Age Difference

Age Difference

I was practicing one day with Keeley, with Dave and Kyle lying on their respective beds—and let me tell you, having the two of them present made me very, very nervous; I had never been one for audiences, and my playing for three people absolutely constituted an audience—when Keel exclaimed, “Well, screw this. I want a drink.” We’d been practicing for about three hours. I couldn’t blame her. My hands were tired, too.

At the word “drink”, both Dave and Kyle perked up. From under one of the bunks, where we kept our clothes, a cooler of beer. And it wasn’t as if I’d never drunk before. I always went to all the parties that Kay had frequented before she’d started dating Mark. But when Keel handed me one without appearing to think about it, I had to wonder if they knew I was only eighteen.



I rolled the bottle between my palms. I wasn’t pointedly a straight-edge, the way Ian was. I just didn’t drink to get shitfaced, or anything. “What’s the matter?” Keeley asked. I was trying to decide if I cared. Kyle nudged me in the back with his foot—I was practicing from his bed, again, because there wasn’t much anywhere else for me to sit.

“I’m eighteen,” I told her. “Just so you know, since you’re giving me this.”

Honestly, I hadn’t expected the reaction that this confession received. Kyle started choking. Keeley snatched the bottle out of my hands. Dave stared at me like I’d grown a second head.

“I’m sorry,” Keeley said, “but you are not drinking underage on my watch. I know you probably have before”—I had. Kay had taken me to my first alcoholic party my freshman year—“but I’m not going to somehow get busted for your habit.”

“I’m not an alcoholic,” I protested. “And it’s not a big deal.”

Kyle nudged me again. “You’re seriously eighteen?” He seemed incredulous. “You so do not seem eighteen.”

“You’re married,” said Dave.

“So?” I asked them both. “How old do I seem? And it’s completely legit to get married at eighteen. Hell, you can get married at sixteen if your parents say it’s okay.”

“Still,” said Keeley.

“How old are you guys?” I asked. I’d only ever hung out with people who were my age, within a margin or a year or two. After all, I’d been in high school. There wasn’t really too much option, otherwise. I hadn’t really had senior friends as a freshman, or anything. My pool was somewhat limