The Van Pact

18: Stevie

"I dunno, man," Dillon hopped down from the truck bed. "Alicia wanted to have one-on-one time tonight, if ya know what I mean." He waggled his eyebrows around. I doubted Alicia, whoever she was, would appreciate the innuendo.

            "What do you think, Marco?" Dillon looked over his shoulder at Marc, who typed furiously on his phone.

            "Pretty sure the Cup is closed," Marc didn't bother to look up.

            "Good point," Dillon shot up an index finger at Marc (still absorbed in his phone), then yelled at Shane's truck, "Yo big man!"

            "We've talked about this," Shane stuck his head out the rolled-down driver's side window. "I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't call me that."

            I felt a tap on my left arm. I looked beside me. Jesse smirked.

            "Shane's on a diet," he whispered, and my heart murmur acted up. He's making fun of his friend in front of me. We've bonded. I smiled so hard my cheeks hurt.

             "You got it, small fry," Dillon rolled his eyes. "Is the Cup closed?"

            "It's open till 10," Shane said sheepishly, "but I can't go. I'm supposed to Skype Natalia." He ducked back into his truck and didn't say anything more.

            "Right, Natalia," Dillon made a gun with his thumb and index and middle fingers, pressed it to a spot under his well-chiseled jawline and bopped his head.

Jesse snorted.

"Well," Dillon said to Jesse, "if you want to go with the ladies, we'll see that Barbra gets home safe."

            "Sweet bro," Valerie slapped Dillon's hand. "You don't mind walking for a stretch, Jess? I got free parking on the North Side."

            "I'm wearing comfortable shoes," Jesse kicked up one of his Toms-clad feet.

            I should have been happy, but all I could do was wonder who Barbra was, whether she was attractive, and why she had such an unsexy name? Jesse and I weren't even close to dating, and already I was jealous. How basic could I possibly be?

***

            "You named your drum set after your grandma?" Valerie walked backwards a few steps in front of us. "That's adorable!"

            Of course Barbra was his drum set. I don't know how I thought that name could belong to any competition. I was a darn fool. But at least I was a darn fool who was walking right next to Jesse. I didn't want to stare at him the whole time, though I easily could have. It honestly didn't feel real. Staring at him was my only assurance that the impossible was, in fact, happening. So instead I alternated my gaze between the sidewalk pavement beneath our feet and the view of the blue-black Linden River over which we crossed. On a normal day, I'd be anxious walking the Hillside Truss Bridge (have you read anything about our nation's crumbling infrastructure? I have. I also live in the Rustbelt. We drink lead. If we can't even trust our drinking water, crossing a seventy year old bridge seems like a chancy proposition). I'd probably also be concerned about Jesse's reaction to Valerie's stupid, semi-pervy looking van. Tonight, however, I wasn't thinking about a possible bridge collapse or possible social suicide. I wasn't thinking about anything, except maybe the gentle slope of Jesse's nose. Or how his thick hair jutted straight upward when he ran his fingers through it. Or how steady his gaze was when he looked at me. Like he could see everything about me, and wasn't even remotely repulsed by it.