Blair （Seventeen Years Old）
Blair
(seventeen years old)
The local hockey arena was jam-packed, with cliché songs about growing up blasting through the stands. And it was hot— so hot —despite the open garage doors and ceiling vents at full blast. I looked around at my classmates: sweaty, happy, hungover, and sad. A swirling thunderstorm of feelings culminated in this moment.
Graduation.
To be truthful, I blacked out most of the ceremony. As somebody who never wore dresses, my primary goal was to not trip over the gown as I walked across the stage with all eyes on me. Then a second time, when I shuffled onto the stage for my valedictorian speech—yet another part of the day that was nothing but a long-winded blur. Months of reciting the speech to anyone who would listen, namely Denver and Chief, it came pouring out without a second thought. Though, based on the lack of reaction, I was drowning in the words.
But my eyes locked on Denver, and he pulled a funny face to get me out of my funk. His fingers pressed to his lips before forming a ball, which he lobbed to me. I stopped mid-sentence to catch his kiss, smiling out at the crowd and taking a deep breath before continuing with soaring confidence and charisma.
Regardless of how the speech, day, or rest of the school year went, I had my person. I was one of the lucky few in this world who found the love of their life at a young age. In a couple months, we’d move to the city together so I could get my nursing degree, and he could study agricultural science. After four years, we’d come back to Wells Canyon, or maybe a different small town. Get married, have careers, buy our own chunk of land, have babies. He and I had spent dozens of nights daydreaming out loud as we lay in my bed.
I stepped off the stage to the sound of applause, with Denver’s raucous cheers the loudest and most distinguishable. I found his face before taking my seat and mouthed “I love you” to him over the row of students.
God, I loved him.
—
Naturally, Megan Barlow took it upon herself to host the graduation party. Which was fine—she had a pool, after all. After a lengthy lecture from my parents about the dangers of drinking and driving, and approximately four thousand promises from Denver that he would be remaining sober, we pulled up to Megan’s house fashionably late.
“Let’s not stay long,” I said, leaning across the truck bench to kiss him. “There are better ways I want to spend my graduation night with you.”
Sex. By that, I meant sex.
“Just a quick ‘hope we never see ya again’ to these people, yeah?” Denver laughed, hopping out of the truck and walking around to open my door.
I skimmed my palms across my thighs, which were clad in denim despite my mother’s insistence that I should wear a dress to the party. My saving grace was her dresses were too frumpy, and my younger sister’s dresses were too small. Anyway, the only person I was ever trying to impress was Denver, and he told me constantly how much he loved my ass in this particular pair of vintage Levi’s.
Hands clasped, we entered the party house. It was immediately evident that, unlike parties in our younger years, Megan’s parents weren’t around. A group of boys were playing beer pong on the dining table, there was already a questionable substance splattered across one of the living room walls, and empty cans littered every available surface. Wells Canyon had forty-six graduates, and there had to be over a hundred teenagers here.
Spotting Cassidy and Shelby in the far corner, I squeezed Denver’s hand. “I’m going to go see the girls. Come find me in a little while.”
“Okay, baby.” He bent to kiss me, then slowly untangled his fingers from mine and headed for the kitchen.
I wove through drunken bodies in the spacious, open-concept living room until nearly collapsing at my friends’ feet.
“Who needs a house this big? I almost had to stop for a snack and nap halfway to get to you guys.” I grabbed Cassidy’s cup and took a sip of the sugary concoction before handing it back.
“Considering Megan’s parents don’t even speak to each other, having a house so big you never bump into each other is probably useful.” Shelby shrugged.
“I think my entire house could fit into this living room.” Cass held her cup to her lips without drinking, surveying the space. The three of us stood silently for a second, considering whether Cass was right.
“My girls!” Megan barreled toward the three of us. Personally, I hadn’t been invited to any of the parties she’d thrown in years. But okay, apparently we were her girls. “Can you believe we graduated?”
“About time.” Cassidy clinked her plastic cup against Megan’s.
“ Blair, ” Megan said with a bone-chilling shrillness. “Your speech today was so good.”
“Thanks. It was pretty nerve-wracking, so I’m glad it’s finally over.”
“You deserve a celebratory drink.” Megan grabbed my hand, pulling me away from my friends and toward a group of people I’d never seen before. Shoving our way between two unnaturally tall boys standing at the kitchen island, she instructed one of them to pour us shots.
“Oh, I don’t—” I started to protest, but Megan shoved the shot glass into my hand and clinked it against hers.
Liquor and Blair Hart had never gotten along. A glass of wine, a beer, a cooler—manageable. Hard liquor? One shot and I’d be singing Reba McEntire without music or a karaoke machine. Two shots and I’d start spewing the most embarrassing stories to anyone who would listen. I’d never done three shots before, but I assumed that much alcohol would likely kill me.
