Page 9 of Almost Him

Secretly thrilled to see him, I roll my eyes. “Did you get lost on your way across the street?”

He flops down on the grass between my chair and the cooler. “Were you waiting on me?”

“Are you kidding? We almost didn’t bother starting the party.”

My sarcasm makes him smile as it usually does. It’s good to have him back, acting like his old self again. He pops open the lid to the cooler, digs around, and pulls out a can of beer.

Without a word, he reaches up and snatches my soft drink to pull the foam can coolie off the outside of it. “Thanks, El,” he chirps, sliding it around the beer to disguise the can.

“You’re going to get caught,” I hiss.

“Are you going to tell on me?” His taunting smirk says he knows better than that. There’s not a kid in our neighborhood who would tell on another.

Alden chugs the beer and digs out a second, concealing it as Dad announces the food is done. Oliver hesitates when he sees their mom arrive and gesture to him to join her. “I’ll catch up to you in a bit,” he tells me.

“So, you drink now?” I ask, as soon as we’re alone.

“I do lots of things.”

The firelight flickers over his face while I stare at him. He’s only a year older than me, but he seems older sometimes. The look in his eyes has changed since his dad left. Oliver told me that he talks to him on the phone occasionally, but Alden won’t.

Before the conversation can go any further, my dad walks up to us and stares down at him. “Nice try. Hand it over.”

Uh-oh.

“Hand what over?” he asks, purposefully taking a large swallow. Dad takes the can out of his hand.

“The soft drink cans aren’t white on top,” Dad points out. He doesn’t sound angry. More amused. It probably wouldn’t be the same if I’d been the one he caught drinking.

Mrs. Stokes walks up, and Alden sighs, standing up. Dad pulls the can out of the coolie where his mom can see what he had and pours it on the ground.

“Get your ass back to the house, now!” she snaps.

“What? I can’t get one for the road?” Alden asks and dodges her when she tries to grab him. “Whoops, not fast enough.”

Dad reaches out and catches his arm. Alden pauses and raises his eyebrows at him, clearly contemplating whether he wants to push his luck. Instead of getting angry, he forces a grin. “Look, I like you, but this relationship is moving kind of fast for me.”

Dad’s lips twitch, but his voice is even and firm when he speaks. It’s his therapist voice. “Your mother told you to go home. Do I need to remind you where you live?”

Alden’s gaze touches mine for a quick second before he looks at Dad. “Nah, I’m not that drunk. I could use a burger to go, though. What do you say?”

Oliver speaks up from behind me. I’m not sure when he showed back up. “I’ll bring you a plate,” he offers.

He’s trying to diffuse the situation and just in time judging by the way their mothers’ face is growing redder by the second. Alden is completely unconcerned. With a shrug that displays that, he starts back across the street toward his house.

Once he’s gone, his mom shakes her head. “I’m sorry, Charles. He gets harder and harder to handle. I don’t know what happened to him.”

I do. His dad left. And something in him changed.

“No need to apologize. They warn us about terrible twos, but not the terrible teens. Grab yourself a drink and let’s try to forget we did this to ourselves.” He bats the ends of my hair as he says it, and I swat at him.

“Hey, I’m an angel.”

The living room light comes on at the Stokes’ house and I think of Alden over there all alone. I’d follow him and keep him company but there’s no way either of our parents are going to allow that right now.

It’s almost one a.m. when I finally head up to my room. It was such a crazy day. I’m exhausted from the ups and downs of it. The excitement over being invited to my first dance, the fun of the bonfire party, the fear I felt for Alden when he got caught. I’ve just settled into bed when I see a shadow outside my window.

My heart leaps forward when someone taps on the glass. My curtains keep me from seeing who it is, but before I can panic at the thought of it being a burglar—how stupid, burglars don’t tap at your window—a voice whispers my name.

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