There Goes Sunday School

by Alexander C. Eberhart

  “Let’s sit you down.” Chris grabs hold of my arm, guiding me to the table across the room. A layer of dust on caked on the surface, but underneath that is a series of painted squares. It takes me a second to realize it’s a checkerboard.

  “Oh my God!” My volume control apparently has gone along with my articulation. “Checkers!”

  “That’s right, Mike.” Chris chuckles.

  “Can we play?”

  He gives me an amused look. “You want to play checkers?”

  I nod vigorously.

  “With everything that’s going on… All right, fuck it. Let’s see if they kept the pieces.” Chris pulls a small drawer from the side of the table, producing a velvet bag. He shakes it, smiling with the sound of rattling. He drags his sleeve over the table, leaving a wet sheen on the stained wood. “Do you want to be red or black?”

  “Red,” I say. My thoughts are getting really fuzzy. Chris is cute wet.

  “Alrighty then.” He dumps the pieces out onto the table, separating them.

  “I’ve an idea,” I say. Chris is really cute wet.

  “I’m not playing strip checkers with you, Mike.”

  “No!” I say but can’t help the giggle that comes after. “No, I mean I think we should play loser takes a shot.”

  “That won’t be fair,” Chris argues. “You’re already drunk.”

  “Nuh-uh.”

  “Fine, fine,” he concedes, placing black checkers alongside his half of the board. “But I feel it’s only fair to warn you I’m a checker champion. Undefeated six years running.”

  “Really?” I ask, in momentary awe.

  Chris only laughs. “Are you that drunk?”

  My cheeks flare as I realize he was joking. Jesus, I’m a lightweight, apparently.

  “Loser takes a shot,” I repeat, aligning my pieces. “Deal?”

  “It’s your liver,” Chris replies, sliding a checker forward.

  “Game on.”

  The world spins under me as Chris helps lower me into the front seat of his car. He fastens my seat belt, and I giggle as he brushes up against my leg.

  “Don’t throw up in my car,” he tells me.

  “You’re silly. Why would I do tha—?” My stomach lurches, and I have to focus on breathing for a moment. I close my eyes, and that seems to help with the spinning.

  “Just lay back,” Chris urges me.

  I hear my door close, the other opening as he climbs into the driver’s seat.

  “Take me home,” I say, fighting the urge to purge.

  “Are you sure you want to go home right now?” he asks, car engine sputtering to life.

  If I open my mouth, I know I’m going to toss my cookies, so I simply nod my head.

  “Okay, just remember it’s your decision.”

  The car begins to move and a sudden panic sets in.

  “Should you be driving right now?” I sit up in my seat, a little too fast and my head feels like it’s going to float away.

  “Mike, it’s almost seven,” Chris answers. “I sobered up about four hours ago, after the fifth checkers game.”

  “Fifth?” I repeat. “I thought we stopped after four?”

  “I tried to make you stop,” he explains. “You called me a pussy and insulted my mother.”

  “Oh God….” I rub my temples. “Did I?”

  “Yup.” Chris laughs. “Then you pissed out of the treehouse window and proceeded to pass out for a couple hours. I caught up on some homework. Not that it’s going to matter soon.”

  A vibration shoots up my leg and I have to fish for my phone.

  “Your mom called a few times,” he tells me. “I was going to answer it, but I decided that might not be the best idea if you were drunkenly blathering in the background.”

  Perfect. I’m sure Mom is freaking out by now. Surprisingly, when I check my phone, I only discover three missed calls and one text that says: Call me.4:45pm

  “I also may have texted Jackie to cover for you.” Chris smiles sheepishly.

  I scroll through my texts. Jackie’s came in about an hour ago. You owe me, shithead.5:34pm

  “I suppose I should thank you,” I say, leaning my head against the cool window.

  “Don’t mention it.”

  “Wasn’t actually planning on it.”

  A silence falls between us. The weather’s cleared and the last few rays of sun are peeking over the horizon, shading everything in brilliant hues of gold. I watch the light wash over Chris. How it pronounces the freckles running along his cheekbones, and the warmth it lends to his eyes, framed by those long lashes.

