In the Echo of this Ghost Town Page 7

  “A ghost town? Really? Not like to your best friend’s house or something?”

  She’s right. If I’d gotten a car when Tanner and I were still friends, that would have been the first place I drove. But we aren’t friends anymore, and it makes me feel empty. “Yeah. The ghost town.”

  “So why there?”

  “I–” I stop. I’m not sure I want to open up, but then I glance at Max who is paying attention to the road, not me. The golden hour fills the truck cab, and everything about her and the moment seems shiny and magical. Safe. “My brother and I played cowboys and bandits when we were little. Our dad used to watch those old black and white western movies when he was home. Those were his favorite. Phoenix—that’s my brother—was always the villain and I wanted to be a part of his gang, but I usually had to play the sheriff to chase after him and take him to jail. I guess, I just always wanted to see one of those old towns.”

  She makes a humming noise, gives me a sideways glance and a smile, before refocusing on the road. “I think that would be something cool to see.”

  “Yeah. I think so too. Turn right up here.”

  She turns the big truck with ease and moves us down the entry road to the Quarry parking lot which is full of day campers who use the picnic areas near the water’s edge.

  “The bonfire will be in the camping area. We’ll have to walk in from here,” I tell her as she navigates the truck into a parking spot.

  She nods and gets out, the door groaning as she opens it.

  I meet her at the tailgate and notice again how much I like watching her. I look away. It isn’t smart to be checking out my only friend or my boss’s daughter. And besides, there’s Bella. I conveniently ignore that she’d asked about Tanner even though my heart reminds my head. So maybe there isn’t anyone. I wouldn’t want to cross any lines with Max. She’s weird-cool, and I don’t want anything being awkward between us. I like her smile too much. “This way.”

  “So, what am I going to see?” she asks.

  “A bunch of drunk people dancing around a fire. You’re really nervous?”

  She does this funny thing with her mouth, drawing it to the side as if she’s thinking, and her brows come together. It’s cute. She looks at me. “Truthfully, I haven’t been to many parties. A couple. So, yeah, I’m kind of nervous.”

  I make a noise acknowledging that and look closer at her as I learn something new. “You act so worldly.”

  “Are you making fun of me?”

  “No. Just making an observation.”

  “I may have lived in a lot of places, but I haven’t really known a lot of people who invited me to stuff.”

  We keep walking, and I listen to the sound our shoes make on the asphalt mixed with the bright shouts of kids in the water.

  She continues talking. “I went to my first party in the eighth grade. A group of kids invited me. I showed up and realized I hadn’t been invited. They were just playing a joke on me. And in high school, I think I went to one party after a dance and left early because my date hooked up with someone else.” She stops, and we walk a few steps before she adds, “Makes me really nervous about college.”

  My heart knocks about in my chest thinking about her experiences and how different they’ve been from mine. I recognize myself as the villain in her stories. I wonder what she’d think of me if she knew how I’d been in high school. If she’d think I was a jerk like everyone else. For some reason, the idea that she’d think worse of me feels like added weight. “Parties aren’t all that great,” I say. “But you should definitely walk into parties—as a girl—with smarts.”

  “That’s sexist.”

  “Yeah. But there’s a lot of douchey guys.”

  “Are you speaking from experience?”

  I swallow. Tanner or Josh would play off her question with something funny, and I wish that I had the ability to do it, but my brain sort of stalls with the truth of her statement. My mom always said with her hand squeezing my face, so I was looking her in the eyes, “No matter what, Griffin, you say the words, ‘do you want to have sex,’ do you understand me? Don’t make assumptions, you hear?” Or my favorite, “If you ever bring a girl home pregnant, I’m going to knock you into next year.” Her point was to protect me, I think, from being in a situation where a girl felt like she was being coerced or worse, but I can’t completely absolve myself from all my sexual encounters. I never forced a girl, but I probably talked my way into some of those experiences. Those girls agreed—they had said ‘yes’—but had they been honest about what they really wanted?

