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“Well, I guess there’s something to be said for the bad ones,” Lyla
muses, watching Masen climb into his truck. “And that piercing? I’ll bet it
feels good. Everywhere.”
Ten squeezes my shoulder from behind, and I snap back into focus,
uncurling my fingers from the wheel. My knuckles are as white as snow.
“Let’s go eat and raid my mom’s liquor before the drive-in,” he tells me.
“Lyla’s driving tonight, so I’m getting wasted.”
Yeah, I don’t think I can eat.
But watching Masen take off out of the parking lot, probably going to
do who-knows-who, I might just take a drink.
Friday nights at the drive-in are just an excuse for every teenager with a car
in Falcon’s Well to hang out in one place. Especially since it just opened
back up a few weeks ago in time for spring. The weather’s nice, there’s a
concession stand with food, car stereos blast music, and I doubt even a
quarter of the people here are even watching the movie tonight.
One of those stupid nouveau slasher flicks with lots of gritty pain and
an ambiguous ending, I’m sure.
After dinner, I’d gone home and changed into some jean shorts and a
tank top before Lyla and Ten swung by to pick me up.
Trey arrived with J.D. just as we got here, all of us parking up in the
front row. They started making the rounds, going off to talk to different
people and hang out, while I headed for the concession stand. My mom
doesn’t let us drink our calories, so the movies is one of the only chances I
get to have a Coke.
I walk inside the concession area and move down the line, grabbing a
cup and filling it with ice.