My Sweetest Escape. Chelsea M. Cameron

my neck scarves. I’d boxed all of it up and left it at Mom’s house when I’d moved into my dorm room this year. No need for any of that anymore. I’d quit all the clubs I’d been in, even Student Council, much to the dismay of nearly everyone there. Mostly because I kept the minutes and no one else wanted to do it.

      “So what’s your story, Joscelyn Archer?” Dusty said as he pulled out behind Taylor’s Charger. “Have you always had that chip on your shoulder, or is it new?”

      Why the hell did he care?

      “What’s your story, Dustin Sharp? Renee’s never mentioned you before.” Instead of turning on the radio, he made his own music by tapping on the steering wheel and making snare drum sounds with his mouth. I was beginning to think he had ADHD. It would explain a lot.

      “I bet yours is more interesting than mine,” he said, turning to look at me. I stared out the window, pretending to be fascinated with the houses that passed by.

      “Okay, fine. You win,” he said when I didn’t answer. “Let’s just say I wasn’t always this good-looking and talented. I, uh, got myself into a lot of trouble when I was younger, if you can believe that.” Could I? You bet.

      “And I screwed up a lot and then something happened to me to...yeah, this part sounds lame, but something happened to put things in perspective, you know? And I stopped screwing around, and I started actually giving a shit about what I wanted to do with my life.”

      “And how did you become buddies with Hunter?” That was what I was most curious about.

      “I met Hunter in one of my classes, and, for lack of a better, more masculine term, we formed a bromance. We see each other all the time now, since he changed his major. So, yeah. That’s my rambling and completely weird story.”

      It wasn’t what I’d expected, but before I could answer he was pulling into the parking lot.

      “So, on the way back it’s your turn, Red.”

      This time I opened the door myself before he could get around the car.

      Chapter 7

      Dinner was...interesting. Everyone—except me and Dusty—greased their wheels with the wide selection of beer on tap. Even though Taylor wasn’t of age, Hunter just ordered two glasses at a time and handed her one when the waiter wasn’t looking. I didn’t even bother to try that, because Renee’s eyes were on me the entire time. She kept herself to one beer, but I knew from experience that she could pound them back when she wanted.

      The more alcohol the group consumed, the dirtier the stories got. Renee kept trying to shush them, as if they were going to poison my precious ears. Like it wasn’t anything I’d heard already. I’d been in college before. I also had the sneaking suspicion they’d been on their best behavior with me in the house.

      “Oh, my God, do you remember that time I walked in on you in the shower?” Mase said to Renee.

      “No, I cannot recall,” she said, becoming really interested in the half-devoured onion blossom. “But even if I did, that doesn’t mean it’s the kind of story one would tell in front of one’s impressionable younger sister.” Her words were sharp as knives and I think Mase and everyone else got the message. Then there was one of those silent moments where everyone is super uncomfortable and doesn’t know what to say. It stretched out until Dusty cleared his throat loudly and then made a whistling sound like an airplane diving and then crashing in a giant explosion. It was pretty accurate-sounding and made everyone laugh nervously. Our waiter chose that moment to come over and ask if anyone wanted more drinks. I got myself another Dr Pepper and Dusty got another Mountain Dew.

      “You’re going to be up all night if you keep drinking that stuff,” I said. Of course we’d been the last people to arrive at the restaurant, so we’d gotten the last two chairs at the end of the table, so of course I was next to him.

      “Maybe that’s my plan. Maybe I don’t sleep.”

      All I could think of were supernatural creatures. “Vampire, werewolf or zombie?”

      “All of the above,” he whispered and winked at me. Why was I talking to him again?

      I stole a glance down the table at Renee, but Paul was telling her something and she was laughing. Thank you, Paul. I caught his eye and gave him a thumbs-up.

      “Your sister is, um, protective,” Dusty said.

      “It’s a recent development.”

      He waved his hand for me to elaborate. “Due to...”

      I rolled my eyes.

      “None of your business.” I was not going into my life story with him even though he’d shared his. I didn’t ask him to. I didn’t care.

      “I think we need to have a toast,” Darah said, raising her glass. I knew she wasn’t much of a beer drinker, but she seemed to have changed her mind. “To our new resident, Jos.”

      “May her life decisions be much wiser than ours,” Mase finished for her. Glasses were raised and clinked and there was some minor beer sloshing as my ears turned red and I tried not to make eye contact with anyone. Yeah, my life decisions weren’t anyone’s business but mine.

      I hate it when people say “seize the day.” Seizing sounds so violent. How about “love the day” or just “live the day”?

      Live the day.

      A pair of fingers snapped in front of my face, making me jump.

      “Come back to earth, Red. You were orbiting somewhere else. That’s dangerous, you know.” I turned toward him and a retort formed on my lips, but I let it die. He wasn’t worth it. He didn’t understand. So I just gave him a sweet smile and imagined dumping the glass of Mountain Dew on his head. It would have been so satisfying, but I would have made a scene.

      “Okay, okay, it’s time for some of us to go home because some of us have class tomorrow,” Renee said.

      “She means me,” I said in a stage whisper to the entire table. They laughed, some more than others, but that was probably because of the beer and not because I was that funny.

      “I can drive her,” Dusty said as everyone tried to figure out the bill and how much they should tip. Most of the guys did their guy thing and refused to let the poor delicate females even consider paying. After a few lectures about feminism and the increasing popularity of going Dutch, the guys won the battle and the ladies left the tip. Paul ended up paying for me, mostly because I was broke as shit.

      “But then you’d have to go to our house and drop her off and then drive back. It’s no big deal—I’m fine to drive,” Renee said.

      “It’s not a big deal. I forgot my phone at your place anyway.” He was totally lying. I’d seen it in his pocket, but I kept my mouth shut.

      “If you don’t mind...”

      “It’s no big deal, Ne,” he said. So I guess everyone was calling her that these days. She’d always hated it when Paul called her “Nene,” but I guess she was over it. You can only fight a nickname for so long before everyone just decides to use it with or without your permission.

      What if I call you...Josie? Jo? Jojo? Lyn?

      He’d finally agreed to call me Jossy, which was the only suggestion I could live with.

      “You went away again, Red. You have a habit of doing that?” Dusty said, bringing me back again.

      “None of your business.”

      He laughed as we walked, and some of us stumbled a bit, out of the restaurant.

      “You sound like a robot when you say that. Means I’ve hit on something you’d like to keep hidden. You’re one of those onion girls.”

      “Onion girls?” I had a brief visual of a girl wearing an onion costume.