Page 93 of Limbo

Realizing Jordan isn’t following, I turn around. “Are you coming?”

He looks up and dashes toward me with no sign of slowing down. I shriek as he crashes into me and makes a ghoulish sound in my ear. His lips brush down to mine, and it doesn’t matter where we are. It’s perfect because he’s kissing me.

Up the staircase, we walk the hall with lockers on one side and the restrooms without fixtures on the other. I stop at the door with the music thumping behind it. The nerves specific to Jordan pop up in my belly, as I’m not sure what to expect when he meets the rowdy and unpredictable group of friends waiting inside.

“Ready to become a part of Callista’s world?” I ask.

He runs his fingers along my cheek and moves a loose section of hair back. “It’s all Callie’s world to me.”

I smile, liking not balancing all the balls separately anymore. At least, not every one of them.

Tony’s the first to spot us when we walk in. “Henders!” he shouts, running toward us. His shoulder drops, and he pretends to tackle me, reversing me a few steps. When he straightens up, he gives me a wink and drags a hand over his stocking cap. He tucks it in his back pocket and pulls out the cigarette from behind his ear.

“Jordan, this is Tony,” I say as he flicks his lighter.

“Well, he’s the guy, huh?”

I don’t even bother glaring at him. Tony will say and do whatever the hell Tony wants to say and do without a filter.

But my eyes narrow at Jordan when he says, “I’m starting to get the impression she’s talked about me quite a bit.”

Tony chuckles. “You have no idea, dude. Welcome.” He gestures around the room, proud of his setup. “Everything the light touches is our domain. Fire barrel in the middle for warmth and the burning of shit if you feel so inclined. Beer and an assortment of adult beverages in the red coolers.” A hand taps the pocket of his heavy flannel when he turns to us. “And right here, the green if you’re keen.”

From his heavy eyes and easy smile, I doubt there’s muchgreenleft.

“Where’s the birthday boy?” I ask, not seeing Pete.

About then, he sneaks between a few people standing by the burn barrel, one of them slapping him on the back on his way past. He heads straight for me with a look of disbelief in his eye and picks me up in a hug. I secure my arms around his neck, my feet dangling off the floor.

“Happy birthday, Pete.”

His chest rises in a deep breath. “It’s not a birthday until you say that.”

He notices Jordan after he sets me down and rubs the back of his neck. “Sorry,” he says, his eyes flitting to mine. “I’m Pete. You must be Jordan.”

Mr. Manners, Pete extends his hand to Jordan. Tony and I watch them eyeing each other while shaking hands. Their arms quickly fall to their sides.

“Happy birthday,” Jordan says.

“Ah, thanks.” He relaxes again a little. “But really, we’re just using it as an excuse to party.”

They use everything as an excuse to party. New job, flat tire, found a missing sock.

We move farther into the room, my hand finding Jordan’s. Shayna tracks us down, giggly and well on her way to drunk. But considering Tony has a bottle of moonshine in his hand, I’m not surprised. She hugs me, swaying and cooing about how much she loves me. Then she does the same to Jordan, much to his surprise.

I laugh, dragging her away from him. “Shay, hands off.”

Her lip juts out. “You shared better when we were kids.”

Tony passes around the moonshine while we stand around the barrel. It only takes a few minutes before my friends start telling the most embarrassing stories they can think of, all starring a very drunk me. I press my face against Jordan’s chest, hiding, and he wraps his arms around me. The memories eventually move on to ones not involving alcohol, but I cut those off after a while, too.

The bottle goes around for the third or fourth time, but Jordan and I pass on the offer. I keep waiting for him to catch my eye and ask to leave, but he never does. He laughs along with Tony and Pete and becomes a pro at dodging Shayna. He fits here just as much as everywhere else in my life.

I’m staring up at him, not even paying attention to the conversation, when a siren blares. The classroom door kicks open, and a light shines in our eyes. Everyone else scatters around the room in a panic, but I wait for it.

“Everyone’s under arrest,” the voice barks through a megaphone. “For being a bunch of assholes.”

The light shuts off, and in strides Trey with a smirk. The fear turns to annoyance, the group groaning at him. Tony plows into him, and they almost knock a chalkboard off the wall. They wrestle on the ground before Trey rolls his way over to us. He uses my arm to pull himself up and pops up next to me.

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