Boy in a Band (A Morgan Mallory story) (16 page)

“You?” h
e asked, opening the refrigerator.

When he looked at me
, he grinned, and the tension from before was gone and my body relaxed.

             
“Won’t your parents notice?”

“Naw
,” he said, taking two more and handing me one. “Finished?”

             
I took a few sips and finished the first one.

             
“Here,” he said, taking the empty can from me.

             
He took the empty cans and buried them in the trash, then put the guitar under his arm and grabbed his second can of beer.

“Let’s go
,” he said, opening the door.

Chapter 19

It was getting dark as we walked back across the street. When he tucked his beer sort of under his arm, I did the same. When we got to the beach, we walked down toward the water before heading toward the house. We drank the second beer on the way.

              “You been partying much this summer, Morgan?”

             
“Some.”

              “Haven’t seen you at any.”

             
“You run with a different crowd,” I said. “I hang with Gayle a lot; Keri sometimes.”

             
“Keri’s hot,” he said.

I ignored his comment. He threw things out like that every now and then and it irritated me.

“I tried pot before I smoked with you that one night.”

Keri’s name coming up made me think of our meeting in the tunnel.

              “Yeah, with who?” he asked.

             
“With Keri one morning before school,” I answered.

             
He laughed.

“Doesn’t surprise me about Keri, but wouldn’t have guessed you. Maybe I’ll try and score some while we’re here.”

“Where would you score it?” I asked, curious.

             
“The hippies who hang out by the store; they always have it.”

             
“How do you know?”

             
“Because I’ve bought it from them before,” he said.

             
“Gotcha,” I said.

             
So Mathew obviously had another motive for people watching down by Hot Dog on a Stick. We finished the beer and when we left the cans on the beach, I made a mental note to get them later. We got back to the house, as dinner was finishing up.

             
“Where have you been?” my mom asked.

             
“I went with Mathew to get his guitar.”

“You two need to get a plate before it’s picked up
,” she said.

Mathew and I
each grabbed a plate, loading them up with lasagna, thick slices of garlic bread, and salad. We went out on the patio to find that most of the group had moved to the beach already. The bonfire was going, and the firelight flickered on their faces while the ocean crashed in the darkness beyond. We sat down at the table to eat and Bobby came to join us.

             
“I love the beach,” I said.

             
I watched the fire, could hear it crackle and pop as embers floated into the air. The lasagna was cheesy and delicious, the bread soft and very garlicky. The smell of burning wood wafted to me now and then.

“That was good,” Bobby said
, licking his fingers.

“Let’s get rid of our plates and get out to the fire,” Mathew said as he stood up.

As we went inside and threw our plates away, my mom handed us the s’more supplies and asked us to carry it down. Mathew took the marshmallows and graham crackers along with his guitar, and I took the chocolate and the roasting skewers. Laughter and conversations floated up from around the fire.

“Whew, it’s a bit chilly out here,” I said
shivering as we walked down the stairs.

“It will be warm by the fire,” Mathew said.

“Warmer, but I think I’ll still need a sweatshirt.”

I knew I would be
cold; my outfit was a little skimpy for the temperature now.

“Here Mel,” I said handing her the stuff. “I’m gonna run
back to grab a sweatshirt.”

I ran up the stairs, then three stories and grabbed a pink zip-up hoodie out of my room. I was out of breath as I headed back to the fire. As I walked out the back door, I could smell the marshmallows already toasting, the sugary sweet of it beckoning me.

Sheryl screamed and then laughed as hers caught fire and she had to blow it out.
I could see Ann was busy distributing marshmallows, chocolate, and grams. Melanie and Bobby both had several marshmallows on their skewers. My dad and a couple of the other men where standing with cocktails in their hands watching the commotion. Mathew was sitting next to his guitar on the far side of the fire talking to Bobby as he roasted. He stopped talking and watched me as I approached.

“Here
,” Ann said, handing me a skewer with two white marshmallows on it.

             
I thanked her and then sat in the sand slightly in front of Mathew to hold them over the fire, carefully keeping my skewer high enough to toast them golden brown.

             
“Ann, can you hand me a graham with chocolate,” I asked, watching that my marshmallows didn’t fall off.

“Here
,” Mathew volunteered, leaning in front of me to get them from his mom.

He held the two
graham cracker squares open, a piece of chocolate on one side while I pushed the two marshmallows into the middle, and he sandwiched it together.

             
“Perfect,” I sighed, looking for him to hand it to me.

             
Instead, I watched, open-mouthed, as he took a bite.

              “Yes, it is,” he said with his mouth full.

             
Everyone laughed.

             
“Here, Morgan,” Ann chuckled, handing me more marshmallows. “Try to keep these away from Mathew.”

             
“Yeah, he’s a bad helper,” I teased.

             
Mathew smiled at me as he finished my perfect s’more. He picked up his guitar and strummed, his hair falling forward as he tuned. The firelight danced off everyone’s faces as we all waited for him to play. He started his first song, “Wild Horses”,
by the Rolling Stones. He sang it softly, and everyone stopped talking and listened. He’d chosen my favorite song.