  My chest tightens with familiarity, and I really hope it’s just the alcohol.

  “What?”

  I blink, Chris glancing over to me. “Huh?”

  “You’re staring at me,” he says, eyes trained back on the road.

  Shit. I totally am. “I was not.”

  “O-kay,” he drawls out.

  “I wasn’t.”

  “Whatever you say, Mike.”

  Help me out here, Big Guy. Now is not the time to be caught up with how cute this boy is. Did I just say cute? Damn it! Sorry, I mean…

  I don’t know what I mean. I really need to sleep this off.

  “Your new stuff is good,” Chris says, motioning to my messenger bag in the floorboard. “I hope you don’t mind I took a look while you were incapacitated.”

  A new heat rises to my cheeks.

  “You went through my sketchbook?”

  He nods his head, not looking the slightest bit guilty.

  “What the fuck?” My voice shoots up an octave.

  Chris laughs. “Couldn’t help myself,” he says. “It’s was too good an opportunity to pass— Ow!”

  I smack his shoulder a second time.

  “Cut it out!”

  “No.” After a third hit, he grabs my wrist, eyes not leaving the road. “Don’t fucking kill us!”

  “Then stop hitting me!” He’s still smiling despite the serious tone.

  “Fine.” I pull free of his grip, sinking back into my seat as I simmer down. So, he saw my sketchbook, big whoop. I haven’t added anything noteworthy since he had it.

  Except…

  “That one of me was really good.” Chris smirks. “You really captured me.”

  You can fry an egg on my face.

  “I— You— I can’t— Shut up!”

  He howls with laughter. I contemplate crashing the car. At least we wouldn’t have to deal with Tabby and this whole ugly situation if we’re wrapped around a tree.

  I seethe as he pulls the car into my driveway. The sun has finally set, so it’s dark when he shuts the headlights off. I can just make out the outline of his frame in the glow of the dashboard lights.

  “I’m flattered, by the way.” He angles towards me. “I wish I had that kind of talent.”

  “Yeah, whatever.” I clutch my bag to my chest, cursing the day I ever picked up a pencil.

  “I really do mean what I said,” he continues. “Your drawings are incredible.”

  I don’t say anything, but my eyes are drawn to search for his in the darkness. They reflect the points of light, like a swarm of fireflies.

  My chest gets tight again. I shake my head to try to clear the fog. I don’t like being drunk. It’s dangerous.

  “I’m going to talk to Tabby tomorrow,” Chris says, shifting forward as he stretches, letting out a yawn. “You know, since I kinda started this whole mess.”

  “Yes, you did,” I agree.

  “I am sorry, Mike.”

  “Me too. There’s enough blame to share.”

  I know I should open the door, but I can’t get my arms to cooperate. So, I just sit here.

  “Mike, can I tell you a secret?”

  “What is it?” I ask, leaning closer to him instinctively. What else could I not know about him?

  “I…” He stops, taking a beat. “I really want to kiss you right now.”

  It’s like a hand is
squeezing my heart. I need to get out of this car right now, but my body refuses to move.

  “W-what?”

  “Can I kiss you?” He moves closer, and his hot breath blows against my cheek.

  “Uh, I… That is… Um…”

  “I figure since we’re both going to hell,” he whispers, sending waves of goosebumps across my skin, “why not have a little fun on our way?”

  I swallow loudly.

  “Okay.”

  “Okay?” he echoes. His hand cups the side of my face, and I shudder as his thumb slides along my cheekbone.

  I nod against his touch.

  And his lips are on mine, hesitant and soft. That foreign constriction in my chest eases up, releasing a pulse of warmth through my limbs. Chris breaks away after a second, exhaling. His dark eyes hold me, and I don’t have to think about what to do next. I ignore my throbbing nose.

  Wrapping my fingers around his shirt, I pull him into me, lips finding each other in the dark. He’s still hesitant, but I can’t contain myself any longer. My touch is urgent as I claw at him. I have to do this.

