The Grown Ups by Robin Antalek Page B

bit of stubble and her lips stung from the tiny cluster of hairs.
    â€œDUDE! Turner! There you are!”
    Bella and Sam swung around as Peter Chang and Frankie Cole came toward them. Frankie held aloft a bottle of vodka. “SHOTS! Now!”
    Bella shook her head. She looked behind Peter for Mindy, but she wasn’t there. Peter thrust a cup at Sam and Frankie began pouring. Bella disentangled from Sam. “I think I’m going to find Mindy and Ruthie.”
    Sam hooked a finger through her belt loop and tugged. “No.”
    â€œYes,” Bella said. “Enjoy your shots.” She smiled and looked over at Frankie. “Where are your parents, anyway? This is getting kind of crazy.” In the short amount of time she’d been at the party the woods seemed to have grown even more crowded.
    â€œEveryone needs to leave by midnight. They’re in the city for a play and dinner.” Frankie poured vodka into the cup. He seemed sober, but even Bella knew that was impossible. “I figure that gives me until one to clean up.”
    â€œAre you kidding?” Bella looked over at Sam, who shook his head and shrugged. She leaned over and glanced at Peter Chang’s wristwatch. “It’s after eleven. Have you seen how many people are here?”
    â€œIt’s a little nuts,” Peter Chang admitted as he squinted toward the fire.
    â€œReally?” Frankie looked up. “Can you do me a favor, Bella, and start telling people they need to get going?” He grinned at her and then passed the vodka bottle to Peter Chang. “Pretty please?”
    Bella rolled her eyes. She twisted Sam’s T-shirt into a knot and brushed her fingers against his stomach before she pulled away. When she looked back at him he was staring at her from over the cup he’d raised to his lips.
    It was after two when Bella and Sam staggered into his darkened kitchen through the back door. They had managed to get rid of everyone before the Coles arrived home, but Frankie would have to craft a convincing story when the sun rose of why there was a confetti spill of beer cans and cups in the backyard, not to mention the enormous circle of blackened grass where the flames had overshot the fire pit.
    Bella had her arm around Sam’s waist and his arm was slung across her shoulders as they tripped over the threshold. He’d had way too many shots, so it was Bella who led the way through the shadows to Sam’s bedroom. When they got there Sam pulled Bella down onto the bed and rolled over on top of her. “Finally,” he said softly against her hair. “Finally.”
    Bella laughed and pushed Sam slightly off of her so she could breathe. Their legs were still entwined but their heads were side by side on Sam’s pillow. If she turned her head she could press her lips against his without moving. Sam reached down and grabbed her hand and brought it up to his mouth, kissed her fingers, and then held it against his chest. “Bella,” he whispered.
    â€œSam,” Bella whispered back.
    â€œYou’re here. In my bed.”
    â€œAnd you’re very drunk.”
    Sam moaned. “Give me a minute.”
    Bella laughed quietly. “How many of me can you see right now?”
    â€œI don’t know. I’m scared to turn my head too quickly.”
    Bella closed her eyes. She could smell the boy-ness of Sam on his sheets: shampoo mixed with sweat and detergent and foul sneakers and another layer of whatever he’d had to drink that night. “Hey—do you feel like you’re going to be sick?”
    Sam didn’t answer. His limbs were like lead weights on top ofhers. Bella nudged him gently, afraid to make it worse. “Do you need a bucket?”
    Very carefully, his words measured, Sam said, “I don’t think so.”
    Bella attempted to disentangle so she could get up and get the wastebasket just in case. But Sam roused himself enough to stop her.