these troubled bones | s.m.

xii. admonisher

warning: some underage drinking in this and also some homophobic language. these are the thoughts of a select few (asshole) characters, not my own.

xii. admonisher

WE'RE ONE OF the last people to arrive at the Lot, meaning we have to park on the outer edge. About ten different people have brought speakers with them to blast music according to their personal tastes, which is probably about the fastest way to give me a headache.

Knight takes one look and me and snorts in derision. "Don't tell me you're done already, Grandpa. The night is young."

"Yeah, yeah," I grumble. She nudges into me with her elbow. That's a thing she does quite a bit now, by the way: casual touching. I'm not entirely sure what it means, nor do I really want to find out, so I usually just let it slide without comment. I don't initiate it if I can help it, though. Reminds me too much of Caroline.

Despite the usual abundance of music and questionably legal substances, something is a bit off tonight, and it's immediately noticeable as Knight and I weave our way through the rows of expensive cars that shouldn't be trusted in the hands of dumb teenagers (though maybe I'm just bitter about my own shitty car). A crowd has gathered in the center, murmuring amongst themselves, and as I push between a couple people to see beyond, I realize that they're gathered around Tommy's truck.

I'm not surprised, not even a little bit.

Enclosed within the ring of onlookers, the air is taut with tension. Tommy sits unassumingly in the bed of his truck, feet swinging off the edge, but there's a predatory gleam in his searching eyes that gives me pause. The set of his shoulders is rigid for one moment when he looks straight at me.

I stare back in a silent challenge. His eyes slide to my right, where I feel Willa's presence beside me. Tommy looks back at me and gives this little smirk that makes me scowl, but then Jones appears beside him with two beers in hand and his attention is elsewhere.

"There they are." Willa breaks me out of my staredown with Tommy by starting to walk and gesturing for me to follow. I see she's headed for Kathy's Prius which is a bit off to the side from the crowd. All of our lunch group is gathered around there, with the noticeable addition of Oliver Ryland, who stands between Elliot and Marin.

"Hey, guys!" Willa calls out and bounds over to them, me following a bit slower. Ever since I started hanging out with the girls, it's been strange for me to see how she acts with them, with friends. She's shed most of her "new girl" persona, but she's still quite earnest, which strikes me as interesting since she acts so detached around me.

Besides, of course, that time she was in my bedroom with my tongue down her throat, but you know. I suppose that shouldn't count.

Elliot claps me on the shoulder when I'm close enough, and I nod at Oliver, still very much aware of my lunchtime revelation. There's always the chance I'm wrong, but in case I am correct, I don't want to be a dick to the guy who could be my best friend's boyfriend.

"So what exactly is this showdown?" I ask, more out of the need to find a conversation topic and less out of genuine curiosity.

Oliver answers, "Some of the lax bro assholes were talking shit about the soccer team, so we decided to settle it with a game. Usual rules of soccer apply, but every time someone scores a goal, everyone on the other team has to drink."

I open my mouth, but Willa beats me to it. "That... is so dangerous. Not to mention horrifically stupid."

Ryland shrugs, scrubbing a hand through his short, dark curly hair. "Yeah, well. Sullivan thought of it."