Page 35 of The Last Special Thing

“Count us in, Princess?” Art asked her.

Her stomach flipped at the nickname, glad Weston was in the other room.

“Three… two…. one!”

Bryan and Art tilted their heads back, mouths pressed against the holes, and popped the tabs. Within seconds, Bryan finished, a fist raised in triumph. Art followed behind him, brushing away beer from his lip.

Max’s room opened, a subtle swirl of smoke releasing.

“Art, you guys want in?” Max’s voice was gagged as he raised the bong's stem in offering.

Art crushed his can and shot it into the kitchen trash like a basketball. “Nah, man, counterproductive.”

Amelia was grateful for the answer, happy she wouldn’t have to worry about him the same way Madisson worried about Max.

As Art retrieved a third beer for him and Bryan, Weston took a seat on the couch next to Madisson, and Max dropped onto the recliner.

Madisson glared at him.

“What?” Max asked with a guilty smile.

Madisson didn’t answer. She looked away from him and toward Amelia. “Please tell me something?” she asked.

Distract. Deflect. Avoid. Compromise. They were Madisson’s go-to strategies.

“Did you hear Reyna hooked up with Brandon?” Amelia asked. She had caught that gossip at the graduation party.

“But he’s dating Genieve!” Madisson’s hands flew over her mouth.

“Guess not anymore,” Amelia said, pleased with the shock value of her information.

“Damn, Reyna always gets what she wants,” Madisson said, impressed.

As they were only a month out of high school, Amelia expected the drama to continue until at least the first semester of everyone’s college choices. Only a handful of their graduating class weren’t attending a four-year university. Some were going abroad, and one was going to rehab. Reyna was in their direct outer circle. While Amelia and Madisson were in front and behind the scenes of the plays, Reyna was a dancer. The troupe would occasionally intersect with the drama and stage students when the script called for it.

“We should see if Reyna wants to hang out,” Madisson suggested.

Amelia smiled tightly. Madisson’s natural reaction to help those she deemed in need (case in point: Max) was both Amelia’s favorite and least favorite thing about her. Amelia believed in natural selection.

“Yeah, probably.” She didn’t care one way or the other.

After half the beers in the case were gone, and Weston and Max had smoked another round of weed, Art said, “We’re going to go to the beach.” He put his arm around Bryan with a sway.

Amelia glanced at her watch. Shit. She had decided when she turned eighteen that she didn’t have a curfew, and her parents didn’t fight her on it. But she had explicitly told Lauren she would be home by eleven. A cold war would be arriving from her mom if she kept this up.

“We’ll probably head out,” Amelia sighed and stood. Weston rose behind her, eyes glazed.

Madisson gave them each a hug.

“You’re going to stay?” Amelia kept her voice low.

“Yeah, we’ll just go to sleep. It’ll be fine in the morning,” Madisson said.

“Call me if you need anything.” Amelia knew she wouldn’t, but Madisson needed to know she always had another option.

Art held the door open. Bryan walked through first, then Weston. When Amelia moved by, he grabbed her by the waist and gently pushed her against the wall. He hovered in front of her, chin down. He was so damn tall. The air had evaporated from her lungs as he pressed her harder. He bit his lip, enjoying her squirm in anticipation.

After entirely too long, he kissed her. Slow and deliberate.