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“Hey, Ray,” one of his friends says, pointing two fingers at me like pistols. “Virgin.”
His eyes do their pass again as he says, “Nice.”
I don’t like his friends, but I’m still more than a little captivated by the image of Ray Parsons, a guy who never glanced at me three years ago, now unable to look away. I lean against him as I drink, not caring that the present version of Ray has slightly greasy hair and an obvious drug problem. I’ll make him take a bath. Clean him up in all the ways and finally get the prize I wanted as a freshman.
“I always thought you were cute,” I try to say, but my words are tripping over one another, endings running into beginnings and middles being left out completely. My knees give out but I don’t go down. Ray’s got me pressed against him so that I don’t fall, his blue eyes no longer on me but scanning the crowd as he edges us into the shadows.
A hand is on my spine, pushing down into my pants and past my panties, fingers twisting in search. I know it’s not Ray because he’s practically carrying me now. There’s a voice in my ear that says, “Come on, Preacher’s Kid. We’ll take you to church for real.”
They’ve almost got me out into the darkness, and a nearby fire pops, bringing a brief flash of light as my eyes slide shut. I see a cartilage stud in Ray’s ear as my head falls forward onto his shoulder.
And then I’m gone.
23. JACK
I’m going to catch hell from Park, but I haven’t been able to stay away from Alex all night. He’s doing what he does best, playing the room, making every girl there feel like she’s the one he’s thinking about even if he is talking to somebody else. But I can’t even pretend. Yeah, I still notice stuff. I’ve always thought of Peekay as someone I could borrow decent class notes from, but tonight she’s sporting a pair she might’ve bought from Victoria’s Secret but she’s wearing them like they grew on her. So it’s not like I’ve gone blind or anything.
I just don’t care.
I don’t care about any of the other girls because Alex accepts a beer from me, even if she doesn’t drink it. I don’t care because when I take her hand she lets me, and we’re sitting next to each other on the rubble pile. I’d rather be there than on a pew with Branley, or in a sleeping bag with anyone else.
I’m halfway toward being drunk and swimming in her when I go to get Peekay another beer, partially to be a gentleman, but also because Branley has taken it upon herself to transfer all her body heat to Adam (even though she can’t be retaining much—put on some clothes, Branley, it’s November) and I know that can’t be easy for Peekay.
Branley looks perfect, as usual. I’ve never seen the shirt she’s wearing so it’s probably new, and I doubt it’s got two tiny holes in it like all mine do because I buy everything at the thrift store where they staple the price tags on. Her family can afford real new clothes, not new to me but it belonged to someone else two weeks ago.
I pull two beers from my cooler and am headed back from the altar when Branley snags me, her fingernails digging past T-shirt and down into skin.
“Shit, Bran,” I say, stumbling back. I bump the altar but it doesn’t even shiver. Dad says that thing is the most solid-built piece of furniture in the whole county, which is a good thing because I bet more than a few of us here tonight were conceived on it.
“Seriously?” Branley is up in my face, my spine braced against solid oak. “Seriously?”
“Going to need more to go on than that,” I tell her, but I’m not stupid.
“Alex Craft?” she says, practically spitting the name. “I thought maybe it was that Alex cheerleader from Twin Rivers, or, God . . . maybe even a dude, but Alex Craft? Seriously?”
“So, it’s more realistic to you that I would want to bang a guy than her?” I say, trying to make it sound like a joke. Trying to ignore the burst of anger in my gut. I don’t like the way Alex’s name sounds in Branley’s mouth, like a poison.
I try to shove past her, but her claws are in me and I’m not going anywhere until she’s finished. “It doesn’t make sense,” Branley insists. “I mean, look at her.”
And I do. She’s so normal, perched on the crumbled pile of stone. Not like a girl in a magazine, or even Branley, so impossibly gorgeous she would never, ever be crawling around in rubble. Alex has a smudge of dirt across her cheekbone that only accentuates the paleness of the skin under her freckles. She’s picking at the label on her empty beer bottle, and I love the fact that she couldn’t give less of a shit about her fingernails.
“I am looking at her, Branley,” I say. “I can’t not look at her.”
“Whatever,” she mutters, releasing me in a huff. I leave her behind me without a second thought, perfectly aware that any number of guys there will be happy to reinflate her ego.
“Jaaaaaaackkkk.” My name stretched into as many syllables as possible. Park is done making his rounds, so happy to see me it’s like he forgot we were just talking twenty minutes ago.
He sails toward me, arms spread wide, when he sees Alex and hits the brakes so hard that shards of glass spit out from under his shoes. His face goes blank and for the first time in my life I’m seeing Park at a loss for words.
“Hello,” Alex says.
His grin is plastered back on. “Hello,” he says, his tone almost mocking her but not quite. He bows low. “Please do not crush my balls, madam.”
“Don’t touch me without my permission and I won’t.”
“Okay, cool.” He joins us on the pile, taking the spot Peekay vacated a few minutes ago. His eyes move in between the two of us. “So is this, like, going to be a thing now?”
“Yes,” I say.
