TWENTY-FIVE
I NEVER THOUGHT I’d be thankful for finals, but suddenly it’s the last two weeks of school and everyone is so busy that all of the drama gets pushed to the side. I finally force myself to finish my history project, and then spend every night for the rest of the week making flash cards and studying for Greek mythology and French.
By the time the last day of school arrives, I’ve forgotten to worry about it. But when I walk out of my last test of the day, I’m hit with a wave of sadness. It’s funny how you can hate high school so much when it’s happening, but start to miss it before you’ve even left. All of a sudden, I’m hyper-aware that everything I’m doing is for the last time. The last time I’ll have to lean my shoulder into my locker door to get it unjammed, the last stale slice of cafeteria pizza, the last hours I’ll spend staring out the window, counting down the minutes until it’s all over. Somehow, even though every class seemed to last forever, the end has come way too fast.
It’s been a Prescott tradition for as long as anyone can remember for all the seniors to meet at the lookout point by the lake to take pictures and then pile into limos to go to the prom. Usually prom is a little farther away, but the Walcott is only about twelve minutes down the road on the other side of the water. Still, we’ve still rented limos because we don’t want to miss out on anything.
Danielle is having a party the last day of school—the night before prom—something she’s coined “the last supper” because she wants to cook for everyone and, in her words, every party needs a good theme. She’s invited the whole class, even Ryder and Simon Terst, who she’s been mad at for weeks. Now that school is over, it’s like all the arbitrary social boundary lines that have kept us all segregated don’t even exist. My cousin Beth, who is seven years older than me, told me it would be this way: that just a few months after high school ended, we wouldn’t care about who was popular, or who hooked up with who, or who we were supposed to hate. I didn’t believe her at the time, but now I do. It already feels like high school was ages ago even as I’m still cleaning out my locker.
Just like we planned, Hannah and I get into her Jeep with the top down and scream as we race out of the parking lot. We put “Free Bird” on her stereo and blast it as loud as it’ll go, rolling down the windows and laughing, pointing our middle fingers out to the sky. It’s bittersweet to be here without Andrew. In the movie version of today—the one I planned in my head—the three of us were together, laughing and speeding away from Prescott, the same trio we were at the beginning of ninth grade now at the end of twelfth. But I saw him leave earlier with Danielle and I didn’t even say goodbye.
We all go down to the lake in the afternoon, everyone lying out on brightly colored inner tubes and inflatable pizza slices. There’s an ice chest full of beer hidden in the grass on the edge of the water, buried under a pile of beach towels so cops or parents or whoever else is around won’t know we’re drinking. The beach is crowded—practically everyone in our class is here, like we’re all trying to suck up every last minute we have with one another, savor every last drop. The sun is high in the sky, casting a golden summer haze over everything, and the beauty of it makes me ache. I know it’s never going to be just like this—like right now—ever again.
I’m lying on a pizza slice raft, taking a nap, when an excited shriek wakes me, a cold splash to my left. When I turn, I see Andrew and Danielle struggling to fit in the same inner tube. Her hair is in a wet knot on the top of her head, red bikini struggling to stay tied as she lunges onto his shoulders, trying to dunk him under. I can’t seem to look away. They’re both so beautiful, like they’re in some bubblegum ChapStick ad in Teen Vogue, and the sight makes me a little sick. I wish they didn’t look so much like they belonged together.
Andrew notices me looking and waves, shaking the water out of his hair like a dog. I wave back and his smile falters for a second and I know he’s feeling the same way I am. We shouldn’t be waving to each other across the lake, not today.
“Hey, Collins,” Danielle says, shouting a little bit so I can hear her. “Do you think James Dean would buy us some booze? For tonight?”
I don’t really want to get Dean involved, not when there are so many other available options; Andrew’s cousin, for one, or whoever supplied the thirty rack of beer currently chilling in the cooler on the beach. But I know, for Danielle, it’s some sort of test. She wants to see if I can; if I’ll have the guts.
“I’ll give you money,” she calls across the water. “We need your help, Collins!” She loops a slippery arm around Andrew’s neck, pulling him close. We. Like they’re a unit.
“Yeah,” I call back to them. “No problem.”
* * *
• • • • • •
DANIELLE
Sooo did you ask James Dean for alcohol yet?
ME
Not yet
DANIELLE
Get some beer for the dudes. My parents have a margarita machine, so have him pick up some tequila and chasers too
ME
I don’t know, that’s a lot to buy with a fake ID
DANIELLE
Just ask, Collins. If we don’t have booze at the party it’s on you
* * *
• • • • • •
ME
Hey
DEAN
What’s up
ME
Can I ask you something?
DEAN
. . .
DEAN
What