Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 76710 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76710 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Jesse follows my gaze. “What, the stars?”
“Yeah. You don’t see this in the city.”
I pinch a handful of sand between my fingers, then let it sprinkle back to the ground, my chin resting on top of my knees.
“Wanna tell me what that was about back there?” he asks, taking me by surprise. Leaning my cheek onto my knee, I look over at him, assessing.
“What, I can’t ask questions?” he asks, eyebrow raised.
“Not those kinds of questions.”
“Okay. Let’s start small,” he says, cracking open another bottle. He holds one out for me in silent offering. I take it, feeling the condensation on my fingertips. “We’ll take turns.”
“Sure.” I laugh.
“There’s a catch,” he warns.
“With you, I’m sure there always is.”
Jesse cuts his eyes at me, mid-drink, but ignores my comment. “If you don’t answer, you have to drink.”
I shrug. “Easy enough.”
“I’m not talking favorite colors and shit either. Real shit. Shit no one else knows.”
“Fine.”
Jesse smirks, clanking his bottle to mine. “What’s with you and the emo kid?”
“That’s what you start with?”
“Answer the question.”
“Fine.” I roll my eyes. “If you’re referring to Dylan, he’s a friend and only a friend.”
“Has he always been only a friend?”
“My turn,” I say, ignoring his question. I know exactly what I want to ask him. I don’t want to start off too personal in case he follows suit, but I can’t bring myself to wait. “Why aren’t you in school anymore?”
Jesse works his jaw, a dark look clouding over his features, making me instantly regret asking him. “Got kicked off the lacrosse team.”
“Why?”
“My turn,” he says, throwing my words back in my face. “Do you ever fantasize about that night?”
I don’t miss how he deflects by turning the conversation to something sexual in nature, but I feel my cheeks burn nonetheless, and I’m grateful to the night sky for concealing it. Instead of answering him, I tip the bottle to my lips, drinking the entire thing. I throw the empty bottle onto the sand and turn back to find Jesse looking at me with heat in his eyes, his bottom lip trapped between his teeth.
“I guess I got my answer. I do, too, if you were wondering.”
“I wasn’t,” I lie. “Where do you disappear to?”
Jesse narrows his eyes at me before opting to chug instead.
“Interesting,” I muse, trying to act nonchalant, when in reality, his reluctance to tell me only makes me more curious.
“What’s up with the CD player?”
“My dad gave it to me on my fifth birthday.” I smile at the memory. “Most kids would be getting a bike or—I don’t know—dolls. I got a portable CD player and a Jimmy Eat World CD. I’ve had it ever since.” I laugh. “Not as convenient as everything else these days, but I still prefer it. I guess I don’t do well with change.”
Jesse snorts.
“What about you?” I look over at him. “What were you like as a kid?”
He looks out at the black lake. “A punk. A white boy from the hood who couldn’t stay out of trouble.” I think about the picture I saw of him with the skateboard, unable to imagine that sweet little face getting into trouble. “Got kicked out of school a lot. Lo saved my ass, though. On more than one occasion.” He takes a long pull of his beer. “She raised me. Our mom was always more concerned about getting her next fix than remembering she had mouths to feed.”
“I had no idea,” I say quietly. “I thought you were just some spoiled, lacrosse-playing, party-loving manwhore.”
Jesse barks out an unexpected laugh at my blunt admission. “I guess that’s what I became when I moved here.” He chews on his bottom lip for a minute, seeming to think something over before he speaks again. “It’s funny. You can’t handle change, and I feel like all I’ve done my whole life is adapt to it. I don’t know what the fuck consistent even feels like.”
I study him, once again sensing that there’s more to him than his persona. I want to swim in his depths, uncover every little hidden piece that the rest of the world doesn’t get to see.
“Like a chameleon,” I muse.
“What?”
“You adapt to survive.”
“Seems I’m not the only one.”
My eyebrows pull together in confusion.
“Someone incapable of adapting wouldn’t move to a new town, all alone,” he explains.
I lift a shoulder in response, but I don’t elaborate. They would if they didn’t have any other options.
We go back and forth, round after round, him avoiding all questions to do with what he does and where he goes when he’s not here, me avoiding anything about my parents. The more we drink, the more sexually charged our questions become. I don’t think Jesse even expects me to answer. I think he just likes to watch me squirm. We aren’t even drinking when we opt not to answer anymore. We’re just drinking to drink. Eventually, we’re both lying on our backs with a graveyard of beer bottles around us. Jesse pulls out something that was tucked behind his ear, and the familiar smell tells me it’s not a cigarette.