One for the Team

25 | before

Roman's throwing a party to celebrate our victory. Says it will be the biggest party of the century. Says he's thinking big, really fucking big. I'm thinking cop cars and fire trucks, maybe even ambulances.

I haven't told Levi about it yet. I'm not sure I want him to go. I'm not even sure I want to go myself. I would rather spend the rest of the day with him, kissing, and talking, and then kissing some more.

I grab my skateboard, check that the dinner's in the oven for when mom and Archie get home from the movie theatre. The beds are made, and the dirty laundry is all piled up in a basket, and everything's good. There's a post-it note on the door, written in bad handwriting and slightly stained with greasy fingers.

Take care of yourself tonight. We won't survive without you.

All the love, Mom and Archie

I take the note with me. I really don't think I'm going to this party tonight, so they have nothing to worry about. I'll come up with something to say to Ace and Milo later. In any case, Ace didn't seem to mind at all that I didn't go with him when he left earlier. Said going from a sad excuse of a housewife to a sad excuse of a teenage boy probably took its time. I just ignored him.

But Levi's not home. When I knock on the door, it's his mom's smile that I see, not his. She looks confused. Why does she look confused?

"I'm surprised to see you here, Finn," she starts. "Levi left hours ago, I thought –"

"Left where?" I'm confused too.

"Well, the party. I thought you– I mean, he was so happy when you texted. He got dressed so fast. He left right away."

"I didn't text him."

My stomach's a sponge and someone's wringing it, and wringing it, and wringing it.

"What?"

I didn't text him. Mrs. Brightly's face falls.

"Don't worry," I say. I can worry for the both of us. "It must have been my brother. He knew I was going out tonight and probably texted Levi for me. He does that sometimes."

I'm lying.

"Oh, okay, well, he left a good while ago," she says. I notice the crow's feet in the corner of her eyes, the hard lines on her forehead. "Don't you have a message from him or something?"

She's twisting a kitchen cloth in her hands. It matches my vocal cords, twisting and twisting.

"I haven't checked my phone yet," I say. I reach for it in my pocket, past my mom's note. My voice sounds wrong. I look at the screen where a photo of Archie jumping butt naked into the bathtub shows up with no notifications on top of it.

I force a smile, "Oh, yeah. Yeah, he texted a while ago. He's asking where I am. I guess I'll get going."

Mrs. Brightly releases her grasp on the cloth and smiles.

"Yes, yes, go. Just get my boy home safe, please," she says. "And have fun!"

"Will do, Mrs. Brightly. Have a good night."

I'm jumping on my skateboard and almost falling off of it. Maybe Archie texted him. Maybe he did. But there's no record of it on my phone. Someone either did it and deleted the string of messages after or the message didn't come from my phone at all.

My stomach wants to know what the fuck's happening just as much as I do. It wants it so bad, it's willing to come out and see it for itself. Wants it so bad, I have to stop eventually to lean over a trash can and throw up.