“Oh, there’s Meredith.” I point to the red head stumbling through the sand. The sun is beginning to set and the deep orange of it seems to make her glow.nbsp;
Jasper locks the Jeep and reaches for my hand as we go to meet her.
“My friends,” she cries, when we reach her throwing her arms around us in the most awkward three-person hug known to man.nbsp;
“Meredith,” I say in my best Mom voice, “have you been drinking?”
“No … yes … maybe. Just one. Don’t judge me,” she says holding up three fingers.
I shake my head.
“Don’t worry—one of them was for you since you can’t drink, and I’ll be sure to have one for you later too.” She latches onto my free arm, pulling on my slightly to lead me in the right direction too. “I’ve been thinking too. nbsp;If one day you two want to have kids, I’ll totally be your surrogate. I won’t even charge you a penny.”
I force a laugh and my eyes dart to Jasper in panic. He seems merely amused.
“Thanks for the offer, Meredith, but since I just turned eighteen and all babies aren’t a high priority on my list.”
“I’m just sayin’ when the day comes, I’m your girl.”
“Okay, thanks—you’re seriously wasted and it’s not even dark yet.”
“I want to let loose and have some fun,” she whines. “So that’s what I’m doing.”
“Well … good.”
We finally reach the bonfire and Meredith nearly rips off my arm when she starts to run toward it.
“Oh, sorry. I forgot I was holding on to you.” She releases my arm and I rub it.nbsp;
“That much was obvious,” I grumble, already wanting to leave but I refuse to be a Debbie Downer.nbsp;
Now free of me, she takes off for the bonfire, which is surrounded by people she went to school with. People, that once upon a time, I went to school with too. I recognize a few people from middle school, but none that I knew too well so I don’t dare say hi for fear of not being recognized. Talk about embarrassing. So, instead, I cling to Jasper like a life raft.
“I hate things like this,” I admit. “I’m way too socially awkward for this.”
“We’ll have fun,” he promises.
“If you say so,” I grumble, not believing him.nbsp;
Music plays and some people dance, but it’s not like the dancing Jasper and I did when we went out. No, this is the kind of dancing I fear the most—raunchy grinding of pelvises that looks about as close to sex with your clothes on as you can get.nbsp;
“Looks like there’s drinks over here.” Jasper leads me to some coolers. One is filled entirely with different types of beer. Another has water—I guess you have to stay hydrated if you’re going to get wasted—and the third has sodas.nbsp;
Jasper grabs us each a water.
“You can have a beer if you want,” I tell him. “I won’t get offended.”
“Firstly, I have to drive you back to your car so I won’t be drinking. Secondly,” he pauses, letting out a breath. “I haven’t even wanted to look at a beer since T.J. died. If it wasn’t for that asshole being wasted out of his mind he wouldn’t have killed my brother.”
“What happened to the guy?”
“He’s in prison. Apparently, T.J. wasn’t the first time he’s had an accident while drunk. It happened to be the first time he killed someone. You know, sometimes I wonder if he thinks about my brother. If he regrets what he did, ending a kid’s life before it ever really started.”
I press my lips together. “I hope he does. If he doesn’t … well, that’s bad and he doesn’t deserve to live.”
Jasper and I find a place to sit a little way from the chaos but close enough to see the bonfire.nbsp;
“I always wonder, why so often it’s the person that’s drunk that walks away from the accident. I mean, they’re the one doing something wrong. Not that I want anyone to die, but … it seems unfair that the person doing what they’re supposed to, minding their own business, is the one who dies while the drunk walks away unscathed. He was a kid, Willa. This shouldn’t have happened. He should be over there with those kids” —he points to the people dancing and those lingering around the fire— “living up his life before he goes to college. Instead, he’s gone.”