Page 37 of The Way We Swing

Nothing. No jolt. No flutter. Just lips on lips, two puzzle pieces that would never fit. Her perfume was sweet, like peaches, and it made me feel lonelier. It made me think of citrus.

I let it last long enough to look real then pulled away. We said good night, and I turned back toward the car, head lowered like I’d passed a test I hadn’t studied for.

“Look at you, Mr. Romeo,” Zach said from the back.

“Shut up, or I’m taking you home.” I was sick of him. Sick of this.

I pulled out of the driveway nearly as fast as I’d pulled away from the kiss. I barely remembered the drive to Silas’s. It was only a mile, but it felt longer with that nothing still sitting on my tongue.

We all jumped out of the Durango and headed to the big red barn at Silas’s house. His parents were functioning alcoholics and didn’t care what we did in the barn as long as nobody drank and drove.

The word “barn” didn’t quite do the place justice. The property had once served as a wedding venue before the owners had gone broke and Silas’s parents had bought it cheap.

Christmas lights lined the walls, glowing softly in the mid-October night. Inside, even more lights twinkled, their warmth clashing gently with the white strands still strung from the chandeliers. Once, couples had danced here beneath those same chandeliers, but now the place sat half-cleaned and half-abandoned, with folding chairs pushed into corners and a dusty archway leaning against the wall.

Silas had started decorating, if you could call it that. A beat-up speaker sat at one end of the hall, where he lounged next to Maddux and their dates. On the opposite side, a cooler overflowed with ice, soda, and a keg. Mismatched lawn chairs formed loose circles around the room. About two dozen people milled around, most of the guys still in tuxes while the girls had changed into hoodies and sneakers.

I dropped into the chair next to Ricky, where he and Bella argued about who was the better catcher, and Lacy sat amused. Silas’s mumble rap thudded through the floorboards—some bass-heavy track that made my ribs ache like I was still on the dance floor. My ears buzzed.

My head was clear, though, painfully so.

I waved off the red cup someone tried to hand me. Again. The fifth time tonight? Sixth? I’d stopped counting.

Being sober in public felt safer. No risk of slipping up. No slurred confessions or loaded glances. No mistakes. Hurray for being gay helping contain underage drinking!

At 1 a.m., I stood up again and wove through half-spilled drinks and half-hearted conversations, looking for the two drunk idiots I had to shepherd home. I found them next to their dates at the table I’d been avoiding since we’d gotten here. One of the girls’ dads was picking them up, so, thankfully, I only had to be in charge of two slobbering fools.

“You guys have twenty minutes. Mom wants us home by one-thirty,” I said. My voice came out sharp. I didn’t wait for them to answer before turning around.

“Tanner, come talk to us!” Easton called, voice loose and sloppy.

I turned back.

“Tanner, come back,” he repeated. “We haven’t seen you all night.”

“I’m good. Finish up with the girls while I go say bye to Bella and Lacy.”

My jaw clenched tight enough to crack. I made it back to my previous seat, next to Bella. Safe territory.

And then I saw it.

Easton leaned in too fast toward his date, and their noses bumped. Ashley laughed, too loudly and too fake, but he didn’t seem to care. He smiled that familiar smile, the one that always made my stomach twist, and let her pull him in. Their kiss was messy and uncoordinated, all shifting weight and flailing hands, like neither of them really knew what they were doing.

It was nothing like when Easton and I kissed.

His hand hovered at her waist before settling there, and I stood frozen, watching him hold someone else like they mattered.

“That sucks,” Bella said, knocking me out of my trance. She was the only one around; Ricky and Lacy had disappeared to god knew where.

“Huh?”

“You know what, Tanner,” she said softly.

My hands found the edge of my plastic chair, and I gripped it hard enough that my knuckles turned white. I refused to look at her.

“I have a story for you,” she said.

“Okay?”