The Art of Losing(56)

At first, he was his regular self, just a little louder. He and his friends ran around making fun of each other and tried to drink more to impress the girls while we sipped our drinks slowly. Then, he got sarcastic and the jokes got pointed and a little mean.

By then, I knew what Mike was like in middle school. I knew that he was overweight (“chubby,” his mom liked to say) and that he was made fun of. I figured he was making up for lost time, but after two rum and Diet Cokes, my head was spinning and I couldn’t keep watching him alienate his friends, who were not nearly as drunk as he was.

I wanted to just lie down on the kitchen floor and take a nap, but I put my head down on the table instead. I don’t know how long I was asleep, but when I woke up, the house was empty, Mike and his friends were outside smoking, and it was almost my curfew.

I ran outside to demand that Mike drive me home when I saw how glassy his eyes were. How unsteady his steps. How braying his laugh. He saw me, and his grin widened.

“Harley Quinn!” he shouted, swinging his cigarette wildly as he lunged toward me. His friends laughed when he stumbled. “You missed it!”

“What?” I asked, trying not to let my annoyance show. “What did I miss?”

But Mike was on the ground now, and he was rolling with laughter. I didn’t really care what I had missed, but Mike’s mom was supposed to be my ride home, so I took the opportunity to grab his phone from his pocket while he was distracted. But before I could get it free, he grabbed me around the waist and pulled me down on top of him.

“I’m the drunkest,” he slurred loudly.

“You don’t say,” I hit back, deadpan.

This was how Mike always was. His friends would have a few beers; he’d have six. They’d take a shot; he’d take four. He always had to one-up everyone. But I didn’t know that yet.

“And you’re not, so you’re the lamest,” he said while I struggled to get up. I felt someone gripping my elbows and turned to see Ryan helping me up.

“Thanks,” I said to him.

Once on my feet, I looked around to find the guy whose house we were at and found an expression that mirrored my own: annoyed, with a hint of disgust.

“I’ll get him out of here,” I said.

Ryan and I grabbed Mike under each arm and hauled him to his feet, following the rest of the guys back into the house. We set Mike, who was now softly murmuring to himself with his eyes closed, on the couch.

“Do you know what happened to his mom?” I asked Ryan. “She was supposed to pick us up.”

“Once he started taking shots, he texted her and said he was sleeping here. Without asking Justin,” Ryan answered. That explained a few things.

“Can you get him home or let him sleep over at your house? Try not to let him get in trouble?”

“What about you?” Ryan asked.

“I have to go. I’m going to be late.” I was already texting Cassidy, who was one of the oldest in our grade and already had her license. “Cassidy will be here in five minutes, and she’s going to need the speed of the Flash to get me home in time.”

He sighed. “Yeah, okay, I’ll figure it out.”

“I owe you one, Ry,” I said.

I made it home at 11:35 p.m. and my parents were already in bed, asleep. I was relieved, but I almost wished they were awake and had asked me some probing questions about why Cassidy had driven me home instead of Ms. Baker, or perhaps why I smelled like cheap rum. I didn’t want to be punished, but I wanted someone to care.

When I got to my room, though, Audrey was there, waiting.

“What did you do tonight?” she asked. Her eyes were narrowed with suspicion. “Your eyes are red.”

Rather than giving an answer, I pushed her out of my room and closed the door in her face. I wanted someone to care, but I didn’t want to actually talk about it.

Mike’s mom never found out, and he didn’t drink again for a while, so I pushed that memory to the back of my mind. Until the next time it happened.





Chapter Fourteen



There was a name tag with my first name on it waiting for me at the door when I walked into the rehab center the next day. A table was set up just inside the doors where a woman with a silver bob and a turquoise blazer checked me in.

“Michael Baker,” she repeated after me when I told her who I was there to see. “You must be Harley.”

The way she said it made me wonder if he had been talking about me to her, or if she just recognized my name from some list. The thought that everyone in this place knew what happened between him and Audrey made my chest tighten. I hadn’t considered that my business was going to be on display when I said yes to being here.

I was tempted to turn and walk out, but the silver-haired woman seemed to sense that. She pointed me past the front desk and into the room just beyond where chairs were arranged in a big circle. Mike and his mom stood in its center talking to a couple other people. They hadn’t noticed me yet and the room was slowly filling up with people wearing name tags, so I stood to the side, not quite ready to put on a brave face.

I studied Mike to see if I could spot a change in him since I’d last seen him a month ago. He looked cleaner on a surface level—his hair was combed and tucked behind his ears, his oxford shirt was tucked into his khaki shorts, and the dark circles under his eyes were now just a light shadow. It was an improvement, that’s for sure.