  A groan comes from Chris’s chest as he pushes me away.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask, breathless.

  “Nothing.” He pants. “I just need a second.”

  A shadow moves outside the car, a silhouette against the house’s lit windows.

  “Oh, shit.” I press myself against the window, peering through.

  The front door opens, and Rosy shuts it behind her.

  “Shit!”

  “What is it?” Chris asks, still leaning into me.

  “My sister,” I scramble to open the door. “I think she saw us!”

  “Wait, Mike—”

  “See you tomorrow!” I tell him, already sprinting to the door. I quickly realize I’m still very drunk as I stumble up the stairs. A bit of vomit threatens its way out, but I swallow it as I fling the door open.

  “Michael?” my mother calls from the other room.

  I don’t have time for her as I dash to the stairs. “Rosy?”

  She saw me. She saw me kissing a boy. If she tells Mom and Dad, my life is over.

  “No, no, no….” My legs feel like noodles as I sink onto the third stair—unable to go any farther. I bury my head in my arms to keep the room from spinning.

  “Michael?”

  My mother’s hand clamps onto my shoulder, but I don’t look up. I can’t let her see me like this. That would require an explanation.

  “What’s going— Sweet Lord, Michael. Why do you smell like you’ve been swimming in bourbon?”

  I can’t respond, even if I wanted to.

  “Michael Hernandez.” Mom pulls my arm, jerking me upward.

  My stomach lurches, and I can’t hold it back this time. I heave, my mother shrieking as I bathe her in regret and whiskey.

  After the waterfall of bodily fluids eases up, I try to speak, but she stops me with her hand.

  “Shower.” She shakes some vomit from her leggings. “Now.”

  After a couple of rounds of vomiting and a shower, I’m feeling worlds better. The ceiling fan spins lazily above me. Mom and Dad will be in any minute to deliver a punishment for my crimes. I wonder if Rosy has spilled the beans yet. I mean, underage drinking is one thing, but making out with the pastor’s son? Pretty sure that’s grounds for immediate execution around here.

  Mom already confiscated my phone. I can only pray Chris is smart enough not to text me anything that will speed up my timely demise.

  A knock on my door sounds like the gavel at my sentencing.

  “Michael?”

  I sit up slowly, stomach still uneasy. Dad opens the door, his tie hanging loose around his neck. He probably just got home even though it’s almost nine thirty.

  “Your mother tells me you’ve had quite the evening.” He walks over to my desk, lowering himself into the spinning chair.

  I nod my head. I’m too smart to give verbal confirmation.

  “She also said you seemed pretty upset about something,” he continues, shuffling through my sketches on the desk. “I think we should talk about that first.”

  “There’s nothing to talk about,” I lie, averting my gaze.

  “Mike, how many times do we have to go over this?” Dad chuckles. “You’re a terrible liar, just like your old man.”

  Apparently not, seeing as I’ve been lying to you for years now.

  “Was Jackie drinking with you?”

  “No!” I half shout. “She…she gave me a ride home, that’s all.” That’s the story Jackie agreed to, keeping Chris out of the picture. Don’t need them snooping around him.

  “Does this have something to do with your little accident yesterday?”

  Accident?

  “Did someone hit you, Mike?”

  Oh. My nose. I shake my head.

  “No, it’s not that.”

  “Then what on earth has gotten into you, hojito?”

  “Nothing.” I sigh. I don’t want to talk anymore.

  “Not a good enough answer.”

  “Really, it’s nothing.”

  “Michael, you just ralphed enough booze to stock a bar on your mother. Are you really telling me you just decided to get wasted on a whim?”

  “Yup.”

  “Michael,” he grunts as he rises from his seat, “you have to meet me halfway here.”

  “There’s nothing going on!” I yell, temper flaring. “I wanted to drink, so I did! End of story.”

  The look in my father’s eyes is enough to make me cry, but I bite my bottom lip to stop the trembling. If I show weakness now, if I break, there’s nothing that I won’t tell him.