  “Maybe,” I tell her, going for what’s honest rather than the lie. I’m not trying to offer her a fake version of me. A boulder of unease sits in my gut. I hate admitting it.

  She walks next to me in silence for longer than is comfortable.

  “It isn’t like I purposefully set out to be a douchey guy,” I qualify, worried that she’s thinking poorly of me even though she has the right to.

  Her shoulder bumps against mine as we continue walking. “And what constitutes a douchebag, coming from someone who may or may not be a douchey guy?”

  I stop walking. “Max.”

  She keeps walking, then stops and turns to look at me.

  “I don’t want you thinking bad of me.” I look down at my black Converse-covered feet.

  “I call you SK, remember. I already do think bad of you.”

  “Ha ha,” I mock her and catch up.

  “I think since you know your way around a party, you can offer me pointers.”

  I hum again, considering her point which has merit. “Okay. First, don’t get too drunk.”

  “But a guy can?”

  “He shouldn’t either. You need to keep your decision-making functioning. If you’re shit-faced, you aren’t going to be clear enough to. Like if you want to hook up with someone, you should be aware of that decision so there aren’t any regrets.”

  “You have regrets?”

  “Lots of them.” The words make me sick. She waits for me to elaborate. I don’t.

  “So, don’t get too drunk in order to make proper decisions. Check. Next.”

  “Stay away from the guys—or girls,” I look at her.

  “Guys.”

  “Guys who are saying all the right things. Stuff you want to hear.”

  Her eyes narrow, which I can see looking at her from my vantage. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  “Like the smooth talker who seems to be saying everything that connects with you.”

  “That just sounds like someone being nice.”

  I take a few steps to pass her and cut her off, so she has to stop. “This is really important, Max.”

  She looks up at me, though she doesn’t have to tip her head very far since we’re almost the same height. “Can you be more specific?”

  I don’t want to. I don’t. It means I’m going to have to show her how, and then she’s going to think even worse of me—which I deserve—but she also needs to know. She’s going to college, which means maybe this is me doing a good deed, I reason. A favor to Cal, I decide. “First, Max, he’ll just be nice, like you’re saying. He might grab you a drink, find you a place to sit, maybe offer you his seat. He’ll be like a new friend.”

  “That sounds nice.”

  “He isn’t doing it because he wants to be your friend.” I take a step closer to her. Surprisingly, she holds her ground, but then, she trusts me—I think. “He wants you to trust him so that when he takes it another step further, he can get what he wants from you. He’s not being nice to you for the sake of being a good human being; he’s thinking about it like a business transaction, kindness as currency. He’ll compliment you.” I pause, then allow my eyes to roam over her face, which is pretty. “Max, you have such a sexy smile.”

  Her cheeks warm, and her eyes widen. She fights a smile.

  My breathing thins, and I lean forward so my mouth is closer to hers. “I bet every guy here wants to get with you.”

&
nbsp; She leans back, her eyes wider as she searches my face, and she isn’t fighting the smile anymore. Her lips part, though I’m not sure it’s because she wants to say something.

  I stop speaking, but I don’t move away from her; I’m staring at her lips which make me think about kissing. I remind myself I’m trying to show her how a douchey guy would act not really be one. So I reach out and put a hand on her waist which I rationalize is because I’m just trying to show her. I ignore the heat of her under my palm, burning through my hand all the way up to my shoulder. I dive in to fuck it up. “I bet you can do a lot with that gorgeous mouth.”

  She shoves at my shoulders. “That’s rude.”

  I take another step back and look down at my feet because I don’t want to see her anger or her disappointment in me. “Yeah. It is. That was perfect, Max,” I tell her. I present my back as I walk away. “Stay away from those assholes.” When I don’t hear her behind me, I stop to look for her, finally able to meet her gaze, worried at what I might find there.

