CHAPTER FIVE
Lane
“Come on, man, you have got to go with her.”
Darrin’s big bear-hand, usually used for catching spirals, was now plowing me through a throng of people. After leaving Jordan to run around like a chicken with her head cut off, I’d grabbed a decent shirt and headed over to the party of the year. And of course they had somebody waiting for me.
For a second time, I greeted a girl named Lauren Payne. She was a sophomore, a year younger than me, but it was no popularity bruise to be seen with her; she was a head-turner to even the seniors. Her blonde hair, blue eyes, long eyelashes, perfectly-contoured face - and for once, an actual personality to follow suit. The first time we’d been hooked up was seventh grade on a blind date. Admittedly, she hadn’t been anywhere close to the worst - maybe the best. But like every other setup, there just wasn’t any real attraction. Still, I smiled and said, “Hey.”
“Hey yourself!” she greeted. “I haven’t talked to you since--”
“Forever,” I finished. The last time we'd been together, we'd been messing around until we managed to set off all the sprinklers in the school's gym. I looked around; Nick and Darrin had both magically dematerialized by the time my eyes flicked around the room. So the date begins.
----
Finally, I rested back on the couch. We’d talked, drank, and danced until the room was turning in wicked spirals. She started clinging to me, and I shouldered her off awkwardly while she slunk down, giggling, on the couch. I was more than ready to head out. While she was nice, it all changed after a few shots.
My car was waiting under one of the streetlights, a beat-up white Pontiac that I loved more than life itself. I grabbed Lauren’s hand to lead her at first, but it was pretty obvious that she’d be taking a header into the cement, so I gripped around her waist. She let out a fit of giggles. “Kiss me,” she said, completely bubbly.
“I don’t think so,” I mumbled uncomfortably.
Her face turned fiercely indignant. “What?” she demanded, slurred. “Am I not good enough for you? Am I not good enough?”
“You’re fine. Peachy.”
“It’s that Jordan girl, isn’t it?” Lauren’s face came alight with this idea. I think mine turned to stone. “Jordan Calder, that ugly little tomboy! Everybody…” she tripped, which was secretly hilarious, “…everybody knows.”
I didn’t say anything, just opening the passenger’s door and letting her in, grudgingly. How could everybody know when I wasn't even sure I knew?
Lauren's house wasn’t that far out of town - she could walk. The more she said, the more I wished she walked.
After five minutes or so of her running mouth, I led her into her house and helped her towards her bedroom. Her mom, an early-bird MERCY member, was crashed on the couch. Her dad was the library owner, wide awake and clearly waiting for the opportune moment to swoop in for the kill. I was lucky that Lauren’s older sister was there, also, because she guided Lauren to bed and seemed to be prepared to take care of the tailspinning hangover inevitably in Lauren's future. That left me with Mr. Payne, who looked ready to live up to his name.
“You brought back my little girl drunk,” he said tersely. The newspaper he’d been skimming was tossed dismissively, and he stood with his hands in his pockets, glaring at me through the harsh light that glinted over the rims of his glasses. “You have a lot of nerve, boy.”
“I didn’t make her drink,” I defended weakly, taking a step back. Lauren was known for her drinking problem, despite her quiet and laid-back parents. Mr. Payne wouldn’t take that for an answer, of course.
“Doesn’t matter,” he replied. “You brought her there. If I see you in this house one more time you’ll be looking down the barrel of my gun. What’s your name, kid?”
I debated my options, looking towards the back door, trying to think past the deluding beer to contemplate the possibility of leaving. I didn't see it happening. Grumbling, I muttered, "My name's Lane Sumlin."
Was it a trick of the light against his glasses, or did his expression do a 360? “Oh,” he said flatly. “Well. I suppose that...she’s alright, and it looks as if you’ve had less to drink than she has. I should've recognized a Sumlin when I'd seen one. You're free to go.”
What he said could’ve been spoken in Greek, and I would’ve understood it just as much. So what did being a Sumlin have anything to do with this?
I didn’t care, for now at least; I was off the hook. “Rightt…well, goodnight then. And---” where were these words coming from? “I’m sorry. Really.”
“Don’t even think about it,” he said with a voice of finality.
Maybe Jordan’s paranoia had rubbed off on me, because I couldn’t stop thinking that what went on tonight was weird. Last year when a kid named Dirk Harris brought back Lauren drunk, he’d been slammed through the wall (Mr. Payne was tougher than his occupation and wardrobe suggested). Why hadn’t I received the same treatment?
Maybe it was just because his wife worked for my dad. I guess it made sense.
As I walked out towards my car, I looked back to see two shadowed figures behind the blinds. The woman figure seemed to be wiping her eyes, then motioning around the room. The male shadow crossed his arms.
Then they both turned, clearly gazing out to watch me leave. I ignored them, making my way to the Pontiac just in time to hear the last words of “Semi-Charmed Life” for the second time that day. I picked up my cell. “What’s happening, Jords?”
“Oh, great, you’re drunk.”
Was I that bad? “Just buzzed. Relax.”
Her disgust practically oozed from her words. “Are you helping or not?” Jordan demanded. Her voice lowered to a whisper. “I’ve been talking with Arie’s mom. It looks like she’s having one of her episodes again.”
“Episodes…” it took me a minute. Then I nodded. “Oh, right. I’ll be there in a few, okay?”
“Don’t drive,” she ordered, too late. The rest of her warning was drowned out by the revving engine.
A few minutes later I pulled into the driveway, just in time to look through the Sinclair’s kitchen window and see a pan go flying into a potted fichus.
This was going to be one hell of a night.
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