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Section 1
### Chapter 1: 01
The bar is hot and muggy. So much so it's probably cooler outside than in here. I am simply miserable. Val saw someone she swear she knows and disappeared, leaving me with both our drinks at the sticky-ass bar. "Schuy!" Val shouts. She's dragging someone behind her. They have their own trailing group too. "This is huge!" "What's up?" I say. In a regular volume. It's not that loud in here to yell. She displays her new group of what looks to be a bunch of guys. Her smile basically reverses the dingy lighting in here. "Remember my mom's friend with the sons I practically grew up with?" "Uh... Which ones? Your mom has a shit ton of friends with sons that you practically grew up with." "The Hughes's! The one's on an entirely different level!" She nods backward toward her parade. "They're here for the summer too with some friends!" I send a glance at the group of guys, trying to ignore how sweaty I feel. "That's great, Val." "It's great for you! Quinn here is in Vancouver most of the year," she says. The guy whose hand she's holding nods softly. "I figured if you two get to know each other you'll already have a friend when you move there." "Okay, sure," I agree. "The rest of us are going to the pool tables!" She's gone before I can protest being left with some random guy. Val and I are an interesting pair. Usually, we're pretty equal in our outgoingness. Some nights though, we're complete opposites. There are nights when I'm sitting on the sidelines watching her flourish and there are nights she's the one on the sidelines. This is one of those nights I'm on the sidelines. Hell, I'm practically in the bleachers tonight. He doesn't seem too enthusiastic to be here either. Or it's the fact that Val dropped him off as she did. She means well. She does. It's the alcohol that makes her forget that not everyone will be on her level that overrules her intentions though. "So, what do you do?" I ask. He blinks a few times. "Uh, hockey." "No, I mean... For work." "Yeah. Hockey," he repeats. My face must show confusion or something because he adds on: "The NHL. I play for the Vancouver Canucks." Mortified, my hand flies up to my mouth. "I'm so sorry, holy shit. I'm just a bit out of it from how hot it is in here. What position?" "Defense. You know hockey?" "I played from five to sixteen. My dad played 'til he graduated college. Same for my two older brothers and my younger brother is still playing in high school." "So you know hockey." "A little." I shrug. "Why'd you quit? Not make a team or something?" For a few moments, I simply stare at him. Because what the fuck? Not make a team? "I've always known how to quit while I'm ahead," I say. "Maybe you should learn how." "What's that supposed to mean?" "It means before asking if I quit hockey 'cause I sucked or something you seemed like an alright guy. If not a little awkward." "Oh, 'cause you seem so open to discussion." "Sure." He rolls his eyes. "I'm just saying, who the hell questions a person on their answer to what they do for a living?" "Well, it's not a very common thing to get a sport as the answer to that. Especially not the vaguest way of saying it." "It seemed like you didn't even believe I had anything to do with hockey." "Now you're just projecting," I mumble. "Not making a team doesn't mean you suck. So who's the one projecting?" "No, not making a team kind of means you suck. At least compared to the people around you." "Okay, whatever. Sure! You're right." "I am, thanks." I down both mine and Val's drinks. "I'm going to the pool tables." "There goes my plan." "What? Scared to lose? You bad at pool?" He downs his drink and sets the cup next to my empty ones. "Let's go." * * * * * We decided on the best two out of three. By that, I mean I told him we're doing best two out of three. He said then we'd only be playing two games. I fought off the urge to laugh in his face. We were definitely an interesting show. Our general group watched us and laughed— loudly. Mainly at the drunk shit-talking going on. The shit talk was mainly on my part. People outside of our group watched too. I even shit-talked Quinn to some random guys. They looked at me like they'd fallen in love. In about three drinks, I was off the sidelines and on to the starting lineup. "Call it!" Val shouts from the other end of the table as me. "Left corner," I say, pointing to the exact pocket. Quinn watched with a clenched jaw as I line up my last shot. The eight ball. Here's the thing, we had a pool table in our basement growing up. My older brothers, Jem and Atticus, always won. Always. When I quit hockey there was this open about an hour and a half where Atticus would be at hockey and I'd be at home alone. So I practiced. A lot. Even more than that, I still pretended to