We Are the Wolves

[26] White T-Shirts

Apparently it was Tyriette tradition to wear a plain T-shirt to the after prom party. This was originally intended solely to lessen the time it took to get from point A (the prom) to point B (the party). According to those wearing makeup, it was also so people wouldn't have to worry about cleaning it off or figuring out another outfit to wear that matched. According to everyone, it was for someone to go around during the party with a Sharpie to mark them up with messages and superlatives and memories of their drunken behavior. According to Jack Willis and his apparently long familial line of Tyriette party hosts, T-shirts were just a lot easier to throw away once the teenage, alcohol-induced vomit or activity-induced sweat got on them.

It was a simple yet clever tradition I seemed fond of.

"Ryder, how are people supposed to bequeath Ashlynn's shirt when she's out here, on your lap all night?" Bailee scolded and stood with her hands on her hips that were covered with her large-sized, aquamarine T-shirt she had turned into a dress by the looks of the alterations. It was nearly completely covered in writing even though the Prom Queen crown sitting on her head clearly reflected what our student population thought of her.

I laughed while staying seated and taking Ryder's drink to sip from while he looked up at Bailee, finally without any sort of predator's aggression towards her like they had when I moved here. He was in a good mood all day but I could see the ever-persistent mischief in his smirk after his sigh. "Last time I checked, you two talk almost every day. If you have something to bequeath her with, just tell it to her," he said with his hand refusing to budge from my thigh as if his arm was a seat belt. "Plus, this isn't even her shirt!" I definitely laughed at his additional comment because it was definitely his red shirt that I stole and tied to the side in order for it to fit me better. I leaned over to kiss him affectionately while Evan walked over and greeted Bailee with a kiss to her cheek before letting her know someone inside was asking for her.

"You're gonna bitch at me for allegedly halting Ash's walking billboard status yet you let him wear a black shirt that no one can write on?" Ryder suddenly called after Bailee. Bailee simply looked over her shoulder and stuck her tongue out at Ryder childishly before grabbing Evan's hand and skipping away to some other victim she could write on.

I leaned back and laughed against Ryder, very enlightened and relaxed for once. I don't know why we came to a party to seclude ourselves outside but I didn't mind it because I liked spending time with him like this. It was not even 1AM and a good amount of people had shown up and the energy was incredibly positive. We had been in the backyard on the hammock for quite some time now and I didn't actually know who had been here yet.

"Where's Stella?" I asked instead of the intruding skepticism.

"She's probably doing damage control with Sheriff Bloomingdale before heading over," Ryder returned and took back his drink for himself. If not, then she's with Trevor, I instantly thought and hoped I hadn't let it slip to Ryder. But clearly by the ever-so-slight stiffness on reflex, I had. I reached for my phone for the first time since we had been here and realized I had a text from Stella thirty minutes ago saying We're just now leaving Trevor's. Be there soon!

"Stop worrying," Ryder suddenly told me as if knowing what I was really inquiring about. He knew more than anyone that I was really trying to suppress the thought that tonight was too good to be true. Because then it would mock how well the night was going. Because then it would jinx things. Because then it would imply that we could never have a nice, normal night all the way though.

Suddenly, Ryder moved me off his lap in order to stand up slowly (so I wouldn't fly out of the hammock) and reach out for my hand. He walked me back inside the massive living room. I couldn't read his expression to indicate what he was doing because his face was turned away. "Rod!" he called and received no acknowledgement from his bushy-haired friend who was scrolling through a list on his laptop mounted on a mixing console. "DJ Rod!" he altered and was immediately greeted with Rod's grin and a raise of his eyebrows. "Play something to dance to," he requested while sliding an arm around my waist. I laughed at the gesture as well as the irony that this was the same boy who allegedly "didn't dance," but by the time he had pulled me into him, the front door was opening to reveal a duo I didn't think I'd ever see together: Zander Ramon and Malcolm Milkner.