bedliner feels nice under my bare feet, and the heat seeps through the denim seat of my shorts when I sit down, already reaching for the cooler that holds a six-pack of beer Riley’s dad bought for us. This evening’s a celebration, of sorts—tomorrow my best friend leaves for basic training, but I won’t let myself dwell on that.
“You only say that because you won’t have to listen to her anymore,” I reply, setting the beer aside. I pull out another, open it, and take a sip of that one, as well. “After tomorrow—”
My dad’s the one that hooked us up.” He picks up the can in front of him and frowns at it, studying the dampness condensed around the top. “Did you drink out of this?”
“Did you see me?” I ask, my eyes studiously avoiding Riley’s.
Another shrug.him—behind.
* * * *
Riley, comi
