Somewhere in the crowd, a chant started: Fight! Fight! Fight!
"Oh, this'll be good," I heard someone mumble.
Someone else said, "I hope Hamilton gets his ass kicked."
Oh, absolutely not.
Blake Hamilton was my ride home. He knew how to get back to our houses. I did not know the way home, and I didn't even know how to drive his parent's car. It was a stick-shift. I had never driven a stick shift. So, as hostile as Blake Hamilton was towards me, I needed him to, you know, not get his ass kicked.
"Lena, we have to stop them!" I cried.
Lena, who had obviously been running on the beach before and knew just how to maneuver through the sand, took off towards her best friend. I followed after her, sinking like the Titanic with every step and trying desperately not to roll my ankle. By the time I got closer to the fight, Lena had pulled Alissa out of harm's way and was standing between the boys.
"Cut it out! Both of you!" Lena hissed, pushing Blake's chest. He stumbled backward. Lena turned towards the boy in the board shorts. "Ethan, stop. You'll get arrested again."
Again?
"He attacked me!" Ethan slurred.
"You've been fucking with my girlfriend!" Blake retorted.
The scowl he gave Ethan was ten times worse than the scowl he had given me. It gave me some comfort to know I wasn't at the very top of Blake's people-I-hate list.
"Ethan, go home," Lena commanded.
The board-shorts boy, Ethan, flipped Blake the finger before stalking off towards the parking lot. We all stood in silence, listening only to the waves crashing on the sand and our own breathing, until we heard a car speed off down the street, signaling Ethan's departure.
"Alright, Liss, let's get you home," Lena said softly, turning towards her drunk friend. She hooked her freckled elbow under Alissa's arm and started pulling her towards the parking lot, but turned back to look at me over her shoulder. "I'll see you later, Waverly."
"See you," I replied.
I turned to face Blake, who was holding his forehead in the palm of his hand. His hair, dark and disheveled, fell over his eyes. I had the most bizarre urge to reach up and brush it back. But before I could do something stupid, the deep bass of a rap song started blasting through the speakers by the bonfire. It looked like everyone had gotten over the little fight scene.
I cleared my throat. Blake looked up.
His eyes were dark, but not quite as dark as they'd been when he glared at Ethan.
"Let's go," he grumbled.
Blake started towards the parking lot, not bothering to make sure I followed him. He stumbled twice, barely catching himself before he could fall to the sand. I frowned and remembered all those drunk driving commercials I had seen on television before.
"You're not getting behind the wheel," I told him, surprised by the authority in my voice. "In the state of Florida, it's illegal to—"
"I know," Blake snapped. "That's why you're driving."
I stopped in my tracks.
"I can't—" I stuttered out.
"You have a license, right?"
"I mean, I have my learner's permit and I've driven a few snowmobiles before, but—"
Blake reached for his shorts pocket. It took him a few tries, but he finally managed to get his hand in and pull out his car keys. He tossed them to me.
I missed them, of course. They landed in the sand at my feet.
"Let's go, Lyons," Blake called over his shoulder as he marched to his car, teetering a little to the left.
I scooped up his keys and hurried after him.
Neither Blake nor I spoke as we climbed into his parents' car, although there was some muttering and cursing as Blake wrestled with the handle and his seatbelt.
I waited until he was still to drive.
The sun had disappeared behind the horizon, leaving Holden dark and quiet. I liked the serenity and all, but I could barely find my way around Holden when it was light outside—it was ten times harder to recognize where I was when it was dark.
I had no clue if I was even going in the right direction. And Blake was no help either, since all he did was groan every time I braked too hard at a stop sign.
"Hey, Blake?"
He grunted in response.
"What street do you live on?" I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye to see that he had unbuckled himself and was slumped down in his seat, holding his face in his hands. For a moment, I thought he was crying. I thought Blake Hamilton was crying in the front seat of his parents' car. And I felt terrible for him. Even though I personally had never been cheated on before, I knew that he had to be hurting inside.
But then he looked up at me through his fingers, eyes narrowed.
"Your mom," he slurred into his hands.
"Seriously?" I demanded, regretting the moment I decided to be a good person and drive him home.
Should've made him walk.
"Seriously what?" Blake asked.
He was taunting me. I could tell from his tone. But when I looked down at him, a snide remark about him on the tip of my tongue, I saw that he was smiling. And that completely drained my mind of every good comeback I had thought of, leaving me to sit there with my mouth open, looking like an idiot.
It was the first time he had smiled at me.
Then I remembered that Blake was hammered, and he hated me.
"What is the name of your street?" I asked from between clenched teeth, glaringahead at the road.
The inebriated douchebag sitting beside me was about to get a fist to the face. I didn't care how popular he was, or how much of a loser I was. Sure, I'd been afraid of him before. The guy had a pretty intimidating glare. But for some reason, I felt sick to my stomach knowing that the only way I could get Blake to smile at me would be to get him completely intoxicated.
We were both silent for a moment.
"Am I annoying you?" Blake asked.
"Not at all," I lied, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter.
I thought I might snap it in half.
"You deserve it," he said suddenly.
"Deserve what?"
"Me, annoying the shit out of you."
"Why? What have I done to you?" I demanded.
