Broken Beautiful Hearts(26)

“Me too.”

“I’ll take your things to the house,” Hawk says. “Your mama will feel better after she gets a chance to give me instructions and boss me around.”

The Twins fall into step on either side of me.

“Let’s get outta here before they make us go eat dinner with them,” one says.

“So what’s the trick?” I ask as we walk to the parking lot.

“Run like hell before they catch us,” my other cousin laughs.

“I mean the trick to telling you guys apart.”

The twin in the green T-shirt nods in his brother’s direction. “Obviously, I have cooler hair and I’m better looking.”

His brother laughs. “Don’t give up on your dreams, bro.”

“Be serious. I don’t want to guess who I’m talking to all the time.”

“Nope. But I’ll make it easy for you. Cam’s shirt is blue. Mine is green,” Christian says.

I wait for a serious answer, but that’s all I get. “Come on. I’m smarter than your ex-girlfriend April. Give me a real answer.”

Christian frowns, his thumbs hooked through the belt loops of his jeans. “How do you know about April?”

“I met her in the restroom. She was in full-on bitch mode.”

Cam cuts between two trucks. “April gave you a hard time?”

“I’ll set her straight at the party,” Christian says. There isn’t a hint of anger in his voice, but the comment strikes a nerve.

“She’s not intimidating enough to give me a hard time. She was busy torturing another cheerleader.” I turn to Christian. “And if anyone needs to be straightened out, I’ll take care of it myself.”

“I just meant I’d talk to her.” Christian runs a hand through his damp hair, making it stick up in a few places. “I’d never put my hands on a girl.”

Cam smirks, and Christian adds, “Not in a bad way … or without asking first. But if I have a girl’s permission, then I’m all hands.”

“I hope that sounded better in your head,” I say.

Christian scratches his head and looks at Cam. “What did I miss?”

“TMI, bro,” Cam says. “Keep that stuff to yourself.”

“Right.” Christian nods. “Sorry, Peyton. My bad. So did you tell April who you were?”

I laugh. “Who am I?”

“You’re our cousin. Did you tell her?” he asks again.

“Sorry, I didn’t realize you two were celebrities. Next time, I’ll ask your ex to put a hold on the bitchcraft so I can identify myself properly.”

I scan the parking lot and try to guess which pickup truck is Cameron’s. “Where’s your car?”

Cam gestures at the end of the row. “The gray F-150 with the lights on top is mine. Dale Earnhardt Jr. here burned out his clutch and he’s too lazy to put in a new one.”

“Why should I bust my ass fixing it when I have you to chauffeur me around?”

Cam unlocks the truck. “Keep running your mouth. It’s a long walk to school.”

Christian opens the passenger-side door and tries to help me climb in.

“I’ve got it.” I try to pull myself up, but I’m not strong enough.

“It doesn’t look that way from here,” Christian says.

After a few attempts, I make it onto the running board and manage to haul myself up from there.

Christian hops in after me. “That seemed like a lot of work for no reason.”

“I had a reason.”

“Not a good one.” Cam starts the truck and shifts it into gear. The engine roars and the seat vibrates. The thing sounds more like a monster truck than a normal pickup.

I cover my ears.

Cam pats the top of the dashboard and drives out of the parking lot. “She’s not that loud.”

We pass more farms, a Texaco gas station, and a diner with a blue neon sign on top that reads: THE BEST DINER IN THE WHOLE DARN STATE.

This isn’t my typical Friday night. I should be at Tess’ house, angling for a corner of the mirror while we put on our makeup together and debate which party to hit first. Between the private schools and the public schools like ours, we usually had at least two or three options.

Cameron turns off the main road and drives over the grass toward a cluster of cars parked in front of a long barn. A bonfire blazes off to the side. He pulls up behind a red pickup and pockets his keys.

I look around outside. “Where’s the house?”

Christian points to a steep hill next to the barn. “At the top.”

There’s no way I’ll make it up that slope. “I’m not sure my knee can handle a hike yet.”

“The party isn’t in the house. It’s a barn party,” Cam says, as if that will clear up any confusion.

Barn party isn’t a term I heard a lot in DC.

Christian reaches for the door handle, and I catch his arm. “Hold on. I’m not going anywhere until we’re clear about a few things.”

“Okay. Lay it on us,” Christian says.

Cam cuts in. “If you’re nervous—”

“I’m not nervous.” Okay, that’s a lie. But I need this to sink in. “Number one: I don’t need babysitters.”