Last Stop This Town (7 page)

“True dat,” Pike affirmed.

Walker shook his head. “I don’t think she was—”

But Dylan didn’t let him finish. “And she’s going to France,
home
of the dirty whore. Leaving on Tuesday, mind you, so whatever happens is totally guilt-free.”

Walker was starting to see the picture they were painting of sweet Patience.

“Don’t forget Wellesley,” Pike added with a mouthful of cube steak, “so chances are she’s into chicks as well.”

Walker’s mind raced with the possibilities that entailed.

Dylan took Walker by the shoulder. “She didn’t know anybody at the party.” Walker thought back on the evening. Dylan continued, “Admit it, this girl was giving you the green light to use and abuse her like the cheap slut that she is.”

Without looking up, Pike gave an amen, “He ain’t lyin’.” He started demolishing the stack of pancakes on the side plate next to his cube steak.

Walker went over it in his mind and after weighing all the possibilities, he suddenly realized that they were absolutely right. He sunk into his seat. “Fuck.”

Dylan laughed. “Did you at least get her info?”

“I got her email,” Walker remembered hopefully, brightening his mood like maybe all wasn’t lost. “I told her when she gets back I would make her a lasagna.”

Pike and Dylan looked at each other for a moment, then burst out laughing.

Walker didn’t get the joke. “What?” he asked.

But Dylan just rubbed his hair, like you would do to a little kid who just said something cute. “Eat your pancakes.”

Walker was now officially depressed.

“And you,” Dylan turned to Noah. “Will you stop crying? You did what you had to do.”

“I don’t know,” Noah tried to convince himself. “We didn’t officially break up or anything.”

Not known for his tact, Pike blurted out, “I bet she delists you on Facebook.”

Noah knew he was right. It was over.

Dylan tried to cheer him up. “You’re eighteen. What were you going to do, get married? This isn’t West Virginia.”

“I know. But still.” Noah looked up. “We love each other.”

“And you’ve been fighting for months,” Dylan reminded him. “I’m just looking out for you, man. Once you’ve been with other girls—”

Noah leapt on that statement. “What does that matter? Sarah and I have had sex almost ninety times.” No one thought it was weird that Noah had apparently been counting.

“Variety,” Pike explained, his mouth full of pancakes.

“Exactly,” Dylan seconded. “Other girls will give you perspective.”

Walker piped up, taking Noah’s side in this debate. “Don’t listen to them. I’d love to be with a girl like Sarah.”

“You’d love to be with a girl who’s alive,” Dylan shot back.

“And has two legs,” Pike added.

Dylan considered. “I don’t think that matters to Walker.” He turned to him thoughtfully. “You wouldn’t nail a hot chick with one leg?”

Walker gave them both a
ha ha
fake smile, but Dylan wasn’t done giving him shit. “I mean,
after
you make her a lasagna, of course.”

“Shut up,” Walker said. He threw a tub of grape jelly at Dylan and the four of them broke out laughing.

It was small moments like this—the four best friends eating gristle at two a.m., playfully ribbing each other, and sharing a laugh—that they’d remember forever. And for Dylan, he couldn’t imagine being anywhere else.

Before crashing for the night, Noah checked Sarah’s Facebook profile. Under “News Feed” it said, “Sarah is now single,” complete with the broken heart icon. Dejected, Noah clicked off his iPhone and just sat there, staring into the darkness.

Walker was on Facebook as well, but Walker was masturbating to the profile picture of Patience, the girl from the party.

When Pike got home and did
his
bedtime e-ritual, he opened a message from Marco with the subject, “Couch,” and his eyes went wide.

After dropping off the guys, Dylan pulled the Cube into his driveway and parked next to a pick-up truck emblazoned with “Glasco Paving.” Inside, Dylan found his dad asleep on the couch with ESPN on. Dylan turned off the TV and covered his dad with a blanket before heading into his bedroom.

Dylan didn’t hate his dad. He had just learned to live without him. But that didn’t mean his dad knew how to live without Dylan. The poor bastard didn’t know how to cook. Hell, he barely knew how to use the DVR. Dylan wondered what his dad was going to do when Dylan left.

Dylan brushed his teeth and changed for bed. But for some reason he wasn’t tired. He was deep in thought. Then, an idea struck him. He pulled out his phone and started a text message.

B
Y FIFTH PERIOD
Monday, Dylan was in the cafeteria with his friends, still busy texting. The others didn’t seem to care what Dylan was up to—they were focused on their pepperoni pizzas and discussing plans for Beach Weekend.

“So I emailed Patience,” Walker began. “She didn’t write back.”

Noah broke the news, “Dude, that ship has sailed.”

“Why don’t you just fuck Natalie?” Pike suggested, just trying to be helpful.

“Natalie’s my cousin,” Walker replied, with the
asshole
left implied.

Pike was undeterred. “Or that weird girl.” Sure enough, a weird-looking girl sat alone eating edamame. She had a nice body, and a cute face under her heavy makeup and eyeliner, but she always sat by herself and dressed in flannel as if Nirvana were still awesome.

Still, even for Walker it was a pass. “Yeah, I’ll get right on that.”

Dylan was still furiously texting when Walker moved on to a moment of self-reflection. “I think I just need to accept that high school is over and I’ll make a fresh start next year in college.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Noah humored him.

Pike was still brainstorming. “Hey, Suzanne will sleep with you if you buy her some weed.”

Walker perked up, considering. “Is she going to Marco’s for Beach Weekend?”

