Playing the Game

2. Gray Thoughts

Yep, that's what I told them.

"Danny Adler, so help me God," Mom's exasperated groan slices through the house. "How many times do I have to tell you that you cannot piss yourself sober. That's not how it works."

Soft footfalls behind me announce the presence of my little sister on the stairwell. I look up at her, pressing my index finger to my mouth to keep her quiet. She nods, joining me on the second to last step, her knee bouncing against mine in silent greeting. But then, she sees my phone and wallet in my hand, the hoodie tucked under my arm.

"Where are you going, Gray?" she whispers.

"Nowhere, if you don't pipe down, Cecelia Rose," I whisper back, unable to keep my smile contained.

"I don't want you to get in trouble again," she sighs.

Cece's too good for this world. Any time she's gotten in trouble, I swear it's been an accident on her part. Or she told on herself. Her therapist says it's because of trauma, she didn't have an ideal childhood before we adopted her from foster care.

They say some kids act out really badly and others do the complete opposite. But, one way or another, I know her prior circumstances are only a fraction to blame, if any. The truth is, Cece was born with a heart of gold.

"I won't get in trouble," I tell her, quickly adding, "At least not much more trouble. I set the bar pretty high last time. Anything I do now will be a blip on their radar."

That's sort of true. Not really. I don't know anymore.

All I know is that a simple bonfire with friends is child's play compared to what happened a couple weeks ago. Even if I'm "grounded for life" and not supposed to leave the house tonight, I doubt my parents will do more than roll their eyes if they find out I'm not in my room. And it's not just because they don't know the whole truth about what happened that night.

As it turns out, driving a car full of wasted underage people to the hospital because one of them got hurt doing something we never should have been doing, especially when you've also been drinking, places you pretty high on your parents' shit list. But when any incident goes down the way that one did, they do tend to let the little things go, justifying it with the old, "It could be worse."

Hell, even the local sheriff turned a blind eye to the mess that showed up in the ER that night. More concerned with Elliot Crissmore's safety, and grateful for my quick action in getting him to the hospital, he didn't ask any questions or make me do the breathalyzer. We were all sent home with a warning.

Thank fucking goodness.

That's where the whole truth comes into play. Because I'm pretty sure I would have failed that breathalyzer.

I know myself, and I was a touch over buzzed that night. But since I know myself, I also knew I was the best person to get us safely to the hospital. And that's exactly what I did. The whole incident was a dark and shiny shade of gray area, but everyone made it through alive. And that's all that matters... right?

"I don't think you're supposed to base your next play on the severity of how the last one went down," Cece points out. "Maybe, for once, you should stay home and not test their limits. Mom's really mad this time. You could get super, mondo grounded."

"You mean more than I already am? Being condemned to work that stupid camp?" I resist the urge to laugh out loud. "The least they could do is let me have one more night out before the sentence begins. And if they really want to lock me down for going to a bonfire, let them." I poke Cece's shoulder. "You and I can just have a bonfire out back. I'll let you burn all my marshmallows."