Page 42 of It's Always Sonny

The teen, Noah, jumps up onto the table like he’s Sonny Jr., and shouts, “Let the games begin!”

The Lucianos scatter, but Sonny stops by me, first. Our conversation lingers on his face in the form of a half smile where a full one should be. “You should play.”

The pull isn’t as strong as it used to be, but it’s still there. “That’s not my speed.”

“You never seemed to have a problem keeping up with me.”

“Oh, I could destroy you,” I say with a challenge in my voice I can’t keep out. “I’m an armored tank.”

The other corner of his mouth lifts as he looks me over. “You? No. You’re a Ferrari. A Lamborghini. You’re a precision race car.”

“I notice both of those are Italian.”

Sonny almost grins. “You have no idea how fast you can go because you’ve never let yourself push your own limits.”

“Playing capture the flag is hardly pushing my limits.”

“You know, you are allowed to have a good time here.”

“You know, you’re not the only one whose happiness comes from seeing other people happy.”

He grins so wide, my heart squeezes like he’s holding it in his hands. He’s so bright and brilliant, I almost need to squint to look at him.

“Sonny! Let’s go!” Gabe yells.

Sonny starts to back up, limping as he does. “I dare you.”

“What is this, third grade?”

“Chicken.”

I scoff. “Taunting isn’t going to convince me.”

He raises one eyebrow, and my resolve weakens slightly, because he’s using all sorts of looks on me that are designed to chip away at my defenses.

I wave him away. “Go. I have work to do.”

“Come.”

I laugh. “Go! I mean it!”

“Try not to dream about me, Parker.”

“Try not to fall out of a tree, Santino.”

With one more blinding smile, he turns and disappears out of the pavilion and into the dark night sky.

With the Lucianos gone, I’m in awe of the devastation they left in their wake. Not the mess—they cleaned up after themselves physically.

No, this devastation is emotional.

This entire night has made me feel like my walls are broken beyond repair. They feel more like the walls of Jericho, and Sonny and his family have been stomping around in circles all day.

I run a finger over my earlobe, feeling the second piercing there. I got the piercing right after I broke up with Sonny, at the start of the worst year of my life. I did it as an act of self-determination or control or maybe flat out rebellion. I didn’t even want it, but I knew how much my parents would hate it. I thought they might hate it even more than my C minus.

I assumed I would see them that summer, but they were too disgusted to have me in their presence. I retook that geology class the next semester, got an A, and fixed my GPA, and they consented to see me at Christmas. I wanted to go in with double piercings—maybe even an ear cuff or a fake nose ring—but I couldn’t. I couldn’t do any of it.

I got nervous and chickened out. I took the earring out and kept my hair loose around my shoulders.

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