But before Pike could figure out how to make that happen, Dylan finally finished on the phone and held it up triumphantly. “Cancel your Brazilian waxes, gentlemen. Welcome to Beach Weekend 2.0.”

That got their attention. Even if they had no idea what he was talking about, it sounded promising.

Dylan continued, “We’re not going to Marco’s. We’re going into the city.”

“Hartford?” Walker inquired.

“New York, dumbass.” Dylan started going over the texts. “My friend Pete just told me about a massive party in the city Friday night.”

Pike racked his brain. “Is he that guy from the ski trip? The one with three balls?”

“Yeah,” Dylan replied.

Noah looked concerned. “But what about Marco’s?”

“Fuck Marco’s,” Dylan countered. “This is Stark Raving Mad 2012. It’s in an abandoned warehouse. There’s going to be close to a thousand people there.”

Pike’s eyes lit up. “Perfect. I can pick up some weed in the city.”

“You don’t have enough weed?” Walker wondered aloud.

“Marco says I owe him twelve hundred bucks for that piece of shit couch.”

“That’s fucking bullshit,” Walker said, trying to sound supportive.

“I know,” Pike lamented. “But he said I could pay him back in weed.”

Noah was still stuck on the basic premise. “Guys, we can’t miss the last big party of high school.”

“High school is over, my man,” Dylan proclaimed, then added, “Ask your doctor what not being a pussy can do for you.” Dylan was very pleased with himself for coming up with that last part.

But Noah wasn’t sure.

Dylan tried to ice the cake. “We’re talking about New York City. No ID required. Topless bars. Bottomless drinks. And the loosest sluts on the Strip.” Dylan was on fire with catchy sayings.

But he could see that Noah was still down in the dumps and that he had to cheer him up before he would agree to anything. “Look, I get it.” He looked at Noah sympathetically. “But it’s over between you and Sarah. You need to move on. And we are going to help you do just that.”

The way Dylan figured, there was something in it for everyone. They’d get Pike some pot, get Walker laid, and get Noah to forget about Sarah. “It’ll be our last big hurrah of high school.”

Noah was stubborn. “What’s the hurry? We have the whole summer to party.”

Dylan flinched so slightly that the guys didn’t even notice. They
didn’t
have the whole summer, even if Dylan wasn’t ready yet to tell his friends why.

Noah still wasn’t convinced. Sure, a weekend in New York with the guys would probably be pretty awesome. But Noah wanted to be with Sarah and Sarah was going to be at Marco’s. He didn’t care that they had broken up. He wanted to spend the last weekend of high school with the guys
and
her.

Before they could discuss it any further, Marco’s bouncer friend Chuck walked by with his football brethren. He led with his standard greeting, “S’up, ladies,” then for absolutely no reason whatsoever proceeded to give Walker a titty-twister.

Walker screamed. “Ow! That hurt, asshole!”

Noah stepped up to defend Walker. “Stop being a dick, Chuck.”

Chuck came back with an ever-so-witty retort, “I’m sorry, ahomosayswhat?”

Noah just rolled his eyes. It was the oldest one in the book and Noah wasn’t going to let Chuck have the satisfaction. “Excuse me? Didn’t quite catch that.”

Chuck repeated, “Ahomosayswhat?” a few times, hoping to trick Noah, but Noah was about a hundred IQ points smarter than Chuck and just replied, “Hmm. Nope. Not understanding. You know, you really need to enunciate.”

Frustrated, Chuck finally just tipped over Noah’s can of Sierra Mist, laughed, and yelled, “Homo!”

Noah righted his can and threw a napkin onto the spill. “Well played,” he said sarcastically.

Chuck received a high-five from his buddies for a job well done and headed out.

Noah turned to Dylan and without any further debate, said merely, “All right. I’m in.”

Dylan smiled.

T
HE NEXT FOUR
days went by slowly. It was finals after all, and even though they were all into great colleges, they still had to pass. Add to that the usual end-of-year assemblies, extra-curricular activity wrap-ups, and locker cleaning, and it made for a long week. But Friday was Senior Skip Day and only the biggest tools in school showed up when the administration practically endorsed this one day of truancy. Most of the seniors would be heading down to Misquamicut for a rowdy party to end all parties at Marco’s parents’ house. The place was actually pretty sweet—a multi-million-dollar Cape Cod-style beach house with ninety feet of ocean-front sand. But Dylan and the guys had other plans.

Dylan had already picked up Pike and Walker by eleven a.m. and they took their long-ago-assigned seats in the back of the Cube. Dylan pulled into Noah’s driveway and honked. Noah came out in no time and in addition to a duffel bag with a change of clothes, he was carrying his book bag.

“What’s in the bag?” Walker asked as Noah opened the passenger door.

“Snacks.” Noah pulled out a bag of Fritos and tossed it to Pike.

“Su-weet!” Pike chirped, and Noah smiled.

“And Dylan’s yearbook,” Noah added.

Dylan chided him, “Dude, you’re not going to have time to sit around signing my yearbook.”

“Well, just in case,” Noah replied as he closed the door.

Now that Noah was in place riding shotgun, the car felt whole. Dylan looked at his three friends and knew this weekend was going to be special. They all knew they were about to have fun, maybe even have the adventure of a lifetime. But Dylan alone had the prescience to appreciate that he was
making
a moment
right now
. And that for the rest of his life he would only be able to look back on this moment as a fond memory. He alone knew this was the end of an era, the last time the guys would be together in this way.