Page 45 of Shane
“What?” he chuckles. “I’ve never heard of that. What’s the point?”
“It's a trick I learned in high school.”
“I think the trick was on you. You pretended to get drunk when everyone else was actually drunk? Explain yourself. How’s that any fun?”
“I know my limit, and I don’t drink past it. I don't like feeling out of control.”
“Control issues, huh? How could I have possibly missed that,” he says sarcastically. “So what happened to make you this guarded?” he asks earnestly. “There’s a story there. There must be.”
“There’s no story,” I say, avoiding his eyes.
“Kennedy, are we friends or not?”
I’m quickly learning that when Shane calls me by my name and does not use the termbeautifulor some other random nickname, I know he’s being serious.
“Yeah, or I mean I don't know. It’s weird now.”
“I’ll admit it’s a little weird between us now, but it doesn't always have to be. We're not our parents. We can have our own relationship apart from theirs.”
A couple who are both obviously drunk swagger up the steps and try to move past us. It’s a tight squeeze on the staircase, so I try leaning to the side to give them room. The couple sways and almost falls into us.
“Whoa there. Watch yourself,” Shane warns them as he wraps a protective arm around my shoulders.
“Sorry,” the girl smiles with glassy eyes. The guy doesn’t say anything and just continues with his wobbly ascension.
I consider what Shane and I were discussing before we were interrupted. “I’m not your sister,” I blurt out nervously. “I could never be your sister.”
“Agreed,” he smiles.
“I just…I need to make sure you understand that no matter what happens between our parents, I will never consider you family.”
“Uh, that sounded a little mean,” he smirks.
“You know what I meant.”
“No, I get it. You could never be a sister to me. Siblings don't feel the way we do.”
“What do you mean? Feel like what?” I challenge as I sink even further into the comfort of his protective hold on me.
“If I have to explain it to you, you're not drinking just a Coke. There must be some Jack Daniels in there.”
“It’s hot,” I say, wiggling from under him.
“Maybe take off your jacket?”
“Or you could take off your arm. What will your friends think?”
“Fine,” he huffs.
I shimmy out of my leather jacket and place it on my lap. The party music seems to grow louder as more people file into the house, and it reminds me of graduation last year, which, in part, is not a great memory.
“Look at me, Kennedy.”
I turn my head back around.
“If you want to leave, we can leave. I asked you to come tonight thinking we’d get to know each other in a different atmosphere, but I can tell you’re uncomfortable.”
“I shouldn’t have come. You’re here to hang with your friends and to have a good time, not to babysit me. I’m sorry.”