Page 13 of The Summer of ’98

“I love that dress,” Cass reclaimed the conversation. “Where’s it from?”

Now-familiar anxiety flared up. I didn’t want to lie about who I was, but I was already feeling out of place and it felt like this would cement that I didn’t belong. She raised her brows. “It’s from a thrift store back in Waco.”

“Score!” She clapped her hands together. “I love thrift shopping. That’s an amazing find.”

Relief flooded through me. Her outfit didn’t look like it was from the thrift store. She was dressed in a sheer blouse, tucked into the waist of a black leather skirt. But even if she was exaggerating to make me feel better, it worked, and I appreciated it.

“Do you two want a drink?” Eric asked.

Leroy looked to me for an answer and I gave a quick nod, not wanting to seem reserved and quiet all night when it was apparent that he knew most of these people and we’d be faced with ongoing conversation all night. At least liquid courage would assist in bringing me out of my shell and I could seem more confident.

Cass and I were out of breath, dancing around the small fire pit on the concrete patio, screaming our lungs out to Nirvana’s “Heart-Shaped Box” while we refueled on the unidentifiable liquid in our cups. We’d been at the party for about three hours, and three drinks in, I had found the courage I’d been looking for. The umpteen amount of drinks after that were just for thirst.

Leroy and Eric sat on the couches, each with a beverage in hand while they chatted with other friends around them. Occasionally I’d catch Leroy watching me, one side of his mouth turned up in amusement. I was sure that I looked ridiculous, but I was having fun, so I didn’t care.

When the song changed, Cass and I squealed, and I downed the remainder of my drink. I threw the paper cup into the fire and bounced up and down with Cass, our hands in the air as we belted out the chorus to Rage Against the Machine’s “Killing in the Name Of.” There were a few other people doing the same around the yard, shouting the words, getting hyped up as the outro neared.

Cass was on form as Noah came sauntering around the corner with a sway in his step. He eyed her greedily as he leaned against the back of the couch, sipping his beer. She wasn’t oblivious to him and she directed the lyrics at him, emphasizing the “fuck you” part.

She spun around in a circle that almost seemed . . . flirtatious. I wasn’t a big fan of cursing, so I just continued to dance, mouthing over the words that she so vehemently aimed at the younger Lahey brother.

He didn’t seem bothered, more amused than anything, and I wondered if there was more than just hostility between the two. It was as though their sexual tension was being masked by anger and insults. Noah stood up and walked toward her. She carried on dancing beside me, shouting the lyrics as he got closer and closer. When he came to a standstill in front of her, she laid a solid slap across his cheek that no one seemed the least bit surprised or concerned about, least of all him. He smirked at her before he wrapped a hand around the back of her neck and kissed her with obvious aggression.

What the hell was I watching? There’s no way this is healthy. Eric and Leroy were engrossed in a conversation, and when my attention turned back to Cass, she was very much into the kiss, the two of them having at each other as they backed toward the house. Should I follow Cass and tell her that she might regret that in the morning? She might not. Who was I to judge the situation? Not that I’d have been able to find them considering there were now two back doors, and both were blurred and moving, and the ground beneath me was no longer stable.

Leroy

Ellie was standing beside the fire pit, watching Cass and Noah retreat into the house. She looked adorable—all dumbfounded and confused. She wasn’t alone in her confusion—who knew why the hell Cass kept going back for more? We both knew Noah wouldn’t be interested in the morning.

“I better go and get that one,” I said to Eric, gesturing at Els, who was suddenly looking wobbly on her own two feet. A couple of quiet drinks had turned into a half dozen and it was clear that it had gone straight to her head. Still, she was having a good time, couldn’t argue with that.

“Where did Cass go?” Eric threw his empty cup at a trash can and missed.

“Noah,” I explained.

“Got it.”

He gave me a quick nod as I stood up and walked toward Ellie. She spun around and collided with my chest. Startled, she stumbled backward but I wrapped a hand around her waist and kept her from falling over. The music was still blaring, loud and hard to hear over, so I leaned in close and watched her unfocused gaze trying to watch my face.

“Should we get out of here?”

She looked over her shoulder. “But . . . Cass and—”

“That’s just them,” I explained. “They hate each other so much that they regularly fuck. No one gets it. No one tries. We just leave them to it. Should we dip?”

“If you want.”

“We can stay if you’d prefer?”

“Na-uh,” she slurred and fell into my chest. Shit, she was worse than I realized. “Lesgo.”

“You want me to carry you?”

“No,” she said, but there wasn’t a lot of effort on her part to get moving. Eric watched us from the sofa, a couple of the cheerleaders flanking him now, and he gave me a questioning thumbs-up.

“I’ve got it,” I called back and put an arm around Ellie.

Finally, we were headed toward the back gate. The concrete was scattered with solo cups and bottles and even a few teammates who had decided to pass out where they stood. It was times like these where I was tempted to hold a random Sunday football practice just to watch them all suffer for the hell of it. But as entertaining as that would be, I knew it wouldn’t be fair considering all of them put one hundred percent into their game. The weekends were for blowing off steam and they deserved that.

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