Meet Me Here - Bryan Bliss Page 0,19

He’s going to war, son.”

“I’m not going to war,” I say. Wayne and Sinclair both ignore me.

“You know I’m waiting on NASCAR to call,” Sinclair says, adjusting his ball cap. “And just because you graduate from high school doesn’t mean you’re ready to go out and get a job. And that’s why I’m staying with my parents this year. It’s called a gap year, idiot.”

Wayne stares at him for a long minute. “Sitting around your mom’s basement getting high and playing Madden isn’t a gap year. Hell, it’s your senior year—just no school.”

“Okay, fair enough,” Sinclair says. “But it’s not like I won’t be working. I got a job up at Wagner Tires this summer.”

“Yeah, yeah, enough with your gap year.” Wayne turns to me. “So what are we doing?”

“Nothing,” I say.

“Yeah, haven’t you heard? He’s leaving in the morning,” Mallory deadpans.

“It’s graduation night,” Wayne says. “And hell if I’m not drinking a beer with you before you go. Sinclair, where’s the next party?”

Sinclair pulls out a piece of paper from his back pocket, and before he can say anything, Mallory stops him.

“What is that?”

“List of all the graduation parties,” Sinclair says. “Some are actually probably more get-togethers, but that’s semantics. Anyway, we could go up to the quarry. There’s some people going up there tonight.”

Mallory throws her arm around Sinclair, both of them staring at me and nodding. “I love these guys. We’re in.”

“Hell, yes,” Wayne says, shouldering the .22. “We’re about two moments away from jail right now, and we need a good influence. Somebody with moral fiber to put us on the right path.”

“Oh, that’s Thomas,” Mallory says. “Full of moral fiber.”

“I don’t want to go to a party,” I say.

“It’s not a party,” Mallory says. “It’s a get-together. Weren’t you listening?”

“Yeah, Sin’s really particular about that shit, too.”

Sinclair sighs, putting the list back in his pocket. “A party’s bigger, there’s an expectation that you stay longer. See more people. A get-together is casual.”

“Hear that? Sounds exactly like what you need tonight,” Mallory says. For a second her face softens and she raises her eyebrows a half inch. “You know?”

Wayne doesn’t give me a chance to answer. He slaps me on the shoulder and says, “We’re going to the quarry, end of story. You’re officially occupied, Bennett. Sin, get the truck.”

And just like that, we’re four.

CHAPTER SEVEN

The quarry is for drinking beer, building a fire with friends. It’s whooping and hollering and stumbling into the dark corners with your boyfriend or girlfriend. And then somebody decides to jump into the lake fifty feet below and everybody packs it up until the next weekend. I’ve done this dozens of times by now and more than a few with Wayne and Sinclair. But never with Mallory.

Maybe that’s why it’s so quiet in the truck. I’m following Wayne to the quarry, trying to conjure up the magic of the Grover and, to a smaller extent, the parking lot. In those moments I don’t think about Jake or the army. I don’t think about how I’ve missed Mom’s curfew now or how every minute I spend out with Mallory is a minute I’m not sleeping in preparation for the trip.

“Look at you,” Mallory says. “Like you’re going to a funeral.”

Her phone rings, and she silences it without looking. Ahead of us Wayne turns onto a gravel road, the dark trees camouflaging everything except the twin brake lights that flash on and off as he navigates the narrow road.

“We should’ve come up here before this,” she says. “And how did we not put it in the ‘Book of Adventures’?”

I laugh. “I’m pretty sure drinking beer around a campfire wasn’t high on our priorities back then. But yeah, I know.”

We park behind Wayne, the small dirt clearing packed full of vehicles. A fire is already burning. Shadows crawl up and down the rock walls. This isn’t a get-together. It’s a party and a big one.

I take a few breaths, readying myself for what’s coming. People will ask about tomorrow, and I’ll smile, tell them I can’t wait to get that uniform on. Everybody around this fire has known me since we were kids, and I’ve already been lying to them without pause for months. But the prospect of doing it even one more time makes my stomach drop.

Mallory’s phone goes off, followed by mine: Mom. I hesitate before putting my phone in the cup holder. Outside, the group greets Wayne’s arrival with a cheer, a few of them standing up and slapping him