ELEVEN

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𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙚𝙡𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙣 :
WORST DINNER PARTY GUESTS

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     MICHAEL HAD SNUCK out last night, to where (F/N) didn't know

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     MICHAEL HAD SNUCK out last night, to where (F/N) didn't know. All she knew was that he seemed different. Every night in the week that passed he practically begged her to go to the Boardwalk, and every night she said no.

     Now she was sitting outside on the patio, surrounded by tall plants with Lucy as they enjoyed the calm noon breeze. The girls sat across from each other in a cute area that Mr. Emerson told (F/N) that he had made for his wife, and after her passing, he kept it as neat and upkeep as he could.

     Lucy had been sitting in her chair, moving her cup of juice around as she talked about her shift the previous night—more specifically, Max. It was obvious the woman was charmed by him.

     (F/N) eyed the woman with an almost proud smile, "And he was nice to you?"

     "Yes, (F/N)," Lucy nodded giddily, it was nice seeing her so happy after she had seen her at the lows of her divorce, "Max was very nice. And he paid for dinner... I invited him over tonight."

     The teen raised her eyebrows, "Here?"

    "For dinner." Lucy offered, "Do you want to help me cook?"

    (F/N) shrugged, knowing she would likely just be shredding cheese for the woman, "Sure."

    "I asked Sam for help, but he seems a little weird. Do you know about that?" Lucy tilted her head at the girl, knowing she spent most of her time hanging with the boy who clung to her like a koala.

"I have no idea. But I've noticed that too." (F/N) nodded, and Lucy gave her a satisfied expression, happy to not be the only one noticing, "I think I saw him wearing garlic the other night."

"Wearing garlic? Jeez...What is going on with those boys?" The roar of a motorcycle was heard. "Is that Michael?" Lucy asked.

    "I think so. Don't know anyone else with a motorcycle." (F/N) shrugged, knowing that if it were a Lost Boy, there would at least be two. They never seemed to be alone. Besides, there was no way they knew where the Emersons lived. Right?

    The two females turned to the stairs leading to the door and saw as Michael came parading on the porch, walking up with his sunglasses on, and leather jacket covering his arms.

SUMMER NIGHTS | ʟᴏsᴛ ʙᴏʏs 1987. ✔︎ Where stories live. Discover now