MICKEY

IT WAS DARK BY the time they finished dinner, and when they rang the Watersons’ doorbell, Mickey had to quickly pick leaves from between her feet and the soles of her wedge heels. Ruth still had on her flip-flops, even though she was the one who convinced Mickey to wear the wedges. Mickey thought about taking them off right there on the doorstep, but the door opened before she could undo the buckles.

“Hey, party people,” Cody said, standing to the side. They all shuffled in, Ruth kissing Cody on the cheek as she went. It was the first time Mickey had seen Cody blush in years, if she ever had.

“Follow me,” he said, leading the way down the carpeted steps to the basement.

The carpet was the color of oatmeal, and the same consistency. Mickey stared at it from the worn leather couch, watching the way small kernels bloomed out around the heel of her shoe.

“Do you guys want anything to drink?” Cody asked, grinning. “We got the good stuff tonight.” He opened the minifridge and pulled out a handle of rum. “I found it in the boathouse freezer.”

“Yes, please,” Ruth said. Cody balanced the handle with one arm as he poured the rum into red plastic cups and topped each off with Fresca.

“Watch out; these are dangerous. You can’t even taste it.”

Mickey took a sip and winced.

“Mickey can taste it,” Sean said.

“Shut up,” Mickey answered, and took another. “It’s good.”

“As long as it gets the job done,” Ruth said, holding her cup out in salute to Cody before throwing the whole thing back.

“Damn! You’re a badass.”

“Where’s Josh?” Ruth asked, and Mickey could see Cody deflate just a little.

“He’ll be down in a minute.”

“No shit, you got this already?” Sean asked, holding up a video-game case, still wrapped in plastic. He flipped open his pocketknife and split the seam.

Ruth turned to Mickey, pushing their faces together so their noses smooshed.

“So, Harrison,” she whispered. “You ready to get a little fucked up?”

“You promise not to leave me?”

Ruth grabbed Mickey’s hand and linked her pinky with hers, pulling them both to her lips.

“Pinky swear,” she said, before pushing herself off the couch. “Only to make our drinks.”

“You don’t have faith in my skills?” Cody asked, mock-hurt.

Ruth slung her purse over her shoulder and shot Cody a fawnlike look.

“I’ve been taught not to take drinks from boys. So I will be taking care of my bestie tonight, thank you very much.”

Mickey held out her now-empty cup, her eyes tearing as much from the burn of the rum as from the effort to make them the same kind of beautiful-wide.

PEYOTE