Read Online A Toast to the Good Times by Liz Reinhardt, Steph Campbell - Free Book Online
Authors: Liz Reinhardt, Steph Campbell
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actual apology sounds pretty pathetic and rings totally false.
“You’re apologizing for being seventeen? Really not necessary.”
Toni pulls into the parking lot of The Queen, the lights over the booths so dim, it almost looks closed. It isn’t, but it has a kind of abandoned quality that makes me depressed before we even go in. This was probably a really crappy idea.
I rub my hand down the thighs of my jeans and look over at her profile. She’s staring into the front lobby of the diner, her expression unreadable.
“I’m apologizing for being a complete asshole. There were lots of really decent seventeen-year-old guys who would have jumped all over a chance to date you, Toni. Why me?”
I press the button on the vent and adjust the flow of warmth, letting it get cooler on my side as Toni chews on her lip. It’s an old habit, reserved for her most worried, uncertain moments.
Like just before a pop quiz she didn’t study for because I convinced her to make out with me during our ‘study date’ instead of actually reading the material.
Or on prom night, when we almost missed getti ng our picture taken because I was trying to convince her to get it on with me in the backseat of my father’s old Bronco.
Her hair looked pretty crazy in the picture. And I look pretty pissed.
I didn’t manage to convince her to do anything more than some intense making out.
It was an old tug-of-war routine, and the bite of her lip reminds me of all the times I tried to talk her into going along with my stupid plans.
“Why me?” I ask again.
“I’m hungry,” she announces, switching off the ignition and opening the door to the incredibly cold night air.
She doesn’t pause to look and see if I’m following her, just walks, hands deep in her pockets, head down in the wind.
I follow and manage to hold up two frosty fingers to the hostess before Toni can tell her how many are in our party. Because I’m a guy, and I feel the need to do guyish things like announcing our party number to the hostess and letting her sit first and handing her her menu. But it’s all just a stupid show because Toni is obviously the one who’s more in charge in this situation.
We order a large plate of disco fries, and I am so starved for the melted mozzarella and salty brown gravy, I feel like the last time I ate must have been days ago.
Only I can remember the last time very clearly, and twenty-four hours hadn’t even passed since then.
Since I’d fucked things up with a really amazing friend and left her hanging.
Since I’d had dinner. And then kissed Mila.
And it was both incredible and something I need ed to forget. So I launch into conversation.
“I think I was asking you why you stuck around with me if I was always being such a total dick. ” I watch Toni shred her straw wrapper into tiny pieces of white confetti. She doesn’t look up. “C’mon. I know for a fact most girls love talking about what an asshole I am. Try it. I bet you’ll like it.”
She shuffles her little pile of torn-up paper to the side and looks right at me, her mouth set in a flat line. “Do you remember the night before Thanksgiving, senior year?”
My brain shuffles through the hazy memories of those long-gone high school years, and I do draw up some blurry mental images of a huge smokey bonfire, the smooth, heavy weight of a bottle of liquor I pilfered from my father’s bar, the feel of Toni’s curves pressed against m e in the freezing late fall air.
“That was the night Jagger had that huge party. The year his parents went on that cruise and left the house to him over Thanksgiving break.”
I relax back against the persistent dig of the springs through the torn pleather of the booth seat, remembering that smoky, hazy, fresh-air-fueled feeling, the one I can’t quite put my finger on in the midst of all this stress and stupidity I have to deal with in my annoyingly adult present. It was that feeling of being purely free, of having nothing
“You’re apologizing for being seventeen? Really not necessary.”
Toni pulls into the parking lot of The Queen, the lights over the booths so dim, it almost looks closed. It isn’t, but it has a kind of abandoned quality that makes me depressed before we even go in. This was probably a really crappy idea.
I rub my hand down the thighs of my jeans and look over at her profile. She’s staring into the front lobby of the diner, her expression unreadable.
“I’m apologizing for being a complete asshole. There were lots of really decent seventeen-year-old guys who would have jumped all over a chance to date you, Toni. Why me?”
I press the button on the vent and adjust the flow of warmth, letting it get cooler on my side as Toni chews on her lip. It’s an old habit, reserved for her most worried, uncertain moments.
Like just before a pop quiz she didn’t study for because I convinced her to make out with me during our ‘study date’ instead of actually reading the material.
Or on prom night, when we almost missed getti ng our picture taken because I was trying to convince her to get it on with me in the backseat of my father’s old Bronco.
Her hair looked pretty crazy in the picture. And I look pretty pissed.
I didn’t manage to convince her to do anything more than some intense making out.
It was an old tug-of-war routine, and the bite of her lip reminds me of all the times I tried to talk her into going along with my stupid plans.
“Why me?” I ask again.
“I’m hungry,” she announces, switching off the ignition and opening the door to the incredibly cold night air.
She doesn’t pause to look and see if I’m following her, just walks, hands deep in her pockets, head down in the wind.
I follow and manage to hold up two frosty fingers to the hostess before Toni can tell her how many are in our party. Because I’m a guy, and I feel the need to do guyish things like announcing our party number to the hostess and letting her sit first and handing her her menu. But it’s all just a stupid show because Toni is obviously the one who’s more in charge in this situation.
We order a large plate of disco fries, and I am so starved for the melted mozzarella and salty brown gravy, I feel like the last time I ate must have been days ago.
Only I can remember the last time very clearly, and twenty-four hours hadn’t even passed since then.
Since I’d fucked things up with a really amazing friend and left her hanging.
Since I’d had dinner. And then kissed Mila.
And it was both incredible and something I need ed to forget. So I launch into conversation.
“I think I was asking you why you stuck around with me if I was always being such a total dick. ” I watch Toni shred her straw wrapper into tiny pieces of white confetti. She doesn’t look up. “C’mon. I know for a fact most girls love talking about what an asshole I am. Try it. I bet you’ll like it.”
She shuffles her little pile of torn-up paper to the side and looks right at me, her mouth set in a flat line. “Do you remember the night before Thanksgiving, senior year?”
My brain shuffles through the hazy memories of those long-gone high school years, and I do draw up some blurry mental images of a huge smokey bonfire, the smooth, heavy weight of a bottle of liquor I pilfered from my father’s bar, the feel of Toni’s curves pressed against m e in the freezing late fall air.
“That was the night Jagger had that huge party. The year his parents went on that cruise and left the house to him over Thanksgiving break.”
I relax back against the persistent dig of the springs through the torn pleather of the booth seat, remembering that smoky, hazy, fresh-air-fueled feeling, the one I can’t quite put my finger on in the midst of all this stress and stupidity I have to deal with in my annoyingly adult present. It was that feeling of being purely free, of having nothing