be terrible for months. Then once hockey season ended and Jem was home for the summer, I started putting my hours upon hours of work to show. It was fucking spectacular. Could do trick shots like they were the most casual play to exist. With a deep breath, I pull the cue back and forward. The white cue ball barrels into its contrasting target. It's not a hard hit. The eight ball slows right before the pocket. Quinn's eyes widen. Just for his shoulders to fall exactly when the ball makes one last effort and goes in. That's game number two. I join him in putting the cues back, right where he was standing next to Val while I beat him. "What was that about you only needing two games?" "Spare his life, Scout," Val says. Ignoring her, I nudge Quinn's shoulder. "We should have made a betting pool on that one." Quinn nods. If those random guys I talked shit to looked at me like they were in love, Quinn was looking at me like he was plotting my downfall with every word I said. It's amazing. I don't even know this guy. No one's gotten under my skin this fast in years. No one would have gotten this level of shit-talking the first night. I'm not that easy. "We should get you home, huh?" Val grabs my wrist, a handcuff. She turns to the rest of the guys she had found. "Jack, we've gotta go! But text me!" "Couldn't have walked over there?" I question. "Didn't want to risk you making more enemies tonight." She winks afterward. I think. I was still focused on Quinn's face. *************** a/n simply fucking around on this one, having a good time, vaguing the hell out of a timeline and facts of time
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### Chapter 2: 02
"Schuy!" "What?!" No answer. She always does this. She'll shout for me and refuse to answer the shout back. Without fail. It makes me have to go all the way downstairs to get an answer. Guess it kind of works out for her. Oh wow. Val's definitely gone shopping today. The kitchen island which is not small is covered in grocery bags. All the cabinets and the fridge and freezer are open as she bustles through the kitchen to put it all away. I nearly die on the spot. "Valentine Davis, what's all this?" I ask. She pauses mid-rifling through a bag. "We're having a little shindig here tonight with the guys coming over. But, uh, I... Something came over me at the grocery store and I think I went overkill." "That's why you always go with a list." "Fuck, I couldn't remember that one." She takes a box of pasta out of a bag and puts it in the cabinet next to the one with the rest of the pasta. I'm already over there, correcting her little mishap. "Shindig?" "Yeah! With the guys from last night. Jack, Luke, one of their friends that are here, and..." She lowers her voice. "Quinn." "Why'd you say it like that?" I ask. "You guys were quite a lot last night at the bar." A shrug is my only response. For a few minutes, the only noise is me following behind her, making sure it's being organized right. She stops and looks at me. "You're alright with this, yeah?" "Of course," I say. "Even if I wasn't, it's your house. You have every right to have people over that you've known pretty much forever." "It's fine if you're not okay with it." "Tiny, it's cool. I like people." "But you don't like Quinn." "I barely know him. Maybe I'll warm up to him." "You usually either immediately like someone or immediately dislike them and that first status doesn't change." Okay, she's right. Of course, she's right. She knows me more than I know myself sometimes. If I'm cold with someone, there isn't the biggest chance of the temperature going up. Maybe he'll surprise me. "Have I ever let me not liking someone ruin an entire night?" I say. "The only person's night to be ruined would be the person I don't like. And mine, maybe." She half-sighs, half-laughs. "I don't want you having bad nights this summer. You're going to be all alone in Vancouver after this and-" "Let's not dwell on that whole situation. That'll definitely ruin a night." "True. Okay. This is going to be so fun." * * * * * "Jean Louise?" Trevor says, emphasizing both names. The fire in the fire pit dances shadows all over his face. Which is entirely too amusing. "It's a nickname!" I argue, taking another sip of my second, very strong drink. "My parents gave me a character's nickname so they call me that character's real name as a nickname. It's not that complicated." "What character is named Jean Louise and nicknamed Scout?" " To Kill A Mockingbird . Me and my brothers are all named after characters from it because the first time my parents met they argued over the book for over an hour." "So that runs in the family?" I frown. "What?" "You and Quinn last night." "No." "No?" He laughs. "Oh god, no. I'm just competitive." "Oh god, no? That's so harsh." "I didn't mean it like that," I