10. Mason
Mason
The music is turned up as loud as it’ll go, the Florida sun is beaming down on us, and Tanner is hanging out the side of the convertible Stingray I rented for spring break, yelling at the people we’re passing by.
My hand is resting on the wheel, and I turn around to the back seat where Chase and Tank are to grab the blunt they’re passing around.
When we get to a red light, a Dodge Challenger beside us revs up its engine, enticing the thrill seeker inside of me.
Tank stands up in the back seat and yells over at the two guys in the car with their windows rolled down. “You think that pussy-mobile can touch this beast?”
“Put your gas pedal where your mouth is!” the driver shouts back.
Tank throws himself back down in the seat and slaps a hand on my chest. “Make him eat shit, Sinclair.”
I smile over my shoulder at him and then drop the car into neutral while my foot is on the brake before revving her up. Tank smacks my shoulder in excitement, and I shake my head, laughing at him.
I look over to the guy next to us, and he has a shit-eating grin on his face like he already knows he’s got it in the bag.
Sorry, buddy, I’ve been driving supercars since before I even had a license. You’re not winning this one.
I put the car in drive, and when the light turns green, my foot pushes the gas to the floor.
I watch the speedometer climb up, hitting 90 MPH on the Florida beach strip.
Palm trees pass in a blur, and I look over to see the Challenger gaining on us a little.
All the guys are shouting in the car, and Tanner is flipping the guy off from the passenger seat, laughing his ass off.
Chase is screaming at me to go faster, and Tank is egging me on, too.
I keep my hands tight on the wheel, weaving through cars like a pro.
These are my stomping grounds.
We leave them in the dust, speeding through the streets like we’re invincible. I start to slow down slightly as Chase hands me back the blunt, and I take a hit of the end of it.
Just as I’m about to tamp her down all the way, I see lights and hear the sirens behind us.
“Shit,” I bite out.
I toss the end of the blunt out of the car and don’t even think when I hit the gas.
“Bro!” Tanner yells. “Are you about to dip on a cop?”
“Do you wanna spend your spring break in a jail cell?”
He just shakes his head no, and I grip the wheel, making a sharp turn off the strip.
I can still see the lights, but I’m putting more distance between us.
“Ahh, fuck,” Chase says from the back.
“Fuck yeah!” Tank shouts.
I floor the gas on an open road and make it up to a neighborhood I’m familiar with from coming down to the East Coast enough growing up.
It doesn’t take me long to fully lose the cop, but I stay on the back roads for a little while until I feel like I’m far enough away not to be recognized for the car we’re in, and then pull back onto a main road.
When I get to a light and stop the car, we all turn to each other and start laughing.
“I’m trying to enjoy my spring break,” I say, flicking the radio on, “not get chewed out by my dad from behind bars.”
“You’re fucking crazy, Sinclair,” Tanner says, still laughing. “I knew you’d be perfect for the Sig house the day I met you.”
“Yeah, well, that little stunt just got me out of having to put my name in the hat to be the DD today. I deserve to drink after that one!”
“Fine, fine,” Tanner says.
He looks back at Tank and Chase, who both throw their heads back. “Better flip a coin, boys,” he tells them.
“I’ll give you a hundred bucks to be the DD,” Chase tells Tank.
Tank thinks about it for a second. “How many drinks can I have and still be under the limit?”
“None!” we all shout at him.
“Fuck. Fine…deal. I’d better see my money, though, Chase. I know where you sleep.”
* * *
Every inch of sand is packed with bodies. Spring break in Florida always gets pretty crazy. It actually gets so wild that the cops don’t even waste their time trying to break the parties up anymore.
It’s the middle of the day, the sun is brutal, bodies are pressed together, and the music around us is blaring. The only thing that makes it all enjoyable is the alcohol and the buzz from the weed.
Chase hands me a full bottle of Casamigo, and I take it, tip my head back, and chug a couple shots’ worth before a girl shouts for me to share with her.
I smile and nod at her to tip her head back for me.
She smirks and does what I tell her, her long braids hanging behind her as her head tips back, and her mouth opens.
