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“Yeah?”

“It’s for the best. It’s my last year of high school.” Val’s lips twist into a smirk. “Carpe diem and all that shit they teach us.”

Sebastian chuckles and swigs from his soda.

“I’m going to design school in Paris.”

Sebastian’s eyes widen. Val’s voice sounds certain as she explains her plans; her next four years are mapped out. He’s blown away, mainly because Sebastian has no idea what he’s going to do with his nextfour monthsbesides play soccer. He’s jealous of people who are certain of their future before it happens. How can anyone know what they’ll do with their whole lives, when he can’t figure out where or evenifhe’s going to college? But here’s Val, not having a single panic attack about life after high school.

“It’s great,” Val continues, as though he hasn’t been lost in space. She tucks a lock of hazelnut-colored hair behind her ear. “I’m in control of what my life looks like after graduation. I can decide whenever.”

It all sounds so easy. Once she’s away from high school and not worried about silly romances, she’ll have it all together. Sebastian doesn’t believe it’s that simple, but he likes the dream she’s selling.

Also, Mason is a total douche-canoe for letting her go. Sebastian doesn’t tell her, because it’s clear she’s already had that epiphany.

“So that’s it?”

“Life goes on after high school, Bastian.” Her hand covers his on the counter. “We all move on.”

Sebastian wants to tell her life is impossible to figure out. How does he silence all the huge, monstrous fears biting at his mind?

“Well, well,” Mason interrupts, sliding between them before Sebastian can get a word out. His back and elbows rest against the counter as he eyes Val wolfishly. “Looking good, Jones.”

“Good to know,” she says.

Mason’s face goes blank, then confused.

“Well,” Val says, hopping off her stool. She leans over Mason to kiss Sebastian’s cheek. “Always good to see you, Bastian.” She saunters back to her table.

Mason’s jaw tightens; his fingers curl and uncurl at his sides.

“Mace, do you—”

“Let’s get out of here, bro,” Mason says with a snarl, breathing heavily. He glares at the empty stool as if Val will magically reappear, and then jerks his head toward the door. “I heard Zach found some townie to buy beer.”

Mason and Willie are opposites when it comes to discussing the F-word: feelings. That’s not Mason’s thing. When Sam broke up with Sebastian, Mason punched him in the shoulder and passed him a Heineken. “Drink it away” is Mason’s motto, his coping mechanism. Sebastian blames Mason’s dad ditching him and his five younger sisters. Mason’s claim to fame is being a soccer god in Bloomington and a badass. Alcohol camouflages the scars from his youth, but strength isn’t measured by a guy’s ability to drain a six-pack and not cry.

Mason looks ready to rip a hole in someone’s chest when he snaps, “Let’sgo, man.”

Sebastian sighs. Mason gathers the other players while Sebastian checks with Liza to make sure all the tabs are taken care of.

He doesn’t even get his free slice of pie.

* * *

Three hours and four Michelobslater, Sebastian wonders if the entire night was a spectacularly awful idea.

He’s still very sober, so he doesn’t understand why walking a straight line should be so difficult, unless it’s because he has a nearly two-hundred-poundslugnamed Zach hanging on him. They’ve been struggling to make it to Zach’s cabin for ten minutes. Bearing most of Zach’s weight, Sebastian anticipates their eventual collapse into the dirt.

“Bro, the ground is…” Zach pauses to hiccup, then laugh, and says, “moving.”

Decision made: This night is theworst.

Most of the team made it back before curfew, though some were toppling over like building blocks. The sober ones, cranky freshmen, try to help where they can. “No brother left behind” is the golden rule among the Lions, a rule Sebastian’s dying to break because Zach’s exhaling rank, basement-ass beer breath in his face.

“Do you see it? We’re, like, hovering.”

“We’re not,” Sebastian tries, but Zach’s already on another tangent.