But Megan kept chanting “graduation” at the top of her lungs, so I did the second shot of tequila. Then a third in less than five minutes. Megan and the boys, who I found out were graduating from Sheridan High, were awfully convincing with their little chants, drumrolls, and cheering.
Damn peer pressure will get you every time.
The taller of the two, who Megan referred to as Jer-Bear, smelled like bananas. And he had the hots for Megan. That much I could tell despite how glassy my vision had become.
“My boyfriend calls me Blair Bear.” I beamed at him as he poured another round. “Also, we should be besties because you’re very good at making drinks.”
He laughed, sliding a glass over to me, and half the liquid sloshed over the side. I frowned dramatically at him. “Okay…maybe not so great, after all.”
When the effects of the last shot of tequila hit me, I was astonished that I felt relatively okay. Stumbling? Definitely. A little incoherent? For sure. But I needed to find Denver and proudly show him how well his girlfriend could handle her alcohol. Three and a half shots of tequila, and living to tell the tale.
I found him sitting outside in an Adirondack chair, talking to a couple guys we graduated with. Mid-conversation, I interrupted by sliding into his lap and open-mouth kissing him.
“You okay?” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “You taste like you’ve been drinking tequila.”
“ Ta-kill-ya, actually. That’s what Jer-Bear called it.”
He raised an eyebrow, clearly amused rather than threatened by the mention of a strange guy. “Who the hell is Jer-Bear?”
“Some guy from Sheridan. That’s what Megan called him. I never did ask if the Jer is short for Jeremy or Jared…. Oh, maybe he’s a Jerome. Gerry with a G ?” I started to stand up. “You know, I should go ask him. This is going to bug me if I don’t know.”
“Actually”—Denver grabbed hold of my wrist—“we should probably get you home.”
I groaned like a petulant child, but followed behind him out of the party, dragging my feet as we walked down the road to his truck.
“Remind me to text Megan tomorrow and ask about Jer-Bear’s name.” I pointed a finger at Denver as he opened the passenger door and boosted me into the seat.
“Of course, baby.”
“I won’t rest until I know.” My head was sloshy, and I leaned it against his shoulder the moment he got into the truck, my eyes suddenly incredibly hard to keep open.
“I know you won’t.”
“I bet it’s Jeremy. He seemed like a Jeremy. Jeremy Bearemy.”
—
I woke up to Denver trying his best to lift me out of the truck. I flailed on instinct, nearly causing him to drop me, which was enough to convince him I was better off walking. Still though, he slung an arm around my waist for the short walk to my front door.
My dad was sitting in his recliner watching TV, and he looked up at us, then double-checked the time. “You’re home earlier than I expected.”
“Yeah…” Denny hooked his thumb toward me. “This one needs to go to bed.”
“All right, well, guess this means I get to go to bed early, too.” Dad clapped his hands together, practically jumping for joy to not be obligated to stay up late waiting for us.
We stumbled— rather, I stumbled, and Denver kept me upright—down the hall and into my dark bedroom. The instant I heard the door click shut behind us, I threw my arms around Denver and kissed him, walking him backward until he fell onto the bed. Climbing to straddle him, I slid my hands up his shirt until he grabbed my wrists and stopped me with a heaving breath.
“Blair, baby, not now.”
“But this was the plan for tonight, right? Quick stop at the party, then we’d have time alone.”
“ Right. That was before you decided to shoot tequila.” He sat up, removing me from his lap. “Come on, baby. Let’s get you to bed.”
I stuck my bottom lip out, letting him pull my shirt off, then lying back so he could wiggle the tight jeans off me. The room spun wildly, and I swallowed down the indigestion rising in my throat.
“I love you,” I murmured as he unclasped my bra. My head shoved through the neck hole of a baggy T-shirt, and my heavy arms struggled with the sleeves. “I can’t wait to move away from this place in a few months and have our own apartment. Just the two of us all the time.”
“Yeah…” he said quietly. Even in my drunken state, I could tell he was lacking any sort of excitement in his voice.
“Aren’t you stoked to have privacy? No more long drives in your truck so we can hook up. No more sneaking you into my room at night.”
“Bear, let’s talk about this in the morning.” He slipped his own shirt over his head and unbuckled his jeans while I stared in disbelief.
“Why?”
“I love you. Get some sleep, and we’ll talk tomorrow.” Helping me into my bed, he tucked the covers around me, but I refused—shoving them away and sitting upright to look at him. When he turned the overhead light off, I found the switch for my bedside lamp, turning it on.
“What is there to talk about? Just agree that it’s going to be amazing to live together in the city.”
“Blair.”
“Denver. Give me five seconds of fucking honesty.”
“I’m not moving with you. I can’t…” He reached for my hand, as if it was going to fucking help the way my chest was imploding. “I can’t leave Mom.”
Looking up at the yellow-green glowing stars on my bedroom ceiling, the world was spinning even faster than it was a few seconds ago. Heart racing out of control, I looked at him, tears welling in my eyes, and vomited straight tequila in his lap.