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