I pour some into her mouth, and she whips her head back up as some of the alcohol drips down the side of her mouth and onto her bathing suit.
I wink at her and take another swig of the bottle before handing it off to someone else.
A couple of girls from the Gamma house, who came with us to Florida, come over to me and Chase and pull us to dance with them.
I let the girl—Joy—pull me into an open circle where people are dancing.
She dances with her back to me, hands behind her, tangled in my hair.
I place my hands on her waist and move her to the music.
It doesn’t take long before another girl steals her spot—she’s not a Gamma girl, not one I’ve met before, at least. She’s pretty, though, and I let her take me and dance as the music changes to something with a heavier beat.
It’s fun, and I lose myself to the pull of it all.
All of this is just a way to let our brains turn off and let our bodies take over. It’s easy not to be stressed out by responsibilities when you’re in a place like this.
Another two girls move in on me like prey.
I recognize them—Brittany and Ava. The Bleach Blonde Sisters from the Gamma house.
They aren’t actually blood-related, but they tell everyone they are because they both look like pin-up Barbie dolls who could pass as twins.
Plus, they like to entice guys with the thought of hooking up with real sisters.
Ava is dating one of the Sig guys now—Ryan—so she should be keeping those wandering hands to herself, but she doesn’t seem to care today.
They put their hands around my arms and dance on me from both sides. When Ava reaches up and whispers in my ear for me to grab her another drink, and kisses me on the neck, I pull her into me so my mouth is near her ear.
“I’ll grab you a drink, but I’m not getting my ass kicked by Ryan, so you might wanna go find someone else to dance on, love.”
She rolls her eyes but still smiles. “You could probably show me a better time than him.”
“Oh, I could. But you won’t be finding that out for yourself.”
She pouts a little before taking the hint and pulling Brittany away with her through the crowd.
I grab a beer from one of the coolers when I hear Get Low by Lil John start playing.
Not even two seconds later, I hear Tank screaming the lyrics and look up to see his fully sober ass dancing, becoming the center of attention.
I have enough alcohol in me to join him, and we slide into step beside each other, dancing and laughing.
When ‘to the window’ hits, we get serious, and you would have thought we had a planned choreography for the song with how in sync we are.
People form a crowd around and start hyping us up.
I grab a girl nearby as the song switches to London Bridge by Fergie, and she obliges, smiling and dancing with me.
When I’m in party mode, you can’t stop me. I’m here to have a good time. I don’t know what embarrassment is, and as long as the drinks are flowing, my body is moving.
The song changes again, and the girl goes from jumping around and dancing to turning and grinding on me.
I let her, hyping her up as she takes my hands and places them on her waist before she bends over, rolling her hips on me.
I pull her closer to me, laughing into her hair and giving her the attention she’s looking for.
I play the part and enjoy her wild energy.
College girls are fun. None of them are looking for relationships, just a good time. I can give them that. And when they try to go further, try to take me back to an empty room and do more, I always find a way to gently let them down without ruining the image that people have placed on me.
I’ve perfected the art of playing the part of the wild party boy without having to lose myself to one-night stands and meaningless sex.
It’s just never been my thing.
Eventually, I slip away, stepping onto the porch of one of the beach houses and watch the crowd of people partying as the sun starts to dip lower in the sky.
A guy and a girl stumble up the stairs together, faces attached to each other as they try to make their way into the house, no doubt to defile someone’s room in there by the looks of it.
I just tip my drink back, taking small sips, and relax for a moment.
I tilt my head up and sigh, looking out at the darkening sky, wondering if my mom would even recognize me anymore.
Would she want me to be living it up like this, or would she easily see through the facade?
She always wanted me to be happy, to have fun, and to live life to the fullest, but I’m slowly starting to also become everything she taught me not to be—reckless, shallow, and lost to the world.
The truth is, I don’t really know how to be anything else. When I’m alone, the quiet eats me alive. When I’m with people, the noise drowns it all out. So I live somewhere between the two—tipsy enough not to care, sober enough to still feel it anyway.