I try to get Willow’s attention, but her camera is on and she’s holding it toward her and Brett.
I want to grab them by the shirts and explain.You don’t understand. Luke doesn’t drink.
He hates the taste of beer. He doesn’t like the way it makes him feel, the way it makes him lose control.
So what the hell happened before I got here?
I realize for the first time that apart from my crippling anxiety, I was kind of looking forward to tonight. Luke and I have had a string of good days, days where it didn’t feel like we were hiding folds of hate under love. And now I feel all that shattering right before my eyes.
Brett is inviting Luke into the camera shot. I duck away from the three of them before I’m captured on film with people underage drinking. Not that I have any scholarships to worry about losing.
“Rumfield,” someone says, giving me a nod as he walks past. Eric.
I grab his elbow. I’m that desperate.
He looks taken aback. “Whoa,” he says.
I quickly let go. “Sorry. It’s just ... how long have you guys all been here? I thought it started at eight.”
“A bunch of people went from work to Blueberry Diner for dinner; then they came here and started drinking, I guess,” Eric says with a shrug.
“Luke?” I ask.
“I don’t know,” he says, following my gaze to where Luke and Brett are mugging for Willow’s camera. “Kinda looks like it.”
“He doesn’t drink,” I say now, trying not to sound like a concerned wifey or something. “I mean, usually.”
“Yeah, I believe you,” Eric says. “It’s fine. He’s just having a good time, but let’s keep an eye on him, okay?”
Thelet’salmost makes me cry.
It means I’m not alone in this, that I’m not crazy or overreacting. That I’m not reliving the worst night of my life.
“Okay,” I say. “Yeah, let’s do that.”
“Want something to drink?” Eric asks. “I know where there’s some unspiked punch.”
“Where?” I ask.
“In my backpack. I brought my own, like a freaking kindergartener,” he says, and I laugh. “I try not to overdo the booze thing too often anymore. Not this summer, anyway.”
I remember the night when he humiliated me at Bailey’s party. He wasn’t drunk then? I don’t know whether that makes it better or worse.
I glance over my shoulder to make sure Luke is still with Brett and Willow. At least Willow isn’t drunk ... yet. To my surprise, Luke is looking over here. When his attention drifts back to Willow again, I hurry to catch up with Eric.
“So what kind of punch?” I ask.
“It’s made from the tears of infants and the sweat of old men.”
I make a face.
“That was a joke. Meant to imply that I know you think I’m an asshole.”
I give a reluctant laugh.
Eric stops under a tree and pulls out a backpack. He holds out a nearly full Gatorade bottle to me.
“Thisis your punch?”
