“Okay, settle down,” I said, getting between them. I hadn’t seen Ro and Luke fight since they were like ten and eleven, and though I doubted Luke would indulge him, a keyed-up Rowan had to be stopped before he got going. The motto of Ro’s life was to act first, think later, unless it directly affected his ability to play tennis. His scholarship and spot on the team were pretty much the most important things to him. Which was why it was so unsettling finding him drunk.
“Grab your shoes. We’re leaving,” Luke hissed, and I noticed for the first time that Ro was, in fact, barefoot.
Surprisingly obedient, he crossed the room and picked up a pair of Vans that may or may not have belonged to him, and then we followed him out of the house.
As we crossed the driveway and walked back to where we’d parked on the side of the road, Ro stumbling between us, Luke and I discussed the logistics of one of us driving Ro’s car home, but the parking situation being what it was, we decided not to deal with it.
“He can take the bus and come and pick it up tomorrow,” Luke said. He used one hand to steady Rowan while his other held his phone up to his ear.
“Don’t tell me you’re fucking calling Mom!” Ro suddenly snapped, and I swear he had never sounded more petulant in his life.
“Rowan, shut up!” I said. I was pretty sure Luke had been listening to a voice mail.
“Calm the hell down, or you can walk,” Luke told him.
“Asswipe,” Ro murmured, but it was significantly below his breath, so I took it to mean that he knew Luke was serious.
After we’d gotten him into the car, I climbed into the passenger seat and we drove back to my house. About an hour had passed since I’d left, and I had no missed calls or messages, so I felt pretty confident that my parents were still asleep.
By now, Rowan was snoring softly in the back seat.
Luke cut the engine in my driveway and looked at me as I climbed out of the car. “Thanks, J.J.,” he said quietly, not wanting to wake his brother.
My stomach flipped at the nickname. When I was a kid, I hated my name. Jessi Rumfield.
I hated that my parents hadn’t even gone as far as to commit to “Jessica.” They’d been so busy living their best lives, and then I’d come along. And maybe I was still such an afterthought to them that abbreviating one of the most overused names of all time was the best they could do. They hadn’t even bothered to give me a middle name. In elementary school I started trying to convince people to call me J.J.
Right around the time it caught on, though, common sense kicked in. I realized how immature the whole thing had been and forbade anyone to call me anything but Jessi. All the people who had obliged me (basically everyone but my parents) went back to my given name. Everyone except Luke.
Sometimes.
Rarely, but sometimes.
With my newfound maturity and, with it, my newfound disdain for tryhards who went by initials, I don’t know how I didn’t manage to beat it out of him. Or maybe I didn’t really want to.
“Anytime,” I said now, and I meant it.
Luke smiled—he knew I did mean it—and then I shut the door and walked back into my house.
As expected, I was safe on the parental front, but my heart was doing this weird leapy thing it sometimes did where Luke was involved. Like when he’d wiped his ancient iPod and filled it with a bunch of Mel’s jazz songs for me one Christmas. Or the time when I got braces and he said my smile was “still a ten.”
I flopped into bed, thinking of Luke, but it was Ro’s words I woke up to the next morning.
Sorry bout last night ... if it’s any consolation, head fucking hurts, Mom yelled at me for like an hour and Luke says there’s a picture of me breakdancing???
I kept scrolling and saw another text.
Wake up wake up
I’m up. What?I asked.
U pissed?He wrote back within seconds.
He sent a GIF of a kitten belching out neon letters that spelled out SORRY.
Am I forgiven?
Oh sure,I wrote.I mean, you’ve only been a jackass all summer but kitten gifs so I guess all is forgiven.