  “All right,” he says, exasperated. “If you don’t want to tell me, I can’t make you. But, now, you’re grounded for two weeks.” He digs in his pocket for my phone, tossing it on the bed beside me. “I disabled all your data. So, that’s only to be used as a way for your mother and I to reach you. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good.” Letting out a deep breath, he leans forward, kissing me on top of my head. “I love you, son. I’m glad you’re all right.”

  And that’s enough to make the tears spill over, so I quickly turn away from him.

  My door shuts a moment later and the first sob tears through my chest like an animal.

  A splitting headache and mouth drier than the Sahara Desert greet me with my alarm. I silence the electronic squawking, trying to toggle open my Tumblr app before remembering my phone has been rendered useless.

  No way my parents will let a hangover be an excuse to stay home from school, so I have to will myself out of bed. Details from yesterday begin to filter in as I search for a clean towel.

  I recall a checkerboard, a rope ladder, flashes of lightning, and headlights passing in the dark on our way home. The feeling of Chris’s lips against mine.

  I hold the towel strategically as I stumble down the hall towards the shower.

  Rosy stands in front of the mirror, brandishing a mascara wand.

  “Hey,” I say, keeping my distance from her. The showerhead sputters to life with the turn of a knob.

  “I’m almost done,” she says without looking away from her work.

  How do I bring this up? I mean, there’s a chance she didn’t even see anything last night. I could be freaking out for absolutely no reason. Then again, she could also have already told Mom and Dad and is planning on being the only teenager left standing in the house.

  Would she do that?

  She closes the tube of makeup with a snap, tossing it into her bag. Without a word, she exits the bathroom, closing the door behind her.

  I exhale.

  This is going to be a very long day.

  “—don’t mention it,” Jackie says as I round the brick wall into our trash sanctum. She glares at me, cigarette flaring to match her anger.

  Chris turns, grinning like an idiot when he sees me. Then he catches himself and tries to dial back the elation. It’s
cute.

  Shit. No, it’s not!

  “Hey.” I give a small wave. The smell of rancid milk isn’t helping my nausea. They must have dumped the spoiled cartons early today.

  “You gotta lot of nerve.” Jackie huffs.

  For once, I’m thankful for the smell of tobacco. It overpowers everything else.

  “Jackie—” Chris starts.

  She doesn’t let him finish. “How’s your nose?” she asks, not even a hint of remorse.

  “Hurts like hell,” I answer.

  “I’ll bet.” She smiles. “It’s some of my best work. What did you tell your parents?”

  “Tanner hit me with a football.”

  Her laughter is explosive. “You got to be shitting me. The only thing more ridiculous than you trying to catch a football is Tan-Tan being able to throw one.”

  “I’m glad to see you’re getting some enjoyment out of this.”

  Chris stands behind her, and I have to keep myself from looking at him. No matter how much I want to.

  “So, what do you want?” Jackie snaps me back into focus.

  “To say I’m sorry, I guess.”

  “Sorry?”

  “For what I said the other day,” I elaborate. “I was out of line.”

  “Yes, you were.” Jackie drags her cigarette across the wall. “And I suppose I should probably apologize for breaking your nose.”

  “It’s not broken,” I tell her.

  “Well it sounded like popcorn.” She laughs. “But I’m no doctor.”

  “Can you stop being mad at me now?”

  She hesitates, pursing her lips. “I suppose that can be arranged.”

  I hold out my arms, and after a moment of hesitation, she hugs me.

  “You two are going to make me cry,” Chris interjects.

  “It’s been a real Hallmark moment.” Jackie slings her backpack over her shoulder. “But I gotta go grovel for an extension on my Theology paper.”

  She tries to flick my nose as she passes, but I duck out of the way. And now Chris and I are alone, only the comforting scent of rotting dairy to keep us company.

  “Hey,” he says, stepping beside me. My nerves are on edge, like an electric current is passing between us. The closer he gets, the stronger the sensation becomes.