I shrug and let the screen door slam shut behind us. “Do you know where Zack sets up the stereo?” I ask, avoiding his question. “Or do you need me to lead the way?”
He restrains a grin, adjusting the speakers in his arms. “I think I’m going to need you to lead the way.”
I elevate my brows at him. “I think you just want to check out my ass.”
His smile slips through. “Okay, you caught me.”
I narrow my eyes, but it’s a flirtatious gesture. Then I make my way through the sea of drunk, high, and sweaty bodies to Zack’s living room. The room is trashed, the furniture either cracked or broken, and Zack is in the corner, smoking a joint.
“You know, one of these days, your dad’s going to get upset about the mess,” I tell Zack as I approach him.
Zack’s eyes light up when he spots me emerging. He removes the joint from his lips, smoke snaking the air as he lets out a breath. Then he hands the joint to a guy next to him, who has his back to me and a hood pulled over his head.
“You know that’ll never happen,” Zack says. “It would require him coming home.”
Poor Zack. His dad is gone to who knows where for weeks at a time and it’s been that way forever. And his mom is upstairs, probably doped up on so many pills she can’t even remember her own name.
“Here, I’ll take those.” Zack takes the speakers from Conner then sets them on the floor beside the stereo where he plugs them in.
Moments later, music blasts through the room and vibrates the floor. The party guests match the noise while the guy next to Zack wanders over to the sofa and flops down miserably.
My head begins to throb. It’s not that I hate music. I love it when it’s done correctly, like say when I’m in my room studying. But parties and music is a bad combo for me. Ever since I can remember, my mother has blared music right before she gets high and it’s like an omen for me.
Conner notes my expression and leans in. “Let’s spend the”—he glances at his watch—“the last eleven minutes outside, okay?”
I’m not sure if this guy is for real or not but if he is, I think I might be a goner. He’s got me feeling that pull, like I do with the stars, only it’s different—less calming and more terrifyingly thrilling.
“You don’t want to stay in and party?” I question skeptically.
“Nah, not really my thing.”
I follow him back through the mob, which has gone crazy because of the music, jumping up and down and shouting with enthusiasm. By the time we make it outdoors again, my ears are ringing and my skin is damp with sweat.
“Parties aren’t really my thing either.” I zip up my jacket as I take a seat on the steps in front of Zack’s house.
Conner sits down beside me; not too close that I feel uncomfortable, but enough that I’m aware of his close proximity. Then he stretches out his legs and rests back on his hands. “So I guess we have something in common.”
“If you don’t like parties, then why are you here?” I ask skeptically.
He shrugs. “Zack invited me at work today, and I thought I’d check it out.”
“You mean check out what a party over in The Subs is like?”
“I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t curious about what goes on over here… if it’s that different like everyone says.”
“And what’s your conclusion? Is it any different from wherever you’re from?”
“It’s definitely different.” He studies the stars while I study him. When he glances at me, I hurry and look away at the road. “So tell me about yourself, Avery.”
I pick at my fingernails. “There’s not much to tell.” I motion around us without looking up from my hands, very ashamed at the moment of where I come from and who I am. “This is about it for me.”
“Not about where you live,” he says. “I mean, about you. What kinds of stuff do you like to do?”
I’m not sure anyone’s ever asked me to talk about myself before. Usually I get asked questions like, do you know where I can buy some? Do you want a hit? What’s your drug of choice? And whenever I answer no to all three—because I refuse to do drugs—I always get the same unfathomable look.
“I don’t know.” I shrug. “I like astronomy.”
A pucker forms at Conner’s brow. “Like the study of stars?”
“Yeah, and my favorite subject in school is math, so I guess in a way I like numbers and stars. I’m in an AP math class. They’re both kind of my thing I guess. That and accounting.” It’s how I manage to pay the bills with the limited amount of cash flow we have. “You’re shocked,” I remark. “Admit it. You thought I was going to say something cliché like art or I’m in a band.”
His gaze is relentless but I refuse to look away from him. “I’ll admit it,” he says. “I’m surprised, but I wouldn’t go as far as shocked. Looks can be really misleading.”
I nod, allowing myself to check him out. Just a quick glance. Nothing that would mean too much. “They sure are, creepy pervert guy. Now it’s your turn. Tell me something you like to do.”
He contemplates my demand with a thoughtful expression. “I like working on cars.”
“Really?” It sounds like something the guys around here would say so I’m a bit surprised and kind of disappointed.
He nods then leans in, motioning me to come closer too. I find myself easily obeying him and notice right away that he doesn’t smell like smoke or booze, but like soap and aftershave. It’s an unfamiliar yet wonderfully welcoming smell and I breathe the delicious scent in.
“Can you keep a secret?” he whispers.
I nod. “I can.”
“I have a few cars at home. Really nice ones actually,” he says. “But don’t tell anyone. I have a reputation to uphold while I’m here.”
“Why? Are you afraid they’ll”—I peek back at Zack’s house—“kidnap you and hold you for ransom for these alleged cars?” I’m only half-kidding.
His breath warms my cheek as he chuckles. “Maybe. It depends on who they are.”
“I’m not really sure,” I say then laugh, slanting away from him even though part of me doesn’t want to. “This conversation is starting to go over my head.”
“Mine, too,” he agrees, reclining back on his hands and returning his concentration to the stars. “You know, if you want, I could show you my cars sometime.”