He smiles. “I thought she was turning five today.”
Mrs. Lawson laughs, sadness preventing it from sounding sincere. “Let’s sit. Tell me about your day.”
Whether she sees them or not anymore, the outline of expectations is still present—I recognize them from the ones that hang over my head: the forced independence, the obligation to be happy, to be present.
“I’ll be back. I’m going to say hi to the cheerleaders.” Paxton’s eyebrows dance before he turns, scanning the room again.
“You in, Caleb?” Arlo asks, already following after Pax.
Caleb shakes his head. “I’m good.” He takes a seat across from Cole, and I pull out the one next to him, across from where Rae’s seated. She glances at me, her brow creased with confusion.
“Should we order for Cal?” Cole asks, lifting his menu as he slings an arm around the back of Raegan’s chair.
Raegan looks at her mom as she moves to the other side of the table and takes a seat. “Probably. He said he’d be here by now. I don’t know what’s keeping him.” She checks her phone as Poppy sits beside me, with what I’m fairly certain is hope shining in her gaze.
“Nice seeing you here,” Poppy says.
“Is there a plan beyond alcohol?” I ask quietly.
Poppy shakes her head. “We swore we were going to act our age and be stupid and make dumb mistakes, and tonight my goal is to carry that plan out.” She grabs her napkin, folding it into her lap. “Something’s bothering her, and she won’t tell me what it is. I’m hoping if I can get a few drinks into her, she’ll spill.”
17
Raegan
Lincoln sits across from me, his hair disheveled, and his dark eyes watching the room like he often does. I wonder if it’s because of playing football and needing to read the intentions of so many, or if this habit is what makes him so good at football.
I ignore him through dinner, through stories of birthdays past and of school. I don’t even look at him when Mom asks him about school and football. Even when Paxton and Arlo finally return to the table, I keep my attention close, listening to Camilla tell me about an event she’s hosting at their church, feigning interest in the tea options she’s debating. I ignore him as Mom apologizes for Dad’s absence, and Grandpa contemplates aloud where he might have gone, and the thirty minutes we wait after the tables have been cleared in case Dad shows up.
“Is this where I tell you not to do anything I wouldn’t do?” Mom asks, hugging me as she signs for the bill after arguing with Grandpa over it.
“Yup,” Paxton says, wrapping me in a headlock. “And then, she’s going to nod and proceed to fill her night with poor decisions. Luckily, you have the best child in the world—” he points a finger at himself, “—and I’ll be watching out for her.”
Grandpa chuckles, and Mom smiles as I pop him with my elbow.
“You guys have fun and be safe,” Mom says. “If you guys need a ride home, call me. I’d rather come and pick you up then have you drive if you’re going to be drinking.”
“That’s why we brought Caleb,” Pax says, flashing a smile to his oldest friend to convey his joke.
“Love you, Mom,” I say before turning to Grandpa and Camilla. Grandpa has a toothpick between his teeth, a habit he procured after he stopped smoking a decade ago. Camilla is clutching her purse, watching as several get rowdier as time dwindles on.
“Be safe,” she tells me, pressing her cold lips to my cheek.
“Love you guys. Thanks for coming.”
“Don’t forget you owe me ice cream,” Grandpa says, his hug tight and unforgiving, just like the love we share for each other.
Mom grabs her purse and jacket so she can follow them out. Mom claims she looks like her mother did, but I see Grandpa in her every time she laughs and anytime she talks with her hands, which is always. Grandpa places a hand on Camilla’s shoulders and another on Mom’s arm, leading them toward the exit. He looks back and waves a final time as they reach the door.
“Okay. Party plan, step one, complete,” Poppy says, reaching for her purse. “Now, on to the fun stuff.” She digs into her large purse, pulling out a reusable water bottle with a bow around the top. “Happy birthday.”
It’s so full, the liquid hardly sloshes as she passes it to me. “You’re not funny,” I tell her.
Poppy tinkers a laugh. “It’s alcohol in a reusable water bottle. This spells Raegan.”
Paxton chuckles outright. “That’s awesome.”
“It is, and if she drinks a quarter of it before we arrive at the party, she will be nice and tipsy and ready to have fun. Because fun is good, and we’re hot and nineteen, and we deserve to have a good time.”
We went to lunch this afternoon, where Poppy confessed that Chase has been dating multiple girls and that while she wanted to be okay with it, she wasn’t. And she was less okay with it because he’d lied about nearly everything. Currently, my thoughts are like a shaken bottle of soda, the pressure so great, I don’t know how to remove the lid without making a massive mess. So, I turn it off. I turn off the indecision, the fears, the disappointment—all of it and take a long pull from the bottle, my eyes and throat burning as the liquid washes down my throat.
I wince. “Is that straight alcohol?”
“I added some pop.”
I shake my head. “Not enough. If I drink a quarter of that, I’ll be so drunk I won’t know you from Paxton.”
She giggles. “Let’s test that theory.”
I screw the lid back on. “Let’s not.”
“Hey,” Derek says, his smile hesitant as he looks at us. “Sorry I’m late. My study group lasted longer than I thought.”
I wait for emotions to bloom—for the distraction of butterfly wings to make my stomach and chest feel too small—for absolutely anything to spark as I stare at Derek.
Paxton folds his arms across his chest, his anger is evident. My accident created a geyser between the two, and though he claims it’s always been there, it’s definitely more pronounced now.
“Don’t worry about it,” I tell him. “We’re just leaving for a party Poppy wants to go to.”
Poppy exhales deeply, her gaze scattered as she works to realign the evening with this slight wrench I’ve thrown into the plans. “This night is all about us having fun. No focusing on school or work or boys,” she glances at the guys before returning her green eyes to me, another heavy sigh. “So many things we’ve planned for this year have gone awry, but we’re sticking to this plan. We’re going to drink too much, flirt even more, and we’re not taking a single regret home with us.” She gives me a challenging stare.
I glance at Derek’s smile, and then at the others, flinching when I meet Lincoln’s questioning stare. “We’ll meet you guys there,” I say, taking Poppy’s arm.
We make it to the hostess desk when someone catches my arm. Lincoln is behind me, his eyebrows lowered, his eyes darker than I’ve seen them with a storm brewing that he’s clearly ready to unleash on me. “You invited Derek, and you didn’t invite me?” The defiance in his eyes and the tilt of his jaw erase the vulnerability lacing his question.