  She’s following and watching me with a calculating look on her face as if she’s trying to measure me for my rottenness.

  “You still want advice?”

  “I think perhaps I’ve come to the right guy.” She catches up.

  I continue walking. “A guy like that will try and talk you into being alone with him somewhere. Then there are worse slimeballs out there who force things.”

  “Have you done that?”

  I stop and turn to her. Of this, at least, I can absolve myself. “Fuck, no. Of course not. That’s terrible and illegal. Shit. I can’t believe you asked that.” I run a hand through my hair. “Whatever happens between people should always be consensual and mutual, you know? But there are douchebags out there like that.”

  “And you’d know?”

  I wave a hand around. “Did a report on it for health class.” I didn’t. I’d been in an assigned group at school who had. I guess I retained some stuff.

  She takes a breath.

  I keep walking. The music and the noise of the party can be heard in the distance. “There’s also the guy that will pressure you until you give him room to keep pressuring you. He wants you to say yes, which is why he’ll look for the drunkest girl in the room.”

  “Don’t get too drunk.”

  I turn to her again and grab a hold of her shoulders, holding her at arm’s length. “And never, ever leave your drink alone with anyone. In fact, you should only get your own drinks—don’t take a drink from someone else.”

  She gives me that calculating look again.

  I hold up my hand and shake my head. “Give me a little credit. I would never do that. I wouldn’t want to get with a girl because she was so drunk, she couldn’t decide. I think that’s awful and would beat the shit out of someone who did, but I’ve heard stories though.”

  “You have principles then, when hooking up?”

  “I guess so.” I let go of her and turn back toward the party, leading her down the path. I hadn’t ever considered they were principles, just Bro Code agreements.

  “Like only drinking six days a week?”

  “Yeah. I have some rules.”

  “Can I ask what they are?”

  “You can.” I don’t elaborate.

  “Will you tell me your rules?” She clarifies her question.

  I sigh and stop walking, deciding she already thinks the worst. Might as well take it the rest of the way. I turn from staring at the lake between the trees and look at her. “I don’t get too drunk, though I’ve broken that rule a lot but try to avoid getting with a girl when I do. I don’t get with a girl who’s too drunk either; I want her to be able to say what she wants.” My cheeks heat, and I look away from Max’s gaze, tabulating my character. “I want what happens with a girl to be mutual. I always use protection because I’m not about that long term stuff.”

  “So, you just hit it and run.”

  I press my teeth together. “Historically, yes.”

  “No girlfriend.”

  “No.”

  “How many girls have you been with?”

  “A few.”

  “Vague.” She looks at me, her gray eyes moving around my face, surveying the truth. She must come to some decision because she nods. “Okay, SK. I appreciate your candidness.”

  “Speak English.”

  “I am, SK. Honesty.” She shakes her head.

  My body does this weird thing where it relaxes with surprise. “You’re not disgusted?”

  “Want to know my rules?” she asks and walks away so that I have to turn and catch up.

  “What?”

  She looks at me with a dimpled grin. “Stay away from guys like Serial Killer.”

  I shove my hands in my pockets, look at the ground, and smile. “Smart,” I tell her, but even as much as I want to strive for levity, the truth of her statement slams so hard in the chest, I rub it to catch my breath.

  3

  When we break the clearing, the sun has slipped below the horizon. The bonfire glows like molten lava casting both heat and shadows of those dancing around the flames and weaving energy like magic. The last time I was at a bonfire, Tanner brought Emma. I gave him shit for it, and he punched me. To be fair, I’d hit him with a low blow with my words and got up into his face inviting it, but the interaction was more of the same of what had been breaking between us, exposing the cracks.

  I wish that things were different. Now that I’m outside of things, the more I ponder Tanner’s and my fight, the more I recognize my role in it. He liked Emma, and I dismissed his feelings like she was just another bang. If we could rewind time, I feel like I could hear him, be better. Except, if we rewound time, I’d have to take everything I’ve learned since because I was lacking awareness then. Danny had been right. Tanner had tried to tell me, and I hadn’t been listening.

