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“It’s a long shot, I know, but let’s just have a good time, okay?”
“Here we go,” Jeanette says as she returns with a server tray loaded with eight shots. “They were two-for-ones.”
“Great,” Isla says flatly.
“On three.” Jeanette holds two up for herself. “One, two, three!”
The four of us take our shots, and they taste like bad decisions. The night will go down from here, but only three of us know it.
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2
Everett
“Another?” The bartender asks, pointing to my half-empty drink.
“Coffee, if you don’t mind. Heading out soon.”
“You got it.”
Craft is the latest up-and-coming bar to try to gain a foothold in downtown Somerset Harbor. It’s not too loud, not too raucous for the mood I’m in, and the shiny hardwood in all directions makes the interior feel warmer than it is. With people flowing in and out, the cold air shoves inside fast. The place seems busy enough. Maybe they’ll still be here when I get back.
IfI get back.
My sister Maya has always had the right idea about Somerset Harbor. It’s a nice place to visit. Not a great place to live. Sure, it’s got a quaint, small town in coastal New England vibe—that’s what it is—but the lack of anything vaguely exciting made it a dull place for us to grow up. Maya got out. She’s finishing up school in Boston and plans to stay there when she graduates, much to our mother’s dismay.
But I quit my junior year of college last week. Dismay is not the right word to describe my family’s feeling on the matter. Or rather, whatwillbe their feelings. Once I tell them.
When I am safely ensconced in the Andes.
I am not always this impulsive, but it’s not my fault that it’s so last minute. My friend Ted had someone drop out of his expedition and needs a fifth guy. How was I supposed to say no to that? How many times in life do you get the chance to spend months hiking in the Andes?
Though, to be honest, it might be more chances if I decide to stay there. It’s beautiful—my travel guide makes me fall in love with it every time I turn the page. The terrain, the animals, the lakes, it’s all fascinating. So far, the worst thing about this trip is not getting to tell anyone about it ahead of time. But if I did that, my family would find out before I could go, and they have the resources to make it difficult for me to get there.
I’ve already spent the money I had saved up for a new truck on supplies for this, and I’m not backing out just to finish my junior year. I will leave tomorrow. My folks thought I was going to be back home for Christmas break. I was not going to ruin the holiday by disappointing them more than I already do, so I told them I was heading back to school tonight. A white lie that prevents a big fight.
If they had their way about things, I’d be a lawyer or a doctor or some other profession on their approved list. Not aimlessly wandering around the world. But life is too short to do things you don’t want to do, and I have no desire to do anything on their list. I want adventures, not a suit and tie.
The bartender delivers my coffee with cream and sugar packs, so I pull myself away from my book to dress the mug. It’s then that I realize the mood of Craft has shifted. Fewer people there to enjoy a drink and have a good time, and more people there to hook up. I shake my head at the poor saps.
Let them have their fun. I am beyond such things. Sure, I had my fun back in school, but this trip is more than a way to avoid college and a future with a necktie noose. It’s what real men do. Cut their own path. So, the idea of hooking up doesn’t even appeal to me. I have an adventure to plan—that redhead is looking at me, isn’t she?
Doesn’t matter. Not here for that.
The coffee is as decent as bar coffee ever is, and I get back to my book. I’ve always enjoyed reading in bars. Most people leave you alone, but you’re not technically alone, and someone brings you drinks and food. It’s like a library, but way better.
Can’t stop my eyes from flicking over the top of the page. The redhead is a suck shot at darts. Or she’s had one too many shots. Or both. But she looks like she’s having a good time. She laughs easily. And her hair is a lion’s mane of rich red curls. When a group of guys comes by to hit on her and her friends, it’s clear they’re not interested. Well, the blonde is, but not the other three.
Maybe she’s into girls? Nope. She looked over at me again.
Could be my imagination. It has been a while since a girl gave me that look, and too often, it’s because she knows who my family is. At least, back at school, that was why. It’s part of why I’ve left three schools in three years. Once girls know your family is loaded, it changes the game. Same with professors. I hate it.
But it’s my family who are wealthy. Not me. I let them pay for college because, well, they want that life for me, so they can pay for it. Everything else, I get on my own. A girl I dated for a few weeks in sophomore year made that a point of contention. She argued since I didn’thaveto work, I shouldn’t work and I should just spend more time with her instead. She wasn’t proud of me for earning my way—it confused her.
For once, I’d like someone to be interested in me for me, and not my family name. I never thought that would be too much to ask, but it seems to be. Such is life, I guess.
The redhead keeps glancing over here, and damn, she is cute as hell. When we make eye contact and she knows she’s been caught looking at me, her gaze zips away and a private smirk tugs at her full lips. I smile, too. Silly little bar game.
