Lawson
“Green for giddy, purple for pass the fuck out…”
It’s my voice. I think? And someone responds, but it’s like we’re speaking underwater. I can’t make sense of anything. There’s no context.
With a groan, I open my eyes. Swallow my frustration, then a swig of bourbon. I give up. This remembering thing is goddamn hard.
Since my impromptu joyride with Casey, I’ve been trying to do her a solid by revisiting prom night, but it might be time to call it quits. Truth is, I’d ingested so many illegal substances at prom that even if I had a clear memory of that night, it would be impossible to trust its accuracy.
It’s all a drug-induced jumble.
I remember nonsensical phrases that may or may not have been uttered by me.
I remember really shitty music.
I think I got my dick sucked at some point in the shadowy corridor outside the locker rooms, but that seems like faulty recollection on my brain’s part because I also think the person doing the sucking was Silas? Which means it’s bullshit, because one, there’s no way in hell that ever happened, and two, when I do recall the blowjob in question, I remember running my fingers through long hair. Which would definitely rule out Silas and his buzz cut.
The only definitive memories I have, ones that can be verified by third parties, all take place after the excitement started. Searching the halls with Silas for a missing Casey. Sloane’s wild, frantic eyes as she’d grabbed everyone by the collar one by one, demanding to know if we’d seen her sister.
“Hey, wanna shoot some pool?”
Fenn appears in my doorway, looking a little sheepish. Ever since he accused me of trying to defile his girl, he’s been extra nice to me. I guess I appreciate it. I mean, my intentions aren’t always the best, and yeah, I flirted with the girl—I flirt with every girl—but I didn’t make a move on her.
I lift a brow. “There’s a party at Ballard tonight. You’re not going?”
“Wasn’t planning on it.”
“Well, I was. Just waiting on Silas to get back. His parents are in town for his sister’s sports thing, so they took him to dinner.”
The sound of Silas’s name brings a dark cloud to Fenn’s face. “Fuck Silas. Asshole set me up.”
I shrug.
“Yeah, I wouldn’t expect you to care.”
Taking another swig of bourbon, I eye him over the rim of my glass. “He’s wanted to bang Sloane for years. Saw an opportunity and took it.”
Fenn snorts. “Of course you’d support that.”
“I don’t care either way. Your dirty little hookup with Sloane would’ve come out regardless, bro. You can’t keep secrets from a girl like Casey. You would’ve had to come clean eventually.”
His jaw tightens.
“Am I wrong?”
“You’re not wrong,” he grudgingly agrees. “But Silas is still a dick for what he did.”
“Speaking of Silas and dicks,” I say, slanting my head. “What are the chances he would ever blow me?”
“Zero,” is the instant response. He stares at me. “Trying to seduce your roommate?”
“No. Just testing a theory,” I say vaguely.
“Whatever. Get off your ass and let’s play until you bounce. I need to get out of my own head for a while.”
So we end up in the lounge, where our game becomes competitive from the get-go, rife with trash talk. Fenn’s a good sport, though. He doesn’t know how to hold a grudge, and that’s a valuable trait people always underappreciate.
“What’s the matter?” he taunts to distract me from realizing he’s only a couple of shots away from winning the game. “Your date get grounded?”
“You know the worst part about you?” I return, sinking the last striped ball in the side pocket off a bank shot. Yeah, there’s no way I’m letting him win. “I’m not allowed to make ‘your mom’ jokes when you say something like that.”
“At least I know you can’t sleep with her.”
“This would be embarrassing if you were trying to let me win.” I casually sink the eight ball that’s teetering on the edge of the pocket to end the game. “What’s our running tally now? Two games to zip? Let’s wager a grand on the next one.”
“How ’bout you just open a tab for me,” Fenn says while he collects the balls to re-rack.
“I like where your head’s at.” It’s my turn to break. I line up the shot and send two solids into opposite pockets. “Where’s Remy tonight?”
“RJ? With the wife. Where else?”
“Your stepbrother sucks,” comes Duke’s snide voice.
We turn to find him striding into the lounge with a beer in hand. Nobody even tries to hide contraband from our housefather anymore. Mr. Swinney knows he has a better chance of reining in a herd of wild horses.
Duke throws himself into a leather armchair, swiveling it so he can see the pool table. “And he sucks at ruling the school.”
I roll my eyes. “Jesus fuck. This again?”
“Dude, I think it’s time to get a therapist,” Fenn tells him. “Enough already.”
“Everyone knows I’m right. They don’t want to admit it, but they miss me. You know it’s true.”
Fenn shrugs. “Yeah? Maybe if you’re nice to him, he’ll give you the job back. Not like he ever wanted it.”
“Fuck that. I’ll get it back eventually.” Duke lifts his beer to his lips and takes a long swig.
“I say you challenge the fucker to a rematch.” Duke’s lackey Carter twists around on the couch, throwing his unwanted two cents into the conversation.
As I chalk my cue, I give Carter a little smirk, which he pretends not to see. Carter’s been deep in the closet since I’ve known him, only emerging now and then to get on his knees for me after swim practice. I like him a lot better when his mouth is otherwise occupied.
“He’s too chickenshit to fight me twice,” Duke says. “He knows the first time was a fluke.”
“Keep telling yourself that,” Fenn says before bending forward to send a striped ball into the corner pocket.
“Holy shit, we totally should’ve gone to Ballard tonight,” someone blurts out. A couple of seniors are sprawled on the far couch, and one just shot up in a sitting position, jaw gaping as he stares at his phone.
“What is it?” His buddy leans in trying to see the screen.
“Check out this TikTok of the headmaster’s little girl dirty dancing with some chick.”
“Sloane?”
“Dude, no. Fuckin’ Casey Tresscott—”
The cue in Fenn’s hand hits the floor before the guy even finishes saying Casey’s name. In a blur, Fenn is across the room and snatching the phone out of his hand.
“Yo, what the hell, man.”
“Shut up,” Fenn snaps.
As he watches the video, I lean my cue against the table and walk up to peek over his shoulder. From the phone, the tinny sound of music and incoherent shouting fills the room.
It’s tough to make out exactly what’s happening in the grainy video. I glimpse Casey’s face and some guy all over her. Another girl’s in the mix too.
I squint at the screen. “I think that’s Mila?”
“And Oliver,” Fenn growls.
A second later, he chucks the phone against the wall.
“Hey, asshole!” the senior objects.
“Come see me,” I quickly appease the guy, because I can tell Fenn’s in no state to deal with a confrontation right now. “I’ll take care of you.”
Fenn charges up to Duke with his hand out. “Keys. I need to borrow your ride.”
“What’s in it for me?”
“Not getting murdered,” I offer with a grin.
Rolling his eyes, Duke stands up and digs into his pocket. He pulls out a set of keys, but rather than hand them to Fenn, he smirks. “I’m driving.”
I snort softly. “Well, this’ll be fun.”