Well played, Satan.
We pull up in front of a small beach house decaying beneath a mountain of debris. The location more than makes up for the venue, as it’s directly across the road from a quiet stretch of beach.
‘See you at eleven,’ Sue says as we climb out.
Tamsin makes a pouty face. ‘Twelve?’
‘Eleven or get a taxi.’
‘There are no taxis in Whistle Beach.’
Sue gives a triumphant smile. ‘Oh, I know. That’s why I’ll see you at eleven. Don’t make me come inside and get you.’
We watch her pull away, then head for the house. Alanis Morissette’s ‘You Oughta Know’ pours from the open door. Some kids from school are sitting on stained couches out front, cigarettes hidden from the view of the cars pulling up.
My stomach tightens as we enter. Nerves meshing with… excitement? It’s been so long since I’ve experienced excitement that I barely recognise it anymore. People look curiously in my direction before returning to their conversations.
‘If you’re looking for the Kingdom Hall, it’s the next town over,’ Trent says as we enter the kitchen.
My eyes meet his, and I can tell he’s just looking for a laugh.
‘Don’t be a dick,’ Tamsin says, swatting him.
He slides a bottle of Jim Beam in her direction. ‘We’ve run out of Coke.’
‘That’s okay.’ She pulls room-temperature ginger ale out of her straw bag. ‘I’ve come prepared.’ She tugs two white cups from a plastic sleeve and gets to work.
And there’s the guilt again, threatening to ruin the evening before it’s even begun. It’s not only the drinking triggering me but the whole worldly environment.
‘What do you normally drink?’ Tamsin asks as she pushes a cup towards me.
Trent leans on the chipped table. ‘J-dubs don’t drink, do they?’
I take the cup Tamsin hands me and smell it. ‘Jesus drank.’
‘Bourbon?’ Trent asks.
Tamsin jabs him with her elbow.
He raises his hand. ‘It was a joke. So you’re a wine drinker?’
I drank red wine once and didn’t much like it, but he doesn’t need all the details. ‘Sure.’ I sip at the bourbon. It actually tastes better than it smells.
People continue to arrive in a steady stream, wandering into the kitchen to say hello—to Tamsin and Trent. It’s fine. I don’t belong here. They know it, and I know it.
Tamsin keeps looking to the door, like she’s waiting for someone.
‘Who are you looking for?’ I ask.
‘That would be Sammy,’ Trent answers on her behalf.
‘Really?’ Sammy’s the only guy I know who’s brave enough to call Hunter a friend. He’s nice enough. And by nice, I mean he ignores me entirely instead of making my life a living hell. He keeps to himself. We have that in common.
‘You can stop pining now,’ Trent says, stepping around Tamsin. ‘He just walked in.’
Tamsin grabs hold of my arm, baring her teeth at me. ‘Lipstick check.’
I bite back a smile. ‘You’re good.’