Page 37 of Soul So Dark
He knows I’m always in the mood for a Diet Coke, especially if I don’t have to pay for it. And especially if it’s from a fountain machine instead of a bottle.
With a quick nod, Austin and I hurry out the back door before the crowd clears and one of the security guards can catch us. Once off campus, we walk a block to his Range Rover and head into town, where Ryland’s Drug sits on Main Street, nestled between a law firm and an antique shop, all of which have existed in the middle of Dire Ridge for decades.
The green leather booths and matching stools lining the old-fashioned counter will start to fill after school lets out because it’s where you find the best cheese fries in town. But, for now, we have the tables to ourselves. Once I have my Diet Coke in one of Ryland’s quintessential red dimpled plastic cups, I feel slightly better. But maybe that’s also due to the rush I’m getting from skipping school.
Delinquency is exhilarating, and it’s even more exhilarating when cheese fries are involved.
Austin rakes his fingers through his hair and rests his arms on the back of the booth. “I don’t think Shelby left you out ofZero Reckoningon purpose,” he begins, finally getting to the point.
“Not inviting me to a movie after we meticulously planned to go together would indicate that it was indeed on purpose,” I reply, pulling a cluster of steaming fries and cheese from the pile and dunking it in the cup of Ranch dressing in the middle of the plate.
“You’re not wrong,” he concedes with a slow nod, “but it could’ve just been a misunderstanding.”
“Or not,” I counter, “and they ditched you, too, for yourcousin,” I point out.
“Yeah,” he smiles, “there’s that. All I’m saying is maybe she just made a mistake.”
“You don’t have to mediate.”
He lets out an exasperated sigh when it’s apparent that I won’t let it go that easily.
“I mean, it was obviously a shock to everyone when…” he trails off, his eyes wandering out the window to the bucolic avenue outside.
I crack a smile. “You’re not very good at talking about this, are you?”
“You’re right,” he takes a swig of his Coke, “I’m terrible at this. It’s why I’ve been asking you to play games with me, because that’s what we do and I’ve never had anyone close to me die, so I really don’t know what that’s like. And now that basketball’s over, I can’t handle this level of drama.”
“I knew you had an ulterior motive,” I grin.
Austin’s right, in the spring and summer, he’s insufferable. He might look like the definition of chill, like he belongs on the beach rather than in the cornfields, but when he’s not playing basketball, he’s like a squirrel bouncing around from one idea to another, always making plans to stay busy. I never get bored with him, but he can also be really shallow when it comes to conflict. He just wants to have a good time, and other people’s feelings sometimes make that really inconvenient.
“Look, I’ll make you a deal,” he finally says.
“What kind of deal?”
“Say yes first.”
“Hell, no!” I scoff. “Your deals don’t usually pan out.”
“Fine,” he agrees, “talk to Shelby, work things out, and I’ll get us all tickets to go seeZero Reckoningagain.”
“Why is itmyresponsibility to take the high road when she’s the one who fucked up? That can’t possibly fall to me.”
“Shelby’s prideful,” he blurts out, letting his palm fall to the table with a smack.
I can’t help but smile. Austin’s right; we all have flaws, and this is Shelby’s.
“I’ll think about it,” I shrug, “ifyou throw in milkshakes.Andif you dress up with me. I have plenty of black lipstick.”
“I’ll buy you milkshakes, but you can fuck right off with that goth bullshit.”
Whatever. Austin puts on a front, but he likes all my pink goth bullshit, especially the horror movies and horror games.
By the time we clean the plate of cheese fries and my Diet Coke is nothing more than a few cubes of ice, we have 10 minutes until the final bell rings at school and I have to meet Colson in the senior parking lot.
“I’m holding you to the movie,” I say, reaching over the console to give Austin a hug before climbing out of his Range Rover, “and the milkshakes. Maybe I’ll just bleed you dry since your parents give you unlimited credit.”
The Bostwicks told Austin the credit card they gave him in eighth grade was only for “back-to-school shopping” and “sports equipment” and unspecified “emergencies,” which then turned into basically everything else in relatively short order. And, yet, he still has it, buying things like movie tickets for everyone, which I also won’t turn down.
