A Pretty Implausible Premise by Karen Rivers

Author:Karen Rivers
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Workman Publishing Company
Published: 2023-08-16T21:25:28+00:00

PRESLEY

Presley isn’t the kind of incandescent drunk that makes him love everyone, it’s the other kind, the kind that seems to have slammed into him out of nowhere, the kind that makes his heart race and slow in fits and starts, nausea prickling the back of his throat, regret thudding through his veins, but he’s not sure why or what, exactly, he’s regretting, except maybe the drink itself. He’s not even sure he is drunk; he may just be having an extended panic attack or the residual hangover from his seizure this afternoon. It’s all jumbled together into one hot, uncomfortable mess, and he should leave, but he doesn’t want to leave because he wants to see Hattie. He said he’d be here, so he’ll be here.

He shakes his head, hard, like he’s trying to dislodge the alcohol from his system. The big, soft sky spins above him, blurry with stars trying their hardest to shine through the smoke, which, like so many things he’s noticed lately, feels like a metaphor for something, although he’s not exactly sure what. He sits hard on the ground. He just needs a few minutes, that’s all. The ground around him is covered in clover he realizes now that he’s up close. He starts looking for a four-leafed one, combing his hands through the green. Finally finding one, he holds it to his nose, breathes in the green smell of it.

Dorkus Maximus, in the wild, sniffs his surroundings, intones Mac.

“Ha-freakin’-ha,” Presley mumbles. “Since when did you talk like Henry and Big Tee?”

Hey, they were my friends, too.

“As if.”

I liked those guys! Maybe I’ll go visit them. They could figure out what the hell is even going on with . . . this. With me. They’re geniuses, right? Maybe that can be, like, the plot of Stwins 2: The Return.

“Yeah, I don’t really do that anymore.” He’s not sure if he’s saying it out loud or if it’s just in his head or if it matters, if anyone would care, if anyone is listening. He clears his throat, looks down at the grass, which is moving disconcertingly. He’s drunker than he thought, drunker than he wants to be.

Across the field, someone has built a makeshift dance floor, and his mum and Ellie are dancing even though the music hasn’t started yet. His mum looks happy. Her head is tipped back, and she’s laughing and he feels a familiar flash of fury. “Mac is dead!” he wants to scream, but he knows that’s unfair. Maybe he’s jealous that she’s happy. Or maybe he just doesn’t understand how she did that, how she’s put Mac into a separate room, one that she doesn’t have to live in all the time.

He wants to be happy, too, but he doesn’t deserve to be because a goddamn coin flip got him the safety of the back seat.

“Macaroni?” he says. “Still there?”

A girl next to him tips her head down, her long, purple-dyed hair brushing against Presley’s cheek. “What’s that?” she says.

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