What a mess. I would not want to be Lee Park tomorrow morning. (Or, more accurately, the Park family maid. No one in this socioeconomic bracket does their own menial labor.)
It’s dark at the edge of the property, where the manicured lawn meets the unforgiving Atlantic. An outcropping of boulders rebuffs the ocean’s persistent advances. Ryan steers me toward one with a flat top.
“Here,” he says softly. “Sit with me for a bit.”
Sitting feels good. Stable. With solid rock beneath me and solid muscle at my side, the earth rights on its axis just enough for things stop spinning. Behind us, the party rages on, but we are far-removed from it out here in the darkness, where there are no bright lights or pounding bass beats — just a starry sky and the faint crashing of waves against the rocky beach. Breathing deeply, I time my inhales to each sea swell: in through my nose, out through my mouth. Steadying myself against the alcohol undulating in my system.
“Feel better?” Ryan asks after a few moments of silence.
“Yeah. Thanks.” I swallow hard. “You don’t have to stay with me. If you’d rather go back…”
“Nah.” His shoulder brushes mine. “Could use a little air myself, to be honest. If Chris beats me at pong again I’ll never hear the end of it.”
“I definitely didn’t help you on that front.”
“You did just fine.”
“Right. Tell that to Sienna, Queen of Beer Pong,” I blurt in a mocking tone I’d never normally use around anyone except Archer. Apparently, my verbal filter has been rendered null-and-void by beer.
Ryan laughs. “Don’t let Sienna make you feel bad. She’s just…” When he trails off, I glance over at him. He’s rubbing the back of his neck, staring out at the water. “She’s gotten used to being the center of attention around here. She can be a little territorial — especially when it comes to girls she’s threatened by.”
“Me? A threat? In what world?”
“You don’t see yourself very clearly, do you Valentine?”
I blink slowly at him. His face is still a bit blurry. “To be entirely forthright… at the moment, I’m not seeing anything all that clearly, Ryan.”
A quick grin spreads across his face. “Hey. You’re funny! I never knew you were funny. You’re always so shy.”
“I am not shy!”
“Not tonight.” He laughs again. “But usually you keep to yourself, if you even bother coming to our parties — which isn’t often.”
“It’s not like I really fit in here.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean…” I chew my lip, regretting that I ever opened my mouth. This conversation is heading somewhere I’m not certain I want to go. “I’m not like the rest of you.”
“You half-alien or something?”
“I don’t usually drink. I don’t really party. I’m not…” Popular, I add silently.
“Valentine, I’m going to let you in on a little secret.”
“Oh yeah? What’s that?”
“Not one person here feels like they truly belong. Why do you think everyone gets so wasted at these parties?”
My nose scrunches in thought. “To hook up?”
“Well, yeah. But also because beer is like… social lube. It makes everyone less of a tight ass.”
I laugh so hard, it comes out a snort. Not my most attractive attribute, but I’m too tipsy to contain it.
“Laugh all you want,” Ryan says somewhat defensively, fidgeting with his fingers. “It’s true! When you’re buzzed, you don’t worry about saying the wrong thing or screwing everything up.”
His shoulders have gone stiff. It’s possible I shouldn’t have snorted at him. I remember my mother telling me a million times — men like making jokes, but they can’t stand feeling like one.
“I’m not laughing at you,” I assure him, attempting to get a hold on the mirth bubbling inside me. “It’s just… what a poignant metaphor, Ryan. I don’t know what your plans are for after graduation, but might I suggest a career in poetry?”
A chuckle vibrates through his shoulder, into mine. “There’s that sense of humor creeping out again. Careful, Valentine — I might not let you pretend to be shy around me anymore.”
“Oh, I think my secrets are pretty safe. Or have you forgotten our high school days are numbered? After a few more weeks, we probably won’t cross paths ever again.”
“Ouch! Dagger to the heart.” He scowls playfully at me. “You can’t shake me that easily. There’s still a handful of baseball games, then playoffs, prom, and, like, a million graduation parties to get through.”
I have no response to offer. Not one he’d appreciate, anyway. Frankly, I’m not certain I’ll be attending the majority of the events he’s just rattled off. The senior prom — four hours trapped on a party cruise around the Massachusetts coast with a hundred of my fellow graduates dressed in their best formalwear — sounds like a chapter pulled from a tome of my worst nightmares. And then there’s the small fact that, as of this moment, I don’t even have a date.
In another lifetime, I thought maybe Archer would ask me. After tonight, that seems about as improbable as me receiving an invitation to Sienna Sullivan’s post-grad sunset soiree.
“It’s a small town, Valentine,” Ryan, bless his naive heart, reminds me. As if a town’s size makes any difference when it comes to being an outcast. Even this small Massachusetts microcosm we call home is full of people who don’t fit in. Myself included.
Manchester-by-the-Sea.
Population: 5,000
Number of parties I attended to prior to Archer making the the varsity baseball roster and dragging me along as his weirdo sidekick: 0
“There’s a whole summer to waste before college orientation!” Ryan bumps my shoulder with his again. “Bonfires, beach days, you name it. Just because we aren’t passing each other in the halls every day, doesn’t mean we can’t hang out.”
My eyes widen. “You and me?”
“Yeah. Why not?” It’s dark, so I can’t be sure, but I think his cheeks are a little red. Gesturing back toward the house, he tacks on, “But also, I’m sure the guys on the team will throw a bunch more parties like this one. It’ll be chill. You should come.”
“Maybe.”
“Sounds like a no.”
“Parties aren’t really my scene.”
“What is your scene, then?”
I shrug noncommittally.
“Come on. That’s all I get? A shrug?” Sighing, he shakes his head. “Josephine Valentine. Always so mysterious.”
A scoff pops out. “I’m not even slightly mysterious.”
“Then tell me something about yourself. What do you like to do? You know, when you aren’t boycotting fun parties and kicking ass at beer pong.”
“Um…”
“Don’t overthink it. Just spit it out.”
“Sailing,” I blurt abruptly. “I like sailing.”
“That’s cool. You have your own boat?”