She had seen this behavior before with her friends many, many times. She pulled back, speaking slowly. “Sure, Will. I’ve got my car.”
“This issin’t my house.” He paused, trying to focus on her face. “Can you take me home?” He paused, confused. “Did I just ask you that?”
At least he knew better than to drive.
“Yes. You did. I can take you, no problem.”
He pointed a wavy finger at her. “Ahhhh. . .Spencer’s little sister!”
She stood, pulled her purse up over her shoulder, and helped him to his feet. She made sure Mai Li had a safe way home, and finally, with some effort, and lots of stopping for him to high-five other guys at the party, they made it to her car.
Inside, Lauren felt the acute weight of his presence. She told herself this was nothing—she was practically the only sober person at that party—of course he would ask her for a ride home.
Lauren drove. She was looking straight ahead, but Will was looking at her. And his attention made her feel slightly intoxicated herself. She was that eleven-almost-twelve-year-old girl all over again, seeing him for the first time and imagining the day he finally—finally saw her as more than just his best friend’s dorky little sister.
Was that day finally here?
“You’re pretty, you know that?” He reached over and touched a strand of her hair.
“And you’re drunk.” She gently put his hand back on his side of the car. She really hoped he, and her heart, were both getting the message.
“I’m not. . .so out of it I can’t see someone who’s beautiful and right’n front of me,” he spoke with the effort of someone desperately trying to walk a straight line. He leaned back in the seat with a sigh. “I know what I see. Dussn’t mean I don’t know what I’m sayin’。”
She’d never been drunk, and she wondered if alcohol made you lie or if it made you more honest.
Lauren drove on, in tense silence, finally turning on his street. She parked her car in front of his house and avoided his eyes. “You’re home now.”
Silence stretched.
She finally risked a glance, but his eyes were closed. Was he snoring? She poked his shoulder. “Will?”
He stirred—barely—and she panicked. How was she going to get him out of her car?
“Will, you need to go in now.”
No response.
She groaned, opened the car door, and hurried around to the passenger side. She pulled his door open and he nearly fell out onto the pavement. She righted him, ignoring the fact that this was the closest she’d ever been to him in her life.
“Wow, you smell good.” He stuck his face in her hair and inhaled.
“We need to get you inside.”
“Okay, Spencer’s little sister. . .!” He said it like a secret.
She shushed him, as she helped him out of the car and to his feet. “You’re going to wake everyone up.”
He stuck a finger in front of his mouth and made a “shushing” noise, then chuckled to himself.
She looped an arm around his waist, and he draped an arm around her shoulders. He was significantly bigger than she was, but she managed to help him up the porch stairs. At the front door, she stopped. “Can you take it from here?”
He tipped forward and leaned his head against the siding.
So, that’s a no.
She peeked in the windows, but the lights were off. Everyone appeared to be in bed for the night.
“Okay, I’ll help you. Just be quiet, okay?”
He shushed again in response.
She pulled the door open and helped him through, closing it as quietly as she could behind them. “Where’s your room?” she whispered.
He pointed to the stairs, and she shouldered as much of his weight as she could as she led him over and up. They were doing fine until he stumbled and knocked a framed photo of a young Will in a baseball jersey smiling at the camera off the wall. It clattered to the floor, and they both froze, but remarkably, nobody appeared in the hallway. No lights flipped on.
“Sorry,” he hissed.
“Just keep moving.” She pulled him up the stairs and down the hallway, past a closed door, where she assumed someone was sleeping. At the end of the hall, she followed his point through an open door, deposited him on the bed, then plopped down next to him, slightly out of breath. She flipped on the lamp beside his bed and looked around the room.
The walls were plastered with baseball posters, framed cards—some signed—and there were three autographed baseballs displayed in glass boxes on his dresser. She knew Will loved baseball—it was like he was born to play. She’d gone to lots of his games, towed by Spencer, secretly loving every minute. How many times had she watched him in rousing victory, then watched him head off with the rest of the team to a party she wasn’t invited to and wouldn’t dare show up at?