Things are either going exceptionally well or exceptionally awful, depending on how you look at it. I witnessed my first ever fist fight, which also succeeded in disbanding the party. Fine by me. If you've been waiting your whole life to witness something that you thought only happened in movies, you'd be in luck.
The day's events are starting to weigh heavily on my mind, attempting to drag me down into the depths of sleep. I'm pretty sure my eyes were closed and I was already halfway there when one of Lilia's friends got into it with someone from the other side of the Isle. There was a lot of dramatic splashing in the waves rolling onto shore, people filming, yelling encouragement, and general hostility ran abound. If I had a mouthful of the lukewarm beer, I probably would've done a spit take.
I could've kissed whoever threw the first punch, because my socialization capabilities had dwindled well past their reserves about an hour ago. Unlike my cousin, who seems to bloom beneath the rays of attention, I do best when keeping to the shadows. Still, I tried. I don't necessarily want to spend my entire summer stuck in the house listening to mom and Aunt Winnie bicker about everything under the sun.
My relief was palpable when Lilia started herding me off the beach and toward the path leading back to the road. Though before the shadows swallowed us whole, I couldn't help notice the way the brunette girl from the keg is glaring daggers at Lilia's back. Even all the way across the beach, I can feel the heat of her gaze, sense the way her teeth grind together with barely contained anger. Huh. From here, we can still hear the distant sound of waves crashing against the shore.
"Did you have fun? What'd you think? Was it too boring?" Lilia fires off question after question.
My head feels as if it weighs about a thousand pounds and my limbs ache something terrible from being cooped up in a car for most of the day, but I'm doing just fine. At the sight of my estranged cousin's hopeful expression, I make the executive decision to keep my pitiful thoughts to myself.
"Definitely not boring. I've never seen a real fight before."
Now this brings her to a full stop in the middle of the street. The streetlamps buzz overhead, highlighting the frizzy hairs springing up in a halo around her head. Not that it matters much: Lilia is stunning. My own hair feels about two times bigger, even within the constraints of my french braids. The magic Lilia worked on my face has mostly melted off by now, probably giving me the appearance of a sad clown.
"Seriously? I can't even remember the last time I went to a bonfire that didn't end in some sort of conflict."
"That was normal?"
"Completely."
We keep walking, the sound of my shoes scraping against the pavement filling the short burst of silence. Sounds of drunken party goers echo all around us as we follow the long shadows guiding us home.
"So..." I start to speak before I fully find my words. "About the people standing around the keg–"
Lilia groans loudly. "Ugh! The Scratch kids. They think I'm judgmental, but they're even worse! I've tried over and over again to hang out with them in peace, but nooo. They always have to bring up the past, and of course those everyone listens to them, because—"
I let her complain long after I've tuned her voice out, but I notice the way she still refers to Riley by her nickname. I've always found nicknames to be weirdly intimate. Depending on the situation, you can assess a person's friendship based on whether or not they use a nickname. There's a story there, obvious. One she isn't keen on revealing just yet. Lilia's a fountain of information, cycling through at least a decade of bad blood and the nuances of the Isle's wealth gap before she pauses to take a deep, shuddering breath. Her small frame is all but shaking with rage. Before she can launch into yet another set of grievances, I hold up my hand.
"Got it. No Scratch kids." But curiosity gets the best of me, so I add, "Not even the girl glaring literal daggers at you all night."
"You mean Ri?" she spits out her name like it's laced with deadly poison. "Especially not her. Never her. Ever.
She studies me with those cat-like eyes for a moment. Outside, a slight breeze moves the crystal clear water of the pool, and the sun shines its final rays of the day onto the piles of brush. Lilia rests her chin prettily atop her knitted fingers and gestures for me to sit. I comply, if only to give my feet a break.
"Look, I know guys like Jack are super attractive, but don't think about it too much, okay? He flirts with everything that moves, and I'm totally not saying this to dampen your confidence, or anything—you can do what you want—but he's a nowhere boy, Rowan. I don't even know you, but I know you can do so much better."
"Nowhere boy?" I echo.
"Yeah, boys from the Isle going nowhere fast. His family has a tradition of producing miserable alcoholics."
"That doesn't mean he's going nowhere in life, though. Seems harsh."
Even for me and my own barbaric nickname, that's a lot to take in.
"True. But it's one thing to actively try to be better. It's another to embrace that fate because you're afraid of failing, like Jack."
"Hmm."
Jack's cocky grin and bright blue eyes flash to the forefront of my mind. The backwards baseball cap frayed at the edges, the beat up t-shirt with the sleeves ripped off. Everything about him screams lax and yet...I know he wasn't drunk. He was hamming it up on purpose. Call it a gut feeling or whatever, but I've encountered many a drunk asshole. He was annoyingly forward, but clear of mind. His eyes told me as much, when I bothered to meet his appraising gaze.
It felt more like I was back on the field at all those prospect camps, being actively sized up by scouts and college coaches than attending some beach bonfire. Not that Lilia needs to know any of this. She'd think I have a screw loose, and also assume that I go for those with the tendency to hurt the most. I don't have much use for that cliche, seeing as how I never care enough in the end to feel anything other than a slight WORD at the end of things.
"I know that's a horrible thing to say, but..." she trails off with a shrug. "When you live here long enough, you realize there's very little you can do about it until you're older."
"I get it."
"Do you?" Lilia studies me in the watery light. "The town politics here are as old as they are convoluted. There's never been a moment of true peace between my side of the Isle and theirs. It's a whole thing."
A sigh escapes my lips. Do I understand? Oh, man. If Lilia ever steps foot into Rockby during the months between September and January, she'd understand just how much I get it. No one does rivalries better than my hometown, but I keep this to myself for now.
"No Scratch kids, no Nowhere Boys."
She nods, pleased. "Great. Now, do you remember if I took my birth control pill before we left?"
