Shawn bit his lip, then shook his head. “But you have to understand,” he hurried to say, “he just wants what’s best for me. He’s worried I might make a mistake. He doesn’t want me to wind up like my mom.”
Lisa sighed, shaking her head. “Shawn, the only mistake your mom made was when she decided that leaving your dad meant she had to leave you, too.”
“No,” Shawn insisted, “she didn’t know what she wanted, and then she made these huge life decisions without all the information, and—”
“Stop,” Lisa said, holding up a hand. “That’s your dad’s version, but how would he know anything about how she feels now? He hasn’t talked to her in years. He’s making it up because he’s trying to control you the same way he tried to control her.”
Shawn frowned, kneading the steering wheel. His father wouldn’t do that. Integrity was too important to him. It was even part of his company slogan: Quality and integrity you can count on. He wouldn’t make up stories.
Would he?
“Look,” Lisa had said, shifting in her seat so her whole body faced him, one long leg crossed up in front of her on the bench with her ankle propped on her knee. “Think of what you did to win that award. All that work you put in. All those years of studying and volunteering and training. That wasn’t just luck. It was planning and dedication and . . . and grit. Are you seriously telling me that after all that, you’re still worried you haven’t put enough thought into your future?”
A glimmer of a smile tugged at Shawn’s mouth. “I guess not.”
“Honestly, your dad is in idiot if he thinks that the biggest mistake you could make right now is going to college. And since when do you care what idiots think?”
He chuckled under his breath. “Okay, you’ve made your point.”
“Good,” said Lisa as they pulled onto the Derrins’ lawn. “Because I can’t be seen associating with a guy who caters to idiots.” She grinned at him as he parked the car. “You okay?”
He nodded, reaching for her hand. She let him take it, but after a quick squeeze, she pulled away, swinging open her door and hopping out of the truck. He sighed, watching her weave through the cars, toward the fire, before turning and beckoning for him to follow.
She always knew the right thing to say to make him feel better.
Except, of course, for the one thing she’d never said.
Chapter Seventeen
JUSTIN
When we pull up to the Derrin family’s bloated estate, festivities are already in full swing. A staccato drumbeat rattles the windows of the Mustang as the marching band blasts the school fight song across a lawn the size of a football field.
Kids, teachers, and parents are everywhere, clustered on the wraparound porch, spilling down the front steps, scattered across the grass, and gathered around the massive bonfire in the middle of the yard. At tables set up around the lawn, PTA moms trade cups of lemonade and brownies wrapped in cellophane for wrinkled dollar bills.
I take a deep breath as Alyssa jumps out of the car. This is so not my scene.
“Come on!” she yells, her voice nearly drowned by the clash of drums and cymbals, already bouncing in place to the beat of the music. I would have done anything to get away from Stan, but I wish I’d suggested we go bowling, or see a movie, or go ice fishing, or anything other than this bonfire. These kids aren’t my friends, and this isn’t my idea of fun. But she wanted to go, and I wanted to leave, so . . . here we are.
I force a smile onto my face and reluctantly follow her into the teeming mass of humanity.
The air is thick with noise—music and voices and car engines and maxed-out phone speakers all competing for precious seconds of attention. I feel instantly overwhelmed, but Alyssa is in her element, dipping in and out of conversations as easily as skimming her fingers across the surface of a fountain.
I trail awkwardly behind her like toilet paper stuck to a shoe, barely able to track what one group is talking about before we’ve moved on to the next. In a matter of minutes, Alyssa has weighed in on the citizenship-award winner （“I mean, was anyone really surprised?”）， the city hall internship （“such an amazing opportunity”）， the human remains in Stone River （“so creepy and cool, right?”）， and the latest senior-class relationship drama （“I feel like it’s none of our business, honestly”）。 In every group, Alyssa is quickly absorbed into their midst, the seams between us and them blending into nothing the instant she appears. Meanwhile, I keep finding myself squeezed out into the periphery like an inflamed zit, blocked by squared shoulders and jutted hips and tossed hair.
After we extract ourselves from a conversation about some social media influencer I’ve never heard of, Dave stumbles his way through the crowd, stopping directly in front of Alyssa. His eyes rake over her like claws, and I have to smother an overwhelming urge to punch him in the face.
“Yo, you came!” he shouts over the din of the crowd, leering openly at her, like I’m not even there. “You wanna see my room?” His breath reeks of booze.
“No, thanks,” Alyssa says, trying to work her way around him, but he blocks her path.
“It’s pretty awesome.” He grins. “Lotta cool stuff up there. I think you’d like it.”
“She said no, Dave,” I say, inserting myself between them as I scan the lawn for somewhere we can go that he can’t follow us.
Dave frowns at me, as if noticing my presence for the first time. “I told you you weren’t invited, Bore-en.”
“And I told you that’s not a thing, you wet toe sock.”
His eyes narrow for a second, but then his face relaxes and he smiles, smacking me on the shoulder. “Yeah, guess you’re right.” He glances around, then reaches into his pocket and pulls out a flask. “Truce?”
I look warily at it, and he rolls his eyes. “What, you think I’m trying to poison you? Look.” He unscrews the cap and takes a swig, then holds it out to me again. “See? Totally fine.”
I debate for a second, then decide—what the hell. If Stan and Mom can both drink away their problems, I might as well do the same. Maybe some mild intoxication therapy will do me good. I accept the flask from Dave and gulp down a mouthful of whatever’s inside, which turns out to be whiskey. My throat ignites as it burns its way down to my stomach. I chase it with another deep swig.
“Justin . . . ,” Alyssa mutters under her breath.
“Damn, Warren,” Dave says, laughing. “Here, you hang on to that. I’ve got more where that came from.”
“No, he’s done,” Alyssa says, trying to grab the flask from me. “Come on, Justin, give it back.”
I turn away from her, blocking her with one arm. It may be psychosomatic, but already I can feel my nerves uncoiling inside me, soothed by a gentle warmth.
“No worries.” Dave grins. “I’ll just grab it from you later. Have a great night, kids.”
He saunters off toward the house, hands in his pockets, as Alyssa continues to try to grab the flask from me. My head swims with a gentle waviness as I tip more whiskey down my throat. By the feel of it, I’ve already downed half the contents. “Stop it,” I mutter as I bat away Alyssa’s insistent hands.