Saving Scott

Chapter One: "Because he's white and he'll call CPS."

"Those are your hangover glasses."

I knew Matt was glaring at me even behind his sunglasses. His head was dropped against the steering wheel, he was wearing sweats and a polo he'd probably grabbed off the floor, and he looked like hell. "Yours are in the glovebox, asshole."

"You're the best," I added with a grin that kind of hurt my face.

"You're the worst," Matt shot back, and groaned as he pushed himself into a proper sitting position while I climbed into the passenger seat. I grabbed my own sunglasses before twisting around to dig in the Hangover Cure Box. It was a concoction Matt and I had made at the end of last year, an innocent looking lunch box filled with waters, advil, some healthy trail mix, a few gift cards to places that sold good breakfast, and something in pill form that promised a cure in an hour or less. Sometimes, I worried about our priorities.

"Whose party did we end up at anyway?" Matt asked.

"Dunno," I said. "It's all kind of a blur. Did you drive home last night?"

Matt shook his head. "Nah, Abbie Jones drove me. She's still doing that designated driver thing. I think she might have actually started a club, some girls I haven't met were following her around."

"Her Christian values really come in handy sometimes," I said as I turned the air on high. It was cold out, but Matt didn't complain. "I'm honestly surprised she hasn't narced yet. Wasn't she there when that one girl crashed her car?"

Matt nodded. "She tossed the alcohol and called the cops but didn't say a word about Hunter's party."

"Weird," I said. Abbie Jones was kind of a saint, really religious but never overbearing about it. I'd never seen her put anything in her body besides vegetables and water. I hadn't had a vegetable since I was six, and I only drank water when I felt like I was about to die. "You taking me home?"

Matt shot me a look. "When was the last time you actually went home?"

I shrugged and we didn't say anything else, but it was a relief when Matt pulled up to his own house instead of mine. "How does your mom not know you got fucked up last night?"

"Oh, she knows," Matt said. We both got out of the truck and headed towards the house while he continued with, "She knows everything. It's pointless to try and lie."

Matt's house was probably the most humble one in Bridgewood. It wasn't overdone or extraordinary like everyone else's. His mother wasn't trying to prove a point or make the neighbors fawn over her. She kept it tidy, had a small garden, and a big ass cross on her front door that read: todos son bienvenidos. Anywhere else it would have been pretentious, but not Matt's place.

It was also likely the only house in Bridgewood that felt like a home and not a shrine of 'look how perfect my family is.'

"Mom!" Matt called as we walked inside, and the pinched look on his face said he regretted the volume of his voice immediately. I smirked and he punched my shoulder and we followed the scent of tamales into the kitchen. "Hey, we're home."

There were always a lot of people at Matt's house, too many for me to keep track of, usually family or considered family. There were two of his aunts and a cousin I vaguely recognized sitting at the table that Matt greeted with a kiss on the cheek before going to drop his head on his mother's shoulder.

"Hola, mijo," she said, with only a touch of judgement in her tone. She didn't stop working on the tamales she was making, but she did press a kiss into his curls. Ms. Alvarez looked a lot like Matt, she wasn't exactly pretty, but attractive in a sharp kind of way. It was all confidence. She had a no-bullshit face with kind eyes. She looked at me, and thinned her lips. "Scott."