Don’t you drink too much,” Kaylee says, slipping between Jessup and Wyatt, ducking under Wyatt’s arm so that it’s around her shoulder. She presses her body against him, kisses him with an open mouth. Jessup sees the flash of tongue. She tilts her head, shoots Jessup some teeth. “Nice game, Jessup. Hear you got the game ball.”
“Why not?” Wyatt says. “There’s plenty of beer, and you’re driving.”
“Because, honey, I don’t like it when you get drunk.” She reaches out and pats Jessup on the cheek. “You keep an eye on him for me, Jessup. Okay? It’s cold out here. I’m going back inside.”
The pat on his cheek is gentle, sweet. Kaylee Owen is a gentle and sweet girl. Her parents have a farm in Brooktown, near the compound, and they sell organic produce and meat at the Cortaca Farmers’ Market. They’re gentle and sweet, too. Mrs. Owen brought lasagna over the night Ricky and David John were sentenced. Mr. Owen gave them twenty pounds of steak for the freezer. Jessup likes Kaylee. He’d admit to being a bit sweet on her when he was younger, but she and Wyatt have been dating since eighth grade. They’re planning to get married after graduation. She’s going to move with him to Storrs and work the first year while he’s at UConn. “My grades are on the bubble, so what’s the point of applying? Maybe if I check the box that says I’m black or if I pretend to be liberal, but screw that.” She’s planning to go to community college the year after. She wants to be a nurse.
She kisses Wyatt again and then slides open the glass door and walks over to where a couple of her girlfriends are sitting on the couch. Jessup and Wyatt drift inside, out of the cold. They talk for a bit with a couple of guys on the team, Jessup endures some teasing over his GPA—Cortaca’s a good high school, and plenty of kids on the football team make the honor roll, but Jessup isn’t a professor’s kid; he rolls into school wearing his camo hunting jacket, a litmus test of sorts, but has a real shot at an Ivy League school anyway—and then they move to the table.
“Got to love rich girls,” Wyatt says. “High school party and she’s got snacks out.” He scoops a chip into the salsa and crams it in his mouth. “Think her mom went grocery shopping for her? She’s got a freaking vegetable platter here.”
“They’re called crudités when it’s fancy,” Jessup says.
“Oh, you’re going to fit in just fine at Yale, asshole.”
But Jessup isn’t really paying attention. He’s noticing that the Kilton Valley boys have spread out a bit. Two of them are out on the deck—he can see them through the glass doors—holding cups of beer and chatting with the pack of guys from the Cortaca team. All smiles. One of the Kilton Valley boys, a big side of beef who gave Jessup a couple of hard blocks during the game, is telling some sort of funny story. He moves his hands while he talks. He’s got a small afro and a shit-eating grin. He finishes his story and is rewarded with a burst of laughter that Jessup can hear from outside.
“That boy’s eyeing you,” Wyatt says. He lifts his chin, and Jessup glances over to the kitchen, sees Corson on the other side of the counter.
Corson is standing with two girls. One of them is leaning into him, arm around his waist, obviously his girlfriend. She’s a small thing, pale, but with dark slashes of makeup penciled in around her eyes and a T-shirt that rides up and shows a pierced belly button as she gets on her tiptoes and moves her arm around his neck to pull him down for a kiss.
Corson is holding a beer, and after he’s done kissing his girlfriend, he chugs it down.
“She’s got jungle fever,” Wyatt says under his breath. “Just like you.”