             
“
Wild, wild, horses, couldn’t drag me away from you
,” he sang.

             
My heart didn’t feel as desperate for him tonight as it could—I was such an emotional yoyo when it came to him. When he finished, he looked up at me.

             
“Thanks,” I mouthed, feeling calm.

He played for a long time while the bonfire blazed
. As it slowly died down, people drifted back toward the house or back to their condos.

             
“Let’s walk down to the water,” Bobby suggested.

             
I stood up and dusted the sand off my rear.

             
“Let me help,” Mathew said, reaching for me.

I slapped his hand away
as I zipped up my hoodie and buried my hands in the pockets.

“You coming?” Mathew asked.

I looked at Bobby, then back to Mathew. Bobby’s expression hadn’t said he cared either way.

“Yeah, I guess.”

              “I’ll be right back,” Mathew said, as he headed toward the house with his guitar.

             
Bobby and I waited in silence. When he came back, I followed the two of them down the beach, where we sat on the ridge of sand closest to the water that was still dry. The moonlight danced off the surface while the foam washing up onto the sand reflected white. Mathew pulled out three beers from under his shirt.

             
“You kipping from the cooler?” Bobby asked.

             
“Of course,” he answered.

             
Mathew popped each one and handed it to us. The adults would never notice; they were too busy partying.

             
“Our little Morgan here has been smokin' some pot,” Mathew volunteered.

“Big deal
,” I said, wondering why he brought it up.

             
Bobby didn’t comment. I didn’t like how he made it sound like I was a little child that had fallen way behind the crowd. I knew Mathew was way more into the party scene than I was, but I didn’t really care. We watched the ocean, drinking our beer for a while, until Bobby broke the silence.

“
How’s it goin' with what’s her name, Mathew?”

             
I wondered if Bobby brought that up, knowing it might get to me. There were times like this that I didn’t know if he was trying to get a reaction, or really just thought I was a pal and it didn’t matter.

             
“You call them all that,” he answered.

             
“Have to 'cause I can’t keep 'em straight,” Bobby said.

             
I looked at Mathew who was grinning.

             
“How’s your love life?” Mathew asked Bobby, switching the focus.

             
I listened, sort of wishing now that I hadn’t come, not wanting to hear about the girl thing, about the girl Bobby had been seeing for a couple months.
Why couldn't that be Mathew and me?
I thought in anguish.

             
“Good,” Bobby said.

             
“Good, that’s it.”

             
“For you, yeah,” Bobby laughed. “You seeing anyone, Morgan?”

             
“Nope, I’m too busy keeping the girls in Mathew’s life straight for him,” I said, playing on Bobby’s comment.

             
It sent Bobby into hysterics. He laughed and laughed and I couldn’t help but smile.

“No doubt, no doubt
,” he finally said, wiping tears from his eyes.

“Fuck you guys
,” Mathew said teasingly.

He reached into my pocket then and gave my hand a squeeze and left it there. I unballed my cold hand and held his, marveling at how warm it was. He hadn’t held my hand often, and usually just fleetingly, so although it was a simple gesture, coming from him it was kind and tender. When I was ready to leave, like the summer before, Mathew walked me back to the house.

             
“Thanks for ‘Wild Horses’
,”
I said when we stopped short of the house.

             
“I know it’s your fav. It’s why I played it.”

             
“You played it because you like to
play
with me,” I said my eyes narrowing.

             
“What does that mean?” he asked seriously.

I looked at him and laughed which
seemed to confuse him more.

“You’ve got to be joking
. You always play with me,” I said, staring him down.

             
I didn’t believe he didn’t know what he could do to me. Turn me into a wet noodle just by a look. I constantly had to struggle with myself about my emotions regarding him. Tonight had been good, because I hadn’t struggled. He was trying to read my thoughts and continued to give me a confused look. Just when I thought he might be serious, he started laughing.

             
“You,” I said, jabbing him in the stomach.

             
He stumbled backwards, holding his stomach as if he was wounded. I smiled at him,
still playing with me
I thought.

“See you later
,” he croaked out, stumbling back down the beach toward Bobby.

I watched him for a minute
thinking about the warmth of his hand, his reason for holding mine, and then turned and went into the house. Pool balls were breaking, so I headed upstairs. I needed something normal. Something, someone that wasn't Mathew. People who didn't mess with my head or my heart.

It was a best of three games between
Pat and my dad against Brad and Sam. They had each won one, so this was it. It was such a normal scene with each side laughing and ragging on the other. Just people enjoying themselves with no ulterior motive. I watched for a few minutes, thinking back on the evening, and then walked out on the balcony. I wasn’t going to figure Mathew out; I could make myself crazy trying to understand him. There were only two choices, go along, or not. I could see Mathew and Bobby still sitting by the ocean. I saw a match strike and then a glow of what looked like a cigarette. When I saw it pass between the two of them, I knew Mathew had scored.