Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 131789 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 659(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131789 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 659(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
Guess it worked out for her, after all.
“Well, luckily you won’t be on your own at Sandover. You’ll have Fennelly there with you,” she says cheerfully. “He can show you the ropes.”
I’m pretty sure the only place Pretty Boy will be showing me to is the liquor cabinet.
“And try to be patient with him, okay?” she continues. “David says Fennelly is still a bit put off by our marriage.”
I can’t help but laugh. “Put off? Mom, the dude’s probably been up every night since the wedding googling how to get an annulment without you guys knowing.”
Her smile falters. “He’ll come around. Right?” I don’t know if she’s asking or telling.
“Sure,” I lie. “Eventually.”
“Maybe you can work on him, make him realize this new arrangement isn’t all bad.” She lifts a brow at me. “And as for you, maybe tone down the whole loner misfit vibe and try to make some friends?”
“I have friends,” I grumble.
“Internet people don’t count, RJ. Would it kill you to be more sociable?”
Sociable? Why the hell would I do that? I much prefer my “loner misfit” life, as she phrased it. Really, what’s not to like? I make bank online. I’m good-looking enough that I don’t have issues getting chicks, so hookups are plentiful. I don’t need to buddy up to my classmates and pretend to give a shit about their sports teams and college plans. Sure, some might say I have major trust issues, but fuck ’em. I’m a lone wolf. Always have been, always will be.
“You’re going to do great, bud.” She kisses my temple and squeezes my face. “I have a good feeling about this. Okay?”
I give her the reassuring smile she wants. Mostly because I don’t have the heart to tell her that if history is any predictor, we’ve got tickets to the shitshow waiting at the box office.
Chapter 4
Fenn
All the freaks and demons come out for an end-of-summer house party. I’ve seen more nipple piercings than bikini tops and I’m pretty sure that was Lawson I watched follow the Sear sisters into the backseat of his Dad’s Mercedes G-Class with a bottle of mezcal and a bag of coke. If we survive the night, senior year is going to be absurd.
Though I’ve known him for a few years now, I’ve only been in Lawson’s Southampton house a couple times. I don’t think I’ve even seen every room. The estate is massive, that old-money Americana with all its palatial luxury. It has two pools, for Christ’s sake. To this day, nobody can ever get a straight answer about what Lawson’s dad does exactly. Well, other than being a grade-A prick. From what I’ve managed to glean, Mr. Kent is some kind of legal “consultant” who also dabbles in finance and has advised two White House administrations. Fingers in many pies and pockets.
“You lose your drink?” My buddy Silas finds me making my way back toward the sound of voices from one of the eleven bathrooms I had to hunt down to find an empty one. He puts a crystal tumbler in my hand. “Someone broke open the wine cellar.”
I chuckle. “Man, Lawson’s dad is going to take ten years off his life.”
“For real. Where the hell is he, anyway? I haven’t seen him since he lit that bonfire on the tennis court.”
“He’s in the garage, in the middle of a Sear sandwich.”
Silas nods, because of course. Not that the guy isn’t up for a good time, but he’s as close as it gets to a chaperone at these things. There’s no stopping a little property destruction or noise complaints, but Silas generally tries to keep the bodily harm and maiming to a minimum where he can. And to keep Lawson from decisions he’ll regret. As if that’s possible. The pay is shit and the hours suck, but Silas keeps at it anyway. He’s a good dude, which is more than I can say for the rest of us.
We make the rounds through the house, every room a different Lynchian exploration of the adolescent condition. A couple of Ballard girls in cutoffs and tattoos invite us to a game of life-size chess with priceless sculptures they’ve collected from around the house. Silas nearly chokes on his anxiety getting away from them.
“You can’t save him from himself,” I remind Silas. Lawson is a creature of chaos. There’s no harnessing that storm.
“Maybe. But I don’t have to help make it worse.”
We end up back at the lap pool where an otherwise tame tournament of naked chicken is underway. Just to get his mind off things, I introduce us to some fresh talent.
“Where do you go to school?” I ask the pair of nearly identical blondes. To be fair, I’m not quite seeing straight. In this light, I only see tits and hair color.
“Dalton,” one says.
“In the city.”