  More things to regret.

  I lead Max around the bonfire worship to the kegs set up away from the fire, though I’m not sure I want to drink. I glance at Max. “Hey, I can stay sober if you want to drink,” I offer.

  “Griff!” Marcus Mayhan accosts me with a bear hug, and I bump against Max.

  I mumble an apology and turn to face drunk Marcus, pushing him away. “Hey, dude.”

  He flicks his shaggy blonde mop, grins, and wraps an arm around me. “Shit. I haven’t seen you all summer. It’s not the same with you and the crew missing.”

  “Been busy,” I tell him, stepping away and avoiding Max’s gaze. I shove one hand into my pocket and wrap the other around the back of my neck. The unease of facing this past version of me unwieldy. Maybe I just demonstrated it for her, but now she’ll meet people who confirm that douchebag. Maybe it’s futile to try to be anything different.

  “I see why,” he says with a smug look on his face as he assesses Max.

  My stomach churns with annoyance and disgust; Max deserves more than that. I shove my other hand in my pocket.

  I chance a glance at her and notice she looks annoyed, her face devoid of affect, her eyes unexpressive. The realization hits me that I could totally say the wrong thing and make her feel bad, which I don’t want to do. “This girl would never fall for a shithead like me,” I tell him.

  Her eyes snap to mine, and I note a new expression I don’t recognize. I avoid diving in to explore it, however. I don’t have enough practice with things beyond the superficial. “This is Max. She just moved here.”

  Marcus holds out his hand. “Hey, gorgeous.”

  I press my teeth together, clench my fists inside my pockets, and fight rolling my eyes.

  “I’ve heard a lot about you on the walk here,” Max says as she shakes his hand.

  I nearly laugh, a puff of air coming out my nose. She’s a smart girl, this Max, who has so many variations of her face, smells like pumpkin pie, and calls me out for being a jerk.

  “All good, I hope,” Marcus says, and leans to look at me. “If it was from this guy, he’s always got a bro’s back.” He grins
and telegraphs a look that makes me annoyed and protective. I’m disgusted as I realize that I haven’t been any better than Marcus and shift on my feet, feeling ashamed. I’m not sure what to say to that so I don’t say anything. He’s not wrong, after all. It was me who pressed so hard on the Bro Code.

  Max threads an arm through mine. “Griffin is showing me around.”

  “Maybe I’ll see you later,” he says. “I’ll get you a drink.”

  She waves her keys at him. “Driving. Besides, I get my own drinks.” Her eyes meet mine with a smile. “But thanks anyway.” She exerts pressure to get me moving.

  “A quick study, I see,” I tell her as we walk away, proud of her. The bare skin of her arm presses against mine, and the friction it creates shoots sparking energy at the base of my spine that climbs up my back.

  “A proficient teacher,” she replies and doesn’t move away as we walk through the crowd. “You know where there’s a restroom?”

  “This way.” I lead her away from the fire to one of the bathrooms. “I’ll be out here.”

  She disappears through the doorway.

  There are other female voices inside, drifting from the openings near the roof. They quiet a moment which makes me think they stopped talking when Max walked in.

  I cross to the wall rather than standing out in the open and lean against it to wait.

  “Did you see Josh?” one of the voices asks.

  I feel my eyebrows draw together, knowing it could be any Josh, but I know the voice. Greta Mills.

  “Yeah. Did you hear that Tanner isn’t going to parties anymore?”

  Siobhan Crawley.

  “Who said?”

  Bella.

  “Well, Josh is here with Ginny Donnelly and Emma Matthews.” They all make a scoffing sound. “When I asked them where Tanner was, they just kind of shared a look and said, ‘not here.’”

  “Trouble in paradise?”

  “I heard they aren’t together anymore.”

  A toilet flushes.