Best Friends
A breeze picks up as I climb into the back of Riley’s pickup truck and for a moment I think I’m underdressed—a T-shirt and cut-offs seemed sensible when I left the house earlier, but the wind has a bite to it that feels like rain’s on the way. But the hot 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.
Raising my voice over the rustle of tall grass, I call out to Riley, “Charlene’s gonna be pissed you’re spending your last night with me.” I pop open one can, take a quick swig, and feel the cold alco
