Free The Cemetery Boys by Heather Brewer Page B

because I’d promised my mom a few years ago that I’d stay away from anything heavier thanbeer until it was legal. She hadn’t asked much of me in the way of discipline during our seventeen years together, apart from yelling at me not to drink bleach when I was five and uttering this little gem on my fifteenth birthday: “No smoking, Stephen. No drugs. And if you insist on sneaking booze, stay away from the hard stuff.”
    Because she’d asked so little of me, I felt obligated to listen to all of it. Only . . . now I was in a cemetery, in a crappy town that was looking less and less like a temporary home, surrounded by potential new friends. And my mom was a million miles away. Not just in Denver, but on Mars. Did I still owe her anything? I wasn’t sure. All I knew was that when I was seven, she’d uttered another phrase that had stuck with me ever since: “Make a promise, keep a promise.”
    Markus handed the bottle off to the tall guy with the big, broad grin and the dark brown hair—Scot, I thought—who twisted off the cap and took a swig before holding the bottle out to me. I looked at it, not sure what to say or do. I wasn’t a partier, but I wasn’t straightedge either. There I went again, knowing full well what I wasn’t, but not at all what I was.
    Meanwhile, Markus passed out more bottles, and I watched as caps were removed and drinks were taken. No one seemed to notice that I hadn’t yet taken the bottle from Scot’s hand. They were all distracted by their own drinking and by the bonfire they were building. A stack of straytwigs and dead branches had been piled atop one grave, and Devon was using his lighter to start the blaze. Scot shook the bottle at me and smiled, his voice kind of quiet. “It’s okay. It tastes sweet.”
    Reaching out, I took the bottle and brought it closer to my face. As I sniffed the contents, Scot chuckled. “Never drank before, eh?”
    Smoke had enveloped the wood pile, and within moments, flames took its place. I wondered what would happen to us if we got caught lighting a fire in a graveyard, let alone drinking. “Just beer. But not much of it. You guys do this a lot?”
    â€œSome.” He shrugged and then shook his head. “You don’t have to.”
    Oh, sure. I didn’t have to drink liquor in the cemetery. Just like I didn’t have to break into the movie theater. Just like I didn’t have to go with Devon in the first place. There was always option B: puss out and go home. Of course I had to. Who did Scot think he was kidding?
    â€œWhere’s the Peachtree?” The one Devon had referred to as Cam hurried over. He was short, skinny, and pale, with dirty blond hair and the craziest blue eyes I’d ever seen. Something about those eyes told me that he was an excellent listener. He looked curious and kind. I liked him instantly. Nodding to the bottle in my hand, he reached forit, eyebrows raised. “Hey, you mind?”
    Not only didn’t I mind, I sighed in relief inside my head where no one else could hear.
    Cam took a healthy swig, then placed the bottle right back in my hand.
    Damn.
    He looked at Scot, and for a moment, I felt invisible. His voice grew softer, and a light entered his eyes that hadn’t been there when he was addressing me. “Can we talk later?”
    â€œYeah.” Scot smiled down at Cam, and not only did I feel invisible, I was starting to think that I had actually turned invisible. No one was in this conversation but Scot and Cam. It made me wonder if they were maybe a couple or something, and I made a mental note to ask one of the other guys later. “Of course.”
    â€œCool.” Cam grinned. Before turning to walk away, he gave my shoulder a friendly slap. “Nice to meet ya, man. Stephen, right?”
    â€œYeah.” I nodded. After a moment of just standing there, I looked at the label on the bottle I was