ignored the catcall from a bearded ogre, whose friend slugged him and whispered “Jailbait” loud enough for Ashline to hear as she slipped through the beaded curtain in the doorway.
The billiard room’s walls were decorated with a strange assortment of tiki masks, yellowing maps of the state park, and beer memorabilia. As she entered, the two 57
boys were too deeply ensconced in their game of pool to acknowledge her.
Ash watched as the eight-ball rolled across the table, on a perfect course for the corner pocket. Both boys inhaled sharply. Ade, who had taken the shot, stepped away from the table holding the cue, and Rolfe was gripping his long hair with anticipation. The ball lingered dangerously on the precipice of the corner pocket. . . .
And then dropped off the edge and into the net below.
“Bullshit!” Rolfe cried out. “You hit the table!” He looked about ready to snap his pool cue over his knee.
Ash guessed it wasn’t the first time he’d lost that night.
Ade pumped his own cue over his head in victory as he danced in circles. He chanted something celebratory in his native tongue of Creole.
“If you’re going to taunt me, at least do it in my own language, bro,” said Rolfe.
Ade shoved the nearly empty pitcher into Rolfe’s chest, roughly enough for some of the remaining beer to splash over the brim and spatter his shirt. “Tell me. What is surfer-speak for ‘The next pitcher is on you’?”
“What’s Creole for ‘Bite me’?”
Ash cleared her throat. “Do you two need to be alone?
I’m suffocating on testosterone.”
“Ah, if it isn’t my favorite Wilde child,” Ade announced as if she’d just entered his royal court. He swept forward and wrapped his arms around her like a bear. “It feels as though I haven’t seen you in years.”
58
Ash patted him on the back, and he stepped away.
“Pretty sure it was fourth-period chemistry, but I appreciate the theatrics. So Ray tells me that you guys are marine biologists now?”
“We’re studying the mating rituals of the local salmon.” Rolfe emptied the last of the pitcher into his pint glass. “Care to participate in a case study?”
Ash snapped her hand out and cuffed him hard on the back of the head. This time the beer sloshed out of his pint and onto his sneakers.
Ade wandered over to the pool table, where he gathered the balls from the pockets and rolled them back onto the green. “And what is Blackwood’s star soccer player up to this evening?”
“Bobby? Off icing his bruised ego somewhere,” Ash said. “Or maybe trawling the freshman wing for a new girlfriend.”
Ade grinned smugly while he racked the balls. “Sorry to hear that.”
“Oh, stuff it.” Ash rolled her eyes. “Now I’m curious—what is Creole for ‘Bite me’? In case Bobby comes crawling back.”
The bead curtain parted, and in stepped Lily Mayatoaka, another Blackwood classmate that Ashline had met a few times when she’d hung out with Ade and Rolfe. Tonight Lily was wearing tight jeans and an even tighter frown.
“You’re looking chipper,” Ade said.
59
“If a guy compares you to a baked good as you’re walking out of the bathroom,” Lily said, “should you be flattered or insulted?”
“Depends on the baked good,” Ash replied. “Cupcakes, yes. Pie . . .”
Rolfe chalked up his pool cue. “Depends on whether or not you want to climb into his oven.”
Lily scoffed, but she couldn’t conceal the faint smile that glowed through her disgust. “Only you could find a way to say something that manages to make no sense and sound completely repulsive at the same time.”
Rolfe pulled a rumpled ten-dollar bill from his pocket and dangled it in front of her. “Since you were kind enough to play designated driver tonight, why don’t you treat yourself to a 7-Up.”
Lily reached for the bill.
Rolfe yanked it out of her grasp and held up the empty beer pitcher in its place. “And be a dear and refill this for your
The billiard room’s walls were decorated with a strange assortment of tiki masks, yellowing maps of the state park, and beer memorabilia. As she entered, the two 57
boys were too deeply ensconced in their game of pool to acknowledge her.
Ash watched as the eight-ball rolled across the table, on a perfect course for the corner pocket. Both boys inhaled sharply. Ade, who had taken the shot, stepped away from the table holding the cue, and Rolfe was gripping his long hair with anticipation. The ball lingered dangerously on the precipice of the corner pocket. . . .
And then dropped off the edge and into the net below.
“Bullshit!” Rolfe cried out. “You hit the table!” He looked about ready to snap his pool cue over his knee.
Ash guessed it wasn’t the first time he’d lost that night.
Ade pumped his own cue over his head in victory as he danced in circles. He chanted something celebratory in his native tongue of Creole.
“If you’re going to taunt me, at least do it in my own language, bro,” said Rolfe.
Ade shoved the nearly empty pitcher into Rolfe’s chest, roughly enough for some of the remaining beer to splash over the brim and spatter his shirt. “Tell me. What is surfer-speak for ‘The next pitcher is on you’?”
“What’s Creole for ‘Bite me’?”
Ash cleared her throat. “Do you two need to be alone?
I’m suffocating on testosterone.”
“Ah, if it isn’t my favorite Wilde child,” Ade announced as if she’d just entered his royal court. He swept forward and wrapped his arms around her like a bear. “It feels as though I haven’t seen you in years.”
58
Ash patted him on the back, and he stepped away.
“Pretty sure it was fourth-period chemistry, but I appreciate the theatrics. So Ray tells me that you guys are marine biologists now?”
“We’re studying the mating rituals of the local salmon.” Rolfe emptied the last of the pitcher into his pint glass. “Care to participate in a case study?”
Ash snapped her hand out and cuffed him hard on the back of the head. This time the beer sloshed out of his pint and onto his sneakers.
Ade wandered over to the pool table, where he gathered the balls from the pockets and rolled them back onto the green. “And what is Blackwood’s star soccer player up to this evening?”
“Bobby? Off icing his bruised ego somewhere,” Ash said. “Or maybe trawling the freshman wing for a new girlfriend.”
Ade grinned smugly while he racked the balls. “Sorry to hear that.”
“Oh, stuff it.” Ash rolled her eyes. “Now I’m curious—what is Creole for ‘Bite me’? In case Bobby comes crawling back.”
The bead curtain parted, and in stepped Lily Mayatoaka, another Blackwood classmate that Ashline had met a few times when she’d hung out with Ade and Rolfe. Tonight Lily was wearing tight jeans and an even tighter frown.
“You’re looking chipper,” Ade said.
59
“If a guy compares you to a baked good as you’re walking out of the bathroom,” Lily said, “should you be flattered or insulted?”
“Depends on the baked good,” Ash replied. “Cupcakes, yes. Pie . . .”
Rolfe chalked up his pool cue. “Depends on whether or not you want to climb into his oven.”
Lily scoffed, but she couldn’t conceal the faint smile that glowed through her disgust. “Only you could find a way to say something that manages to make no sense and sound completely repulsive at the same time.”
Rolfe pulled a rumpled ten-dollar bill from his pocket and dangled it in front of her. “Since you were kind enough to play designated driver tonight, why don’t you treat yourself to a 7-Up.”
Lily reached for the bill.
Rolfe yanked it out of her grasp and held up the empty beer pitcher in its place. “And be a dear and refill this for your
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