All of them are.
By the second chorus, I lock eyes with Camryn as I strum the strings. She sits in the sand on her knees, her body swaying side to side. The other girls are doing the same, getting into the music heavily. I belt out the last chorus, and that one song is all it takes for me to want to play more. Bray can hardly contain herself, telling me how great it was and being very attentive to Camryn, which makes her all right in my book. Unlike the blonde who has her eyes on me a little more than before.
“Man, you weren’t f**kin’ playing’ around,” Tate says.
He lights up a joint.
“Play another one,” Bray says, lying against Elias again, as he wraps his arms around her from behind.
Tate passes the joint to Camryn first. She just looks at it for a second, unsure about whether or not she should. I see a trace of pain flash over her face; I know she was recalling her moment of weakness with the painkillers. She shakes her head. “No thanks, I think I’ll just stick to liquor tonight.”
I smile inwardly, proud of her decision. And when Tate offers it to me next, I follow suit, not because I wouldn’t mind a hit or two, but because I can’t bring myself to enjoy it when Camryn won’t.
I’ve never been much of a pot smoker, but it’s all right every once in a while. Right now isn’t one of those times.
I play a few more songs by the bonfire. Camryn finally does sing one with me, and then I just want to kick back with my girl and enjoy the rare high. I set my guitar down beside us on the blanket and pull Camryn onto my lap again.
Tate’s brother has been sucking face with that girl and feeling her up for a while. They don’t talk much, for obvious reasons. The blonde who had been eyeing me earlier has finally taken the hint, I think. Either that or she’s too stoned out of her mind to care about me anymore.
The music from Tate’s Jeep gets loud again, and he walks away from it carrying a bottle of Seagram’s 7, a two-liter of Sprite, and a stack of plastic cups. His girlfriend starts mixing the drinks and passing cups around.
“Have at it, man,” Tate urges us. “Don’t worry about having to drive anywhere tonight. Cops don’t even know about this place.”
“Yeah, sure I’ll have a cup,” I say.
I look to Camryn, recalling the look on her face when Tate passed her the joint earlier. “”I won’t if you don’t want to,” I say.
Aside from not wanting her to feel like she’s betraying herself by getting too drunk, I don’t want her getting so messed up she’s miserable in the morning, either.
“No, I’m good, baby. I’ll just have one cup, all right?”
She smiles sweetly up at me like she’s waiting on me to give her permission, which I find extremely f**king cute.
“All right,” I give in, not wanting to hurt her feelings, and she takes the cup from Tate’s girlfriend.
We all sit back, drink, and talk about all kinds of random shit for the longest time. Camryn is laughing and smiling and carrying on with Bray about tampons, which I have no idea how that topic came up, nor do I want to know, but we’re having a great time. Music by bands I’ve never heard of before carry loudly through the speakers not far away, and I find myself intrigued by the last few songs that have played, which I’m sure are the same singer.
“Who is that?” I ask Tate.
He looks up from his girlfriend, who is lying with her head in his lap. “Who? The band?”
“Yeah,” I say. “They’re pretty awesome.”
“That, my friend, is Dax Riggs. Solo now. He started out in Acid Bath, I think—” He looks up in thought, as though unsure. “Well he’s been in a few different bands. Acid Bath and Agents of Oblivion are the best known.”
“Y’know, I think I’ve heard of Acid Bath before,” I say and take another drink of my gin and Sprite.
“Wouldn’t be surprised,” Tate adds.
“I’ll have to check out his stuff. Is he underground?”
Camryn, breaking free from her tampon conversation with Bray, moves back over next to me and lays her head on my shoulder.
“Yeah, he never went mainstream,” Tate says. “Good thing, though, ’cause mainstream is bullshit. It pisses me off to see great bands sell out by doing toothpaste commercials ’n’ shit.”
I laugh lightly. “Yeah, definitely. I’d never sign a contract with a record label, if I’m ever offered one.”
“I hear ya, man,” Tate says. “Once you do that, you’re their bitch. Your music is no longer yours, and you’re bending over for the jackoffs that sign your checks.”
I’m starting to kind of like this guy. Just a little.
“Andrew, I need to pee,” Camryn says.
I look over at her. Taking her cup from her hand, I set it on the sand. “I need to take a piss, too,” I say to her and Tate both.
Tate points to the left with another cigarette between his fingers and says, “Go around that way. There’s no glass and shit to step on over there.”
I set my cup down beside Camryn’s and help her up. We walk with her through the sand toward a dark patch of trees and rocks until we’re far enough away that no one can see us.
“We’re gonna have to sleep out here tonight. No way I can drive us home.”
She squats down while I piss a few feet over from her. “I know,” she says. “I guess we’ll finally get to sleep under the stars, huh?”
I’m laughing inside at her. My baby’s so damn drunk she’s slurring a little.