say. Maybe I meant it like that a little. * * * * * Another drink and a half down. Jack and I had started talking when he took Trevor's chair the moment he got up to get another drink. It was mainly the same exact topics as I got with Trevor but instead of the nickname topic, he went toward the topic of our mutual pal Val. "Wait, how'd you guys meet?" He asks. I laugh. An honest to god laugh. "Uh. She was getting photos for the yearbook senior year at a cross-country race. A rainy and muddy one. She decided to stand at the end of a straightaway into a sharp turn. I got distracted and had to skid to practically a stop. Splashed mud all over her and didn't even realize it. "I landed first place and right as I went to go get some water, Val tackled me into a giant puddle of mud. We literally fist-fought and then were best friends a week later." "Who threw the first punch?" He's smiling so hard you can hear it in his words. "Technically, she tackled me and I just retaliated." "But the tackle was retaliation for the puddle thing." "I don't know why she would stand there!" I say it louder than I meant to. It's the drinks. "I stood there because it was a straight away which would have faces in it!" Val shouts from over at the picnic table behind us. She spent the rest of the day making a fucking spectacular spread because she's a good ass host. I already know my line. We've gone over this a million times since that day. "Maybe on a clearer day!" "Maybe you should have known the route!" "You could have stood like a few feet away and still gotten faces and not be in the splash zone!" "Could have!" Her voice is closer this time. "Should have!" "Wouldn't have because then I wouldn't have met you." Val's arms wrap around me from behind, pressing a kiss to my cheek as I scrunch up to try and avoid it. Jack laughs and she says, "I figured you and drunk Schuy would get along." "I'm not drunk," I argue. That makes Jack's laughter go on as he shakes his head. "You're kind of drunk." "Maybe a little." * * * * * I don't know when it started but as far back as I can remember I was perfectly organized. Schedules, my room, and my entire life have always been right as I want them to be. I wake up at five in the morning without fail to go for a run with or without an alarm. That run stays on pace. Then I go back to my neat house with each room having a system. Val can't relate. She doesn't care. If something fits it must go there. We've been at her parent's lake house for a little over a week and every night I go and check back over anything she might have left out of place. 'Cause I already have a system for this house. "Hey." My entire being goes to hell and back for a second. Quinn Hughes stands in the doorway from the living room. The only light in here is from the back porch, a yellow glow. He almost doesn't look irritating. Somewhere from last night to now, I've become increasingly annoyed with him. His existence in general. I don't know why. My mind just replays our first encounter and he irritates me more and more. You're probably like, "Why the fuck is he at the house still?". I know. Earlier, I mentioned that Val's an excellent host. So she continued that by having them fill the guest rooms instead of driving back to wherever they came from. Luke wasn't drunk. Val didn't want to take any chances. He goes to turn the light on and I gasp. "No, no, no. Don't turn that on." "Why?" He asks, finger still dangerously close to it. "Val always leaves her door open when she's been drinking and the light will shine right through the hall into her room." His hand falls. "Oh." I go back to my work. For some reason, there's at least one bag of chips in every cabinet except the one chips are meant to go. It feels like the Purge happened in here. A lawless land. "Why are you up, Scout?" He's still in here? God. "Why are you? And don't call me that." Ruffles do not go with the pasta. Maybe I should make labels. Val won't pay attention to labels. "Can't sleep, I guess," he mumbles. A chair squeaks against the floor. He lets out a sigh as it shifts under his weight. Dude picked the fucked up chair. The one my oldest brother fucked up the winter we all snuck here. Silence suffocates us for a few minutes. An occasional sound from whatever item I'm putting away is the only sound. His stare burns into my back. Some cruel punishment. I clear my throat. "Can you stop staring at me?" "I'm not staring at you." "I can feel you staring at me." "Yeah, sure. Whatever." A huff follows along with that burning feeling going away. Okay. M&M's do not go with the fruity snacks section. Nuh-uh. Let's see here. Down a shelf those go with the rest of the chocolate. The chair creaks again. I'm going to choose to ignore it. Maybe he decided to go back to bed.
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