The Reaping (The Fahllen #1)(17)
Author: M. Leighton

One of the cabanas seemed to be the site of most of the action. The curtains were tied back and I could see that a table had been set up just inside. There were bags of chips and dishes of dip, a cold meat and cheese tray, some crackers, and a punch bowl. To the left of the table, sitting on the ground in a big barrel of ice, was a keg of beer. Music poured from a huge portable stereo under the table and some girls were already dancing just outside the entrance.

I had stopped in front of Stephen’s car to take in the scene, to weigh and measure it against the hundreds of fantasies I’d had about just such an event. I found that it looked, smelled and sounded much like I’d suspected that it would.

The one thing I hadn’t factored in, however, was nerves. I recognized most of the people I could see. They comprised the elite, upper crust of the school. Unfortunately, several of the girls had made their opinion of me very clear at one point or another. And one of the ones who hadn’t was going out of her way to make it tonight.

Standing in the middle of the dancing girls was Brianna Clark. The reason she was standing rather than dancing is because she’d stopped to give me the stink eye as soon as she’d seen that I was with Stephen. She whispered to one of the girls at her side, Ciara Bentley, and then they both started laughing. I hoped against hope that it had nothing to do with a plot to Carrie-fy me.

Stephen approached to my left and I rubbed my damp palms over my jeans. Oblivious to the tension, he took my hand in his and tugged me forward.

“Come on. Let’s go get a drink.”

Beverages were another thing I hadn’t included in my daydreams. Other than once sneaking a drink of wine from the fridge of one of our neighbors in Ohio, I had never even tasted alcohol before.

“Um, what do they have? To drink I mean,” I asked casually.

“Beer, punch,” he said, shrugging. “I’m sure somebody around here’s got some Jack.”

“Oh, ok,” I said noncommittally, all the while I was thinking punch, punch, punch. I had no idea who Jack was, but I got the feeling he had something I should stay away from.

I followed Stephen into the cabana where he was greeted animatedly by all his friends. He attempted a group introduction once, but they were all too busy placing bets on whether or not one of the guys from the wrestling team could do a thirty second tap hit, whatever that is.

I stood quietly by Stephen’s side, taking it all in. My senses were overwhelmed by sight and sound. It felt a lot like being at the circus. While you were watching the elephants, the clowns were juggling and riding bikes, the trapeze artists were doing flips overhead and someone was trying to sell you popcorn and peanuts. Too much!

Stephen fixed me a cup of punch and handed it to me. I took a tentative sip. It had the pronounced tang of citrus, but with a bite of something I couldn’t identify. It tasted good, though, and harmless enough.

I sipped it while we watched all the circus freaks. We made our way around from group to group. At one point, I found myself watching two guys launch their girlfriends down the dock in shopping carts. They reasoned that the strongest man would be able to propel his girlfriend the farthest. I was a little afraid for the girls, convinced the activity was fraught with peril, especially since they were obviously inebriated. But evidently I was the only one, as everyone else merely picked a spot along the path to cheer them on.

It seemed I had just started my drink when Stephen swapped it out for a full cup; turns out I’d sipped my punch right to the empty bottom. I sipped some more as we watched round one and the girls went careening down the dock, weaving this way and that. The second race unfolded in a similar manner. By the time the third race was starting, I had finished my punch again and Stephen was handing me another.

As two more men ran toward the dock, pushing their respective girlfriends, I found myself cheering them on with the rest of the crowd, smiling and giggling, a pleasant warmth infusing my muscles. I felt a tap on my shoulder and turned to see Leah behind me with Ryan at her back.

“Leah!” I was inordinately glad to see her and suddenly very happy she was my friend. I felt compelled to hug her. “You’re here.”

Leah laughed, feeling a little stiff inside my embrace. “Yep, we’re here. We’re going to get some snacks. Want to come?”

“Nope, I’m good. Get some punch and come on back down.”

“Uh, we might. This seems…” she trailed off.

“You’ll like it. Trust me,” I said. “And oh my gosh! You wouldn’t believe how good this punch is. You have to get some.”

“Oh. Uh—“

“Seriously. It is so good, Leah.”

“Um, are you alright?” Leah asked. She was eyeing me skeptically, which I found immediately irritating for some reason.

“I’m fine. If you don’t want to have fun, then stay over there, but don’t be ruining my good time.” With that, I turned my attention back to the race.

It was just then that one of the carts veered to the left and both cart and girl went splashing into the cold water. The crowd erupted. Everyone rushed onto the dock to enjoy the wet rescue.

Stephen grabbed my hand and tugged me onto the dock as well. When we’d reached the throng of spectators, Stephen kept walking, pulling me along behind him.

“Where are we going?”

“I want to show you something,” he said, winking down at me.

I let Stephen lead me past all the curious onlookers and makeshift rescue workers to a small boat tied near the end of the pier. He reached down to steady the boat then looked up at me.

“Hop in,” he said, tipping his head toward the boat.

“What?” Somewhere in a small, poorly lit corner of my mind, a tiny little alarm began to sound. Unfortunately, it sounded far, far away and was quickly eclipsed by the pleasant buzzing that was taking place in my head.

“I want to show you something. Get in,” he encouraged.

“Are you sure it’s safe?”

“It’s a boat and two oars, Carson. How could it not be safe?”

At that moment, I couldn’t think of one good argument, one good reason it might not be safe. So, with his hand steadying me, I stepped down into the boat.

Stephen got in and sat down across from me. He untied the boat, took an oar in each hand and began to row us away from the dock. I couldn’t help but marvel at the smooth way he moved, working the oars efficiently. His cologne had died down and it was a nice, subtle scent that I smelled only when he leaned forward in his rowing. When it seemed he was competent enough to take us wherever we were going, I sat back and closed my eyes, ready to enjoy the trip.