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Jason’s brother, Ian, is at the bow of the boat. Every now and then, a gust blows the smell of clove cigarettes our way.
Jason himself is dressed in a nice white button-up. Tan slacks. We sit side by side, and his arm hair tickles my skin.
“Should I keep an eye on you?” he asks.
“Why?”
“Every time you’re around, bad things happen to me.”
“Then, yes. You should definitely keep an eye on me.”
His dad announces that dinner is ready, which is good. It’s bad for me to have Jason King this close, smelling like patchouli and salt water. It gives me a bad urge to lick him from his collarbone, up his Adam’s apple, to his plump bottom lip.
God, I need to lose my virginity. Like, now. This repression is no good for anyone.
I take it out on my steak. I cut into it like Jack the Ripper. It’s cooked perfectly—just a little on the rare side. I try to focus on the meat on my plate, instead of the man meat sitting beside me.
Jason is different around his family, though. Like the boat, he’s cleaned up. Hair slicked back. Eyes bright and alert. I’ve known him as the party animal, but here, under his dad’s eye, the boy might as well have a halo over his head. He’s that much of a good boy.
“I feel like I haven’t seen you around lately, Jason,” Four says as he cuts into his steak.
Realizing I’ve tuned out, I tune back in.
“He’s grounded,” says Ian—which is the first time I’ve heard him speak all night. He has a particularly joyful glint in his eyes when he says it, and I get the impression it’s a rarity even in the confines of his own house for Jason King to suffer the consequences of his actions, and Ian is gloating about it.
“There was an incident at the marina,” Mr. King expounds. “Jason, why don’t you tell us about it?”
“He got the boat stuck on a sandbank,” Ian snickers.
Mr. King glances sideways at Ian. “Is your name Jason?”
Ian drops his eyes. “No, sir.”
I freeze midchew, the meat half-masticated in my mouth. My eyes lock on Jason, waiting for the sharp sting of just revenge. Four and Pearl know nothing about the prank Donovan and I played, and I guess it’s due time I got drawn and quartered for it on the dinner table.
Jason’s blue eyes sweep to me—a parting got ya? But then he does something strange.
He shrugs and turns back to his plate. “I tried to take it out at night. My bad.”
Is he…taking the blame?
I’m shocked. I didn’t think Jason King had a martyr bone in his body, but here he is. Taking the rap and doing time—in his dad’s mansion, but still—for my crime.
Why would he let us off the hook like that?
I swallow my bite of steak. The lump feels weird in my throat.
“Listen to this boy—my bad,” Mr. King repeats, a smile playing softly on his lips. “It tore up the bottom of the boat. We had to have it resanded.” He points his fork to the sky. “Do you hear that?”
“Hear what?” Pearl asks.
Mr. King takes out a small remote from his pocket and presses a button. The music gets louder. “The popping in the stereo.”
I can barely hear it, but if I strain, every five seconds, there’s a small pop of air in the beats.
“Music blasted too loud wears and tears on the system…” He turns the music down again. “Kids have no respect for the power of the tools they wield.”
Jason shrugs. “Sorry.”