I was mad at myself for letting him get to me. Did it really matter what Blake thought about me? That he wouldn't smile at me? He was a jerk in a bad mood—he hadn't looked very happy when I saw him with his parents before dinner. But then why had he been all happy-as-a-freaking-clam when Alissa showed up? Did I really rank worse than cheating girlfriend of his list of people he hated?
"You ruined my night," Blake slurred, kicking his feet up onto the dashboard.
"I didn't do anything."
"Exactly," Blake stated, folding his arms over his chest.
That shut me up.
It took me a couple minutes to process what he had said. And even after thinking about it, I still didn't understand what he meant. Then it hit me—had I upset Blake simply by doing nothing except being the pale, socially awkward loser from Alaska?
I felt like vomiting.
And I hadn't even had any of that stale beer.
"Next street, on your right," Blake mumbled.
"Huh?"
"Our houses," he snapped.
His voice was so hard, so cold. I kept my eyes locked on the road, refusing to glance at Blake, because I knew that if I saw him glaring at me again, I would break.
I was stupid. Stupid to have thought I could fit in with these kids from Holden. These popular, gorgeous, perfectly tan kids who drank beer and dated each other and swam in the ocean.
Finally, I spotted Rachel's neon green Volkswagen down the street, like a beacon of light at the end of a dark tunnel. I sped towards it, eager to get away from Blake before I could do something really stupid, like start crying. I pulled into the driveway beside the Hamiltons' pale green house and pulled the car keys out of the ignition, then slammed them on top of the dashboard. Without looking back at Blake, I opened my door and jumped out into the warm, humid night air.
"See you later," I muttered over my shoulder.
But I hoped I wouldn't. He obviously didn't want to see me ever again.
I slammed the driver's side door closed behind me and took off towards Rachel's front porch. Behind me, I heard Blake climb out of the car, gravel crunching under his feet. I started walking a little faster, climbing the front steps of the porch two at a time. When I reached the front door, I slammed my fist against the doorbell. Rachel's soft footsteps echoed through the house from the other side of the door, growing closer until finally the front door clicked open.
"Thanks for the ride," Blake called.
His deep voice sounded apologetic, almost regretful.
I felt my entire body, right down to my fingertips, tense as doubt washed over me. Maybe it had just been the front door opening and, in my exhausted state, I had thought the squeaking of the hinges sounded just like Blake's voice echoing out across Rachel's front yard. Certainly, I'd imagined it. I turned my head just enough to look out over the yard, and low and behold, Blake stood in the driveway, staring after me and looking downright forlorn.
"Waverly!" Rachel's excited chirp broke our little staring contest.
My aunt stood in the doorway in a pair of yellow pajamas dotted with tiny sunflowers. She had a grin on her face and a spoon of cookie dough in her hand.
"I'm watching The Bachelor re-run marathon," she announced. "You're cordially invited to join me."
"I'm too tired for reality television."
"I've got cookie dough," she added in a singsong voice.
Rachel held up the spoon right under my nose, so I could smell the sugar, vanilla and chocolate chips. Even though I wasn't particularly hungry, I had always had a weakness for cookie dough. And judging by the size of the clump on Rachel's spoon, it ran in the family.
"I guess I could watch for a few minutes," I caved.
Rachel giggled and grabbed my hand, tugging me inside the house. But before I made it all the way through the threshold, I risked one glance back at the Hamiltons' driveway. Blake was still standing there, his back leaned against the silver sedan and his head hung.
He looked lost in his own thoughts.
Either that, or he was starting to feel sick from all the alcohol.
"So to catch you up," Rachel was saying, "This guy has one rose left to give before hometowns, and he just found out that one of the girls—gorgeous girl, total train wreck—had a boyfriend back home."
Hm. Sounded a little bit like someone I'd met.
"How is she still on the show?" I asked as I tugged the front door shut behind me.
"Because the producers want drama."
Rachel grabbed me a spoon and together we sat on her couch and watched an episode of a The Bachelor.
I was barely able to focus. My first day in Holden replayed in my mind—the torturous airplane ride, the shock of stepping out in the Florida heat, seeing Rachel for the first time in years, meeting the Hamiltons, having the best milkshake of my life, getting dragged to a bonfire party, meeting the human train wreck named Alissa, making friends with Lena, passing on the stale beer, almost witnessing a fistfight, driving Blake home.
"Alright," I announced when the episode ended, "I think I'm going to bed."
"I wouldn't be a very good guardian if I let you stay up all night binge-watching reality TV, would I?" Rachel quipped. "You sure you don't want to watch the finale?"
I nodded. "I'm really tired."
"Well, that's fair. Sweet dreams, Waverly." Rachel popped up from the couch. Before I had time to react, she threw her arms around me and squeezed. I was motionless for a moment, realizing that this was the first bear hug I'd received in a long time. Neither of my parents were very good at showing physical affection. It felt weird to be hugged so fervently. It was almost too much.
"Thanks for having me, Aunt Rachel," I mumbled.
"Anytime, honey."
We release each other.
"You go get some sleep," Rachel told me.
I shuffled upstairs and into the guest room—my room—and wondered if I'd ever feel like anything but an outsider in this strange, ungodly humid town.