.
“Oh, my God, do you remember that
time I walked in on you in the shower?”
Mase said to Renee.
“No, I cannot recall,” she said, becoming
really interested in the half-devoured onion
blossom. “But even if I did, that doesn’t
mean it’s the kind of story one would tell in
front of one’s impressionable younger
sister.” Her words were sharp as knives and
I think Mase and everyone else got the
message.
Then there was one of those silent
moments where everyone is super
uncomfortable and doesn’t know what to
say. It stretched out until Dusty cleared his
throat loudly and then made a whistling
sound like an airplane diving and then
crashing in a giant explosion. It was pretty
accurate-sounding and made everyone
laugh nervously. Our waiter chose that
moment to come over and ask if anyone
wanted more drinks. I got myself
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