Page 26 of Lost Boy
“Shut up, prick,” I say defensively, showing my cards like an idiot.
“Oh. Oh, I’m sorry. Are you sweet on her?”
His misgendering of Fallon is boiling my fucking blood.
He has on nail polish, eyeliner, and lips that fucking sparkle. That’s it.
Not that it matters.
But this prick is being an asshole and digging at me on purpose. I’m not a fighter, but I step forward. Fallon hops down, and Seth walks over, trying to clear the tension, even though he’s a dick too.
“Rich, enough. Leave Cruz to whatever weird shit he’s into. Another man’s kink is none of our business, m’kay?”
Fallon grabs his drink from the counter and strolls out of the kitchen, not acknowledging any of the hate and not waiting for me.
I’m glad.
“Listen here, cunts. It’s just me and you three. I’m not scared. Come at me if you want to. But don’t disrespect my friends. And Dustin, stay the fuck away from Sofie. I’m tired of telling you.”
“She here tonight?” he asks like a moron. I stalk toward him, ready to grab his T-shirt, but Seth interferes.
“I’m not ’bout to be accused of jumping you, Cruz. Three on one, your ass would be bleeding out, and we’d be off the team. I’m sure that’s exactly what you want, but it’s not happening.”
I keep advancing until I’m in Seth’s face now. “I’d like to see you try.”
“Ry. I got this,” Jamison says cooly, strolling into the room and stepping up to my side, Cole not far behind him, flanking me.
Seth slips away laughing, and Jamie squeezes my shoulder reassuringly, whispering low. “Go find Fallon. Don’t worry about these tools. Cole and I will handle it.”
“Yeah we will. And give this to Fallon for me.” Cole slips me a little baggie of weed and a blunt wrap.
I nod and back up until I’m far enough that they can’t grab me. I snatch my red plastic cup and storm out in search of the boy with the shimmery lips. I need to make sure he’s okay after what they just said.
CHAPTERNINE
FALLON
The numbness won’t let the hateful words seep in. I’ve heard them all before, so I just casually hop down and leave the negative environment. Something I used to try to do around my mother and her shitty boyfriends but didn’t always succeed in. I can leave right now, though, so I will.
I’ll find Ryder later.
I freeze at the entrance to the large living room. The furniture is pushed aside, the rugs are rolled up, and teenagers fill the space.
My heart rate picks up a notch, ricocheting around in my chest like a loose cannon and making the anxiety creep back. Maybe someone outside has some weed. The thought spurs me on, and I turn toward the back porch in search of a blunt.
The second I step out of the house and onto the back deck warmed with space heaters, I’m instantly hit with the pungent, skunky aroma of good bud. My eyes dart to a group of kids sitting under an umbrella table and passing something around. My social anxiety makes this hard, but I push through and wander over, accepting the blunt when they offer it to me.
It sparks and hisses when I pull deep, and I cough into my elbow, taking a quick second hit before passing it back to the kid with bright copper hair. I’m not sure it tasted quite normal, but I thank them anyway and walk around, enjoying the fresh air and the sounds of the lake lapping at the shore down below. I let the high of the weed take me away and numb every worry and memory that threatens to pull me under.
I might have enjoyed myself tonight in another world or maybe another dimension. I close my eyes, letting my senses experience what my emotions won’t.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Ryder’s earnest voice washes over me, and I open my eyes to silver moonlight streaming down and his olive green eyes staring at me,notthe view.
I swallow thickly. Was he sayingI’mbeautiful? He couldn’t mean that could he? Those assholes just made fun of me and called me pretty. I know Ryder wouldn’t do that, but still.
“It is,” I agree. “Cole has a really nice house.”
I stare off into the distance again. I can’t see the other side, and it feels like I’m staring into the ocean.
