All We Ever Wanted(61)

“Whoa! You’re pretty strong for an imp,” Beau said, pretending to trip on the curb.

“What the fuck’s an imp?” Finch said, as he walked along beside me while reading something on his phone.

“It’s, like, a little woodland creature. Like a gnome or some shit.” Beau laughed, then nudged Grace and said, “What do you weigh, anyway? A buck o’ five soaking wet?”

“I have no idea. I don’t go around weighing myself with no clothes on,” Grace said, her voice turning all high and coy, like she wanted him to picture her naked.

As we neared Finch’s car, parked in a surface lot a few blocks up on Grundy next to the World Gym, he said, “Lyla calls shotgun.”

“Good deal,” Beau said as he opened the door for Grace, and Finch did the same for me. “I get to sit with my date.”

“I’m not your date.” Grace giggled, climbing into the car.

“We’ll see about that,” Beau said, getting in beside her, then sliding into the middle seat.

“Move over,” she said, laughing and pushing him away.

“I’m good here, thanks,” he said, putting his arm around her.

She shoved him again, unsuccessfully. As Beau and Grace continued their antics, Finch walked around to get in the car, then slowly fastened his seatbelt, started the engine, and put the car in reverse. His foot on the brake, he glanced over at me, then looked into the rearview mirror. “So what next?” he said to all of us. “Y’all wanna grab a bite? The Flipside or Double Dogs?”

   “Oh my God, yass. The Flipside,” Grace said, as I saw out of the corner of my eye that she and Beau were now getting handsy.

“Lyla?” Finch said.

I hesitated, checking my phone. It was ten after ten. “Yeah. I guess we could,” I said, waffling, trying to do the calculation of time and distance, both of which I pretty consistently misjudged. “I just need to be back by eleven.” I’d referenced having a “lame curfew” a couple times already, but it was the first time I’d come out and announced exactly what it was.

“E-lev-en?” Beau yelled, fumbling around behind my seat for a black backpack I’d noticed on the way over.

“Yeah. I know. It sucks,” I mumbled, thinking that it didn’t help matters that I lived on the other side of town from everyone else. “Lemme ask my dad if I can just be back to Grace’s by eleven.”

“Or you can sleep over?” Grace said.

I shook my head, feeling sure he’d say no to a sleepover, especially given the last time I’d been at her house. So I composed a text making a smaller request: Concert just got out. Starving, can we go get something to eat real fast? Can be to Grace’s by 11, then home a little after?? I threw in a few praying emojis for good measure, then watched his ellipses start to scroll. Slooooww typing was my dad’s trademark, and it didn’t seem to matter how short his replies were—they always took forever.

Sure enough, his delayed response was still brief and to the point. No. Be HOME by 11. Dad.

“Ugh,” I said, reading it aloud in the voice I often used to imitate my father—part nerd, part drill sergeant.

Finch laughed. “He signs his texts ‘Dad’?”

   “Yeah,” I said with a chuckle.

“That’s hilarious. Okay…I’ll take you back to Grace’s,” Finch said, pulling up his Luke Bryan songs on his phone.

As we turned out of the parking lot and onto Grundy Street, I felt myself start to relax, my concert high returning. Clearly Finch wasn’t judging my curfew or really worried about anything, including Beau, who was now clicking his JUUL, the same orange one I’d seen him use at his party. A few seconds later, the car filled with a cloud of vapor as Finch unrolled the two back windows about halfway. Over my shoulder, I watched Grace take a hit, murmuring that it tasted good.

“You think that’s good…you should taste something else,” Beau said.

“Eww! Gross!” Grace laughed as she passed the vape back to him.

“Anyone up there?” Beau said, reaching into the front seat, offering it to us.

I glanced at it, tempted. But I played it safe and shook my head. “No, thanks,” I said casually. “Not tonight.”

“Bro?” Beau said, now angling it toward Finch.

“I’m good,” Finch said, looking distracted as he read something on his phone. “Can’t you see I’m driving precious cargo here?” He gave me a little smile but then turned back to his phone, texting with one hand.

As I glanced out the window, Grace suddenly piped up from the backseat. “Well, if she’s precious cargo, then you should probably stop texting and driving.”

Her voice sounded harsh, and it made me glance over at Finch. Looking busted, he immediately dropped his phone to the seat, then tucked it under his left thigh. A weird vibe settled over the car before I cleared my throat and said, “She was just kidding.”

   “No. I’m not,” Grace said. I glanced into the backseat and gave her a panicked look, but she continued, all preachy and pissy. “Texting and driving kills more people than drunk driving.”

“God. Grace. Chill,” I said under my breath as I looked at Finch to gauge his reaction.