Part 9 (1/2)

”How much vodka have you had?” Joanie says, rubbing his hair. ”No way in h.e.l.l are we doing that.”

”Dude, just shut up for a second,” Clay says. ”Okay, one more time: 2 is you, 3 is me, 4 is floor, 5 is guys, 6 is chicks-”

”We know,” Hannah says. ”Can we just get started? I have no idea what time my parents will be back.”

”Hannah, they are at a party,” Joanie says, regarding her with distaste. ”And they'll probably stay there for a while because, unlike you, they actually know how to have fun.”

”Shut up, Joanie.”

”Alright, hey, let's just get started,” Wally says.

They play several rounds of Kings, with the vodka diminis.h.i.+ng faster than Hannah antic.i.p.ated. She starts to feel the alcohol and knows that her friends are feeling it too. Wally laughs much more readily than he normally does, Clay's voice gets louder and louder, and Baker's eyes get smaller and smaller.

”Dude, Clay, you're up,” Wally says, hitting his shoulder. ”Get a good one.”

”Okay...8,” Clay says as he reads his flipped card. ”8, Pick a Date. Alright, who thinks they can keep up with my drinking?”

”Don't pick me,” Luke slurs. ”Joanie's making me drink too much.”

”Sorry, man, but you're not what I envisioned for a date anyway. Okay, how about...Baker?”

Baker looks across the table at him. ”You want me to match your drinking?” she asks, her voice carrying her smile. ”I don't know if I can.”

”I think you can,” Clay grins.

They hold their drinks up to each other and cheers over the table. Hannah shakes the ice in her gla.s.s and takes another swig of her vodka.

By the late afternoon, with the sun beating down on them and two-thirds of the vodka gone, Hannah knows they are all drunk. Luke and Joanie lie slumped against their chairs and Clay rubs at his eyes every other minute. ”I think everyone needs a nap,” Baker says, her eyes small and glazed over.

”You want to send everyone off to a bed and I'll get this stuff cleaned up?” Hannah says. ”Just try to keep them, like, hidden.”

”Sure thing,” Baker says, rising from her chair. ”I'll be back in a minute to help you.”

”I can do it,” Wally says, sitting up straighter. ”Go ahead, Bake, I'll help Hannah.”

Baker hesitates, looking back and forth between Wally and Hannah, but then she turns and taps the other three to lead them inside. Hannah turns to Wally, who's looking at her.

”Y'okay?” he says.

”I'm good. Are you?”

”Yeah. Thanks for letting us hang out.”

They clean up the table without talking. Hannah rinses the gla.s.ses and watches Wally through the kitchen window: he wipes down the porch table with a deliberate attentiveness, his arm muscles straining as he scrubs away a spill.

”Thanks,” Hannah tells him when he comes back inside. ”Can you get rid of that vodka bottle? I'm going to check on everyone and make sure they're okay.”

She finds Joanie asleep in her bed, with Luke sprawled out on the floor, a blanket covering him. She imagines Baker tucking the blanket around him, touching his shoulder just before she pulls away, like Hannah has felt her do many times before.

The guest room door is slightly ajar. Hannah tiptoes toward it, not wanting to wake Clay, who is probably asleep in there, or Baker, who is probably asleep in Hannah's room next door. She's about to nudge the door open when she catches sight of something in the room.

Clay and Baker are both in there, but they're not sleeping. They're making out.

Clay stands against the bed, the backs of his legs sc.r.a.ping against it, and Baker stands with her body pressed into him, her hands rubbing over his shoulders while they kiss. Hannah ducks away from the door before they can notice her, her heart beating hard in her chest, but even as she hurries quietly back down the hallway and down the stairs, the image of them kissing burns itself on her mind: all she can see is Clay's mouth on Baker's, and Baker's mouth on Clay's, and the way their bodies had moved against each other.

”Hey,” Wally says when she returns to the kitchen. Then, upon seeing her, he says it again. ”Hey,” he says, his voice softer and more concerned. ”What's up? You look upset.”

”Oh-nothing. I thought I saw a stain on the hallway carpet. I thought somebody had spilled.”

”But it's all good?”

”Yeah,” Hannah says, her heart aching. ”It's all good.”

Baker never mentions the kiss to Hannah. They go all through the following school week without her saying anything about it, even though Clay flirts openly with her and tries to grab her hand when they all hang out in the parking lot. Hannah thinks back on the previous conversations they'd had about boys-after Baker kissed Joey Dietzen, and that boy Lance in New Orleans, and Luke's cousin who came to visit; after Hannah kissed Ryder Pzynski, and Jonathan Owens, and Wally at the end of last summer-and Hannah wishes desperately that they could talk to each other now. She wants to talk about it, wants to hear it from Baker herself, even though at the same time she wants to push it from her mind, wants to remove it from her memory forever.

”Want to go to Sonic?” Baker says after school on Friday, and Hannah a.s.sumes that Baker wants to tell her now.

”Only if you let me pay this time,” Hannah says, and then they're in the car and on their way.

They park at the Sonic on Perkins and roll their windows down to the smell of grease and fried food. Baker orders a b.u.t.terfinger Blast and Hannah orders a chocolate shake, and they trade the desserts back and forth while the traffic rushes past behind them.

”I'm surprised you got b.u.t.terfinger,” Hannah says. ”I thought you liked Oreo better.”

”Yeah, but you like b.u.t.terfinger better,” Baker says.

They talk about school and the test they had in Ms. Carpenter's cla.s.s yesterday and what they're going to do on spring break. Hannah waits for Baker to tell her about Clay, but Baker never does.

”Want to hang out later tonight?” Baker asks when she drops Hannah off.

”Can't,” Hannah lies. ”I promised my mom we'd do a mother-daughter night.”

Baker's expression falls just the tiniest bit. She licks her lips before she speaks. ”That's great,” she says. ”Your mom will love that.”

”Yeah.”

”Okay, well, text me tomorrow.”

”I will.”

”'Bye, Han,” Baker says, and then she puts on her sungla.s.ses and backs out of the driveway.

Want to hang out? Hannah writes.

Wally replies seconds later. Yeah, I'd love to. What do you want to do?

They end up on Wally's back porch, his little brothers asleep in their room inside, his mom still out with her speech therapist friends. It's a cool night and Hannah s.h.i.+vers from the breeze.