Page 82 of Elusion

“Happy birthday,” I say.

He perks up again. “Ah, thanks. But really, we’re just using it as an excuse to party.”

Callie juts her chin toward the coolers. “Anyone splurge for something other than Pabst?”

“Cal,” he says, “come on. We’re not amateurs.”

He calls her Cal. Bring on another stab of discontentment in my gut. It shouldn’t affect me this way. Callie handled Brooke with such ease. She lived a life before me, and I one before her. But, damn it, I hate how well he knows her—all of her, from both the past and present.

Callie laces her fingers through mine as all three of us head over to Tony and his mystery bottle. A squealing Shayna pops up from somewhere. She jumps on her way over, her cheeks red and eyes bloodshot. She seizes hold of Callie and sways her from side to side. Then she moves on to me, giving me a more enthusiastic hug than I’m prepared for with no end in sight.

“A little help?”

Callie laughs, prying her off me. “Shay, hands off.”

“You shared better when we were kids.” She pretends to pout.

Tony passes around his bottle, which only stays a mystery until it burns down my throat. Moonshine. No wonder they all look wrecked. We huddle around the fire, switching to beer after a second circuit of the bottle. Each of them is eager to tell a Callie story.

Tony raises his hands, fingers spread out on the hand not clutching his bottle. “Best Henders story ever is the night we stole—”

“Borrowed,” Callie interrupts, clearly knowing where he’s going.

He grins. “The night weborrowedthe tractor from the Davis farm. We woke up twenty feet in the air in the loader, two counties over. We had to scale the motherfucking hydraulic arms to get down. But the worst part was driving the son of a bitch back.”

“Hungover,” she adds.

He raises his bottle to Callie. “The price we paid for a good time.”

“I have one,” Shayna says. “We were in my car on a dirt road during a freak rainstorm and slid off in the ditch. After ten minutes of throwing mud everywhere, Henders decided to walk. We took turns carrying each other for over a mile until we found a house. The mud was sucking us in, and my flip-flops broke. Worst drunken experience ever.”

“My story tops everyone’s.” Pete smiles at her. “Trey had a trampoline in the backyard at his dad’s. Every time it snowed, Kevin would plow the snow into a pile next to it. Cal—in her infinite drunk wisdom—decided we should jump off the roof onto the trampoline, bounce, and land in the snow pile.”

“Pete, please don’t.” Callie buries her face in my chest, embarrassed by the rest of the story.

“Pete, please do.” I wrap my arms around her.

She looks up, and I wink, making her eyes narrow. This wild and crazy part of her life fascinates me. Not that I ever want a firsthand experience or anything. I just love learning more about her.

“So,” Pete continues, “she insists on going first, and we’re all on the roof. Trey’s doing his whining thing. ‘Caaaal, this isn’t saaaafe.’She grins. Winks. And jumps. She bounces straight over the pile and hits the ground on the other side.”

Everyone laughs, except Callie, who’s still hiding.

“I thought I broke my ass,” she mumbles against my chest.

I kiss the top of her head.

Not all their stories involve her being drunk—a lot but not all. One time, she organized a walkout at the high school when they increased the price on the soda machines. She stole the key for the concession stand candy, forcing the faculty to break into the cabinet, only to find an IOU note. School let out early after she freed an entire petting zoo’s worth of animals during an assembly.

By the time she declares story time over, she clearly regrets ever letting them start.

Unlike the others, Callie and I pace ourselves, staying away from the bottle after the first few drinks. But being semi-sober doesn’t lessen the shot of panic when a siren blares. The classroom door kicks open. A frenzy of bodies and yelling follows. A flashlight shines in our eyes and temporarily blinds us.

“Everyone’s under arrest,” a voice blares through a megaphone. “For being a bunch of assholes.”

The light shuts off, and groans from every corner greet Trey as he strolls in with a smirk. Tony rushes him, knocking him into a chalkboard hanging on the wall. They wrestle around until Trey rolls his way over to the center of the room. He grabs on to Callie to pull himself up.

“Hey,” he says casually. “How’s everyone doin’ tonight?”

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