“Wait,” her friend Violet says, her eyes appraising me. “What would make it ten out of ten? How evil are you?”
“It’s a fair question. Eight is a solid score, of course, but I took points off for not going the extra distance. I would like to see Daphne mixing in a few grams of oregano, to ruin the stash and make the crime look worse than it is. And adding some cases of White Claw, to question not only his values, but his taste in manly beverages."
Dylan laughs. Then he offers the joint to the table. "I know Daphne won't partake, but maybe Violet is more fun?"
The look on Daphne's face is murderous now, but Dylan doesn’t notice.
Violet takes the joint between her fingers, but then hesitates. “Do you trust the dealer?” she asks. “Our friend had a bad experience once.”
“Yeah, I do, because we grow our own,” Dylan says.
“It's not even illegal,” I pipe up. “Six plants each, under the new Vermont law.”
Dylan holds up a hand and I high five him.
Daphne looks heavenward. “You can take the boy off the farm, but he’ll just grow pot in his garage.”
“I think I like Vermont,” Violet says, taking the first puff. “But give your sister a break, maybe? I don’t think future public health officials are into pot as a rule.”
“Not for anyone in their twenties, and only medicinally,” Daphne says sweetly. "Science is so damn inconvenient sometimes."
She has a point, but that shit feels medicinal tonight. I’m on edge, but I don’t let it show.
Instead, I stretch my legs out under the table and capture one of Daphne’s feet with mine. Her eyes widen, but she doesn’t pull away.
“Tell me more about Vermont,” Violet says. “What’s it like growing up here?”
“Let’s see,” Dylan says, drumming his fingers on the table. “Everyone knows how to drive in the snow. And you never really have to dress up for anything.”
“This is accurate,” Daphne agrees. “Don’t bother wearing nice shoes, they’ll just get trashed. And don’t bother washing your car. That’s what rain is for.”
“Everyone has sex in a pickup truck,” Dylan adds.
“Huh,” I say slowly. “I can confirm this is true.”
“But you drive a Volvo,” Daphne points out.
“It was her pickup truck.” I shrug, and everyone else laughs. “It’s universal.”
“It’s not,” Daphne mutters.
“No?” her brother asks, looking amused. “Eh, never mind. I don’t really want to know.” He moves on, telling us a story about chasing his goats away from a patch of poison ivy. But I’m still thinking about truck sex with Daphne.
We shoot the shit and share the joint until it grows tiny, and until Chastity pokes her head around the corner of the cider house. "Dylan! Come and help me serve dessert."
"Sure, baby cakes." He hands me the remains of our joint. "Don't miss me too much.”
"Why would I? It's easier to hit on your sister when you're not around."
"You're hilarious." He hauls his long frame off the bench, chuckling. Then he lopes off after Chastity.
"Nobody believes me," I mutter. Then I press my hands down on the table and lean over, bridging the distance between Daphne and myself, and kiss her.
For a split second she is frozen with surprise. But her mouth softens after a moment, and I kiss her slowly. It’s not indecent. But it isn’t quick, either.
And when I sit back down, Violet stares comically between us. “Well, that happened.”
Daphne is blushing all over the place, but I don’t embarrass. Not over a kiss, anyway. I stub the last scrap of the joint out on the metal table frame and toss the evidence into the wet, tall grass.
“Are you sure you want me to stay over tonight?” Violet asks teasingly.
“Of course,” Daphne says quickly. “You can stay in my room with me. Or maybe May’s old room, if we can find the air mattress.”
“I’ll stay in your room,” she says. “We can bunk together. Unless you plan to sneak out in the night. I saw at least two pickup trucks in the driveway. Or, wait—isn’t Rickie’s room right across the hall?”
She grins, and I do too, for a second. But I can’t actually sleep with anyone in the room, and Daphne probably knows that.
So I feel glum again anyway.
Twenty-Five
Rickie
Later, after the party is over, I pause in the upstairs hallway, listening. And I hear wild laughter from behind Daphne’s door.
I’m rocking a pair of low-slung athletic shorts and nothing else. But it would be rude not to say good night, right? I knock on the