Ryan Hunter

chest. “Oh Hunter, I thought you would never ask.”
    Rolling my eyes, I had to laugh about the way she made me look. Crazy chick.
    She climbed out and slammed the door shut then walked up the front steps. “Hey, book lover!” I shouted after her and waited until she turned around. “It’s nice to have you on the team.”
    Susan’s eyes wrinkled behind her glasses as she smiled. Then she walked inside, and I stepped on the gas, heading home.
    All afternoon I was busy with getting the house ready for the party of the year. I didn’t need to wait for answers to my text message. Everyone who had time would come and have a little fun tonight.
    I got all the expensive carpets out of the way, so that only the naked stone tiles were left. From the credenzas and shelves, I removed everything that could get broken, and also Mom’s beloved Chinese Ming Vase that stood close to the French doors leading into our garden. When Dad came in after work, he helped me drape some blankets over the leather couch and replace the glass coffee table with an old chest, that would do the job just as well,  before he and Mom gave me the usual sermon on the party rules and then left for Mary Fisher’s house. In the end, our entrance hall and front room looked like the Hunters had moved out, but only until the first bunch of guests arrived. Everyone had free access to drinks and food, and while they made themselves at home and put some music on, I headed upstairs to finally change for the night.
    I slipped into my favorite faded blue jeans with the ripped hems and found my tennis shoes under my bed. After styling my hair in a David Backham style Mohawk, I picked a white shirt from the closet, but as soon as I had it on, I unbuttoned it again and threw it on my bed. White clashed too much with my dark hair to look cool. A black dress shirt would do. I let it casually hang out and rolled the sleeves up to my elbows as I stepped in front of the mirror again. Yep, much better.
    The music switched from Nickleback to Bob Marley’s “Stop That Train” as I closed the door to my room and headed downstairs. I smiled at a memory that came up with that song. I believe I was about ten years old when Justin had stolen a cigar from his granddad and we tried to smoke it in the gazebo in our garden. The outcome wasn’t all that pretty. In fact, after the second drag we both went green in the face and puked into my mom’s rose bushes. Yeah, we were so cool…
    I wondered if Justin was the one fumbling with the hi-fi, because the song was suddenly cut off after the first few beats, and Sean Paul came on next. “She Doesn’t Mind.” I liked that one.
    When I came down, Claudia Wesley ran into me. Narrowly escaping getting splattered by the drink in her hand, I steadied her by her elbows and her face lit up. “Ry, you come late to your own party? This is so much like you.”
    “You know me. I can’t be on time to save my life.” I had been out with Claudia in tenth grade, and if it had ever worked with a girl and me, then it was probably her. The only downside—she wasn’t Liza. But she made a fantastic wine cooler, and the glass in her hand was most likely filled with the stuff. I took it out of her hand and tasted the berry mix, then arched a brow at her. “That grog could kill an elephant.”
    She shrugged it off with a grin. “Yeah, it’s a little strong. But the strawberries make it perfect.”
    It tasted delicious, but I didn’t intend to get drunk tonight, so I gave the glass back to her. The house was already bursting. I had to fight my way through all the kids to get into the kitchen and grab a beer from the fridge. The lights had been dimmed and the music was on maximum volume, just what a good party needed. I popped the cap of the Corona and headed back to the hall, taking a swig.
    In the arch between the hall and the kitchen, Tony bumped into me, dragged by a very excited Cloey. “Hey guys, what are you up to?” I asked, amused about how they held hands like preschoolers, and seriously enjoying the fact that Tony seemed totally into that girl.
    “I want to show him the gazebo,” Cloey cheered. “You don’t mind, Hunter, do you?”
    I shook my head no, but caught Mitchell’s arm before Cloey could pull him away from me. Leaning in closer, I gave him a concerned look. “Did you come with Matthews?”
    “Yes.”
    My eyes widened as I glanced from him to Cloey and back. “And she knows you’re going to make out with