Kids These Days

Chapter 20: Ronan

The bartender raises an eyebrow when I order my third drink. (I've just been introduced to the concept of a Manhattan, and god, it is life-changing.) "If you're going to sneak into an open house, you should probably buy a suit that fits you first," he says, plopping an olive skewer into a blonde woman's cocktail. "How old are you, anyway?"

"Old enough to show your mother a good time," I say. The bartender is not amused. (So I might be a little drunk. What else is there to do in a small town in the middle of the desert?) "Kidding, kidding. Sorry. I'll tip you extra if you stop asking questions."

"I don't get paid enough for this shit," he mutters, turning his back on the bar.

As the bartender whisks up a drink in his stainless steel shaker, I swivel on my stool to observe the party. It's only five -- six? -- in the evening, but the crowd is bouncing around like the bartender is about to announce last call. The piano player is jamming out to some Vivaldi, a bored harpist smoking a cigarette by his side, and all the chandeliers are twinkling and blurring like headlights in the rain. Rachel really knows how to show her guests a good time. I haven't seen so many gamblers and coke addicts in the same room since Sabrina's fiftieth birthday party.

"Here's your drink, kid," the bartender says, sliding me a can of root beer. "Enjoy."

"Seriously, dude? I thought we had an agreement." I slap a twenty down on the table, but the bartender just smirks. "Yeah, fuck you too."

Root beer in hand, I slip into the crowd, hoping to catch a glimpse of Rachel or one of her friends. The real estate agent disappeared into the chaos after her fifth jackpot, and I doubt she's going to resurface at the bar. Maybe she's powdering her nose in the bathroom.

I'm scanning the dance floor when I spot them. Finn and Becca. They're holding hands like the twins from The Shining, and Finn is grinning like he just won a free plane ticket to Las Vegas. Becca tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and offers him a tentative smile. Of course. I should've known better -- why do I never see these things coming?

I drop my root beer into the nearest trash can and head for the door. Fuck this. I'm not getting dragged into Finn's disaster of a love life for the second summer in a row.

Outside, the sun is hanging low on the horizon, setting the stained glass windows of the church ablaze. A rosy pink glow washes over the stucco buildings and sport cars. I think back to Finn showing me the view from his attic window, his brown eyes gleaming in the twilight. It's the desert, isn't it? What's there to believe?

I round the corner and follow the sidewalk until the sound of Rachel's casino party is replaced by crickets chirping and radios in open windows. It's still hot as hell in the desert, so I strip off my jacket and toss it over a chain link fence. (I'll pay the damages tomorrow.) Then I unknot my bow tie and take a deep breath. Cars roll past me on the sun-cracked asphalt, blaring cotton-candy pop music and that one catchy song by New Kids on the Block. There's just so much that I wanna say... But when I look at you, all my thoughts get in the way...

A yellow Volvo grinds to a halt on the side of the road. Andy Hill sticks her head out the passenger window and shouts, "Need a ride?"

I glance over my shoulder. It doesn't seem like anybody followed me from the party, so I say, "Why not," and she swings open the door.

Oliver scoots over to make room for me in the back seat. He's wearing a baseball cap pulled low over his eyes and a button-up white shirt that looks like it belongs on the set of American Graffiti. I try to catch his eye, but he pointedly ignores me.

"We're going out on the town," Andy says, pivoting around in her seat. Pink sequins glitter on her cheekbones. I've never seen so much blush and eyeliner in my life, but Andy pulls it off magnificently. "There's a club in the next county over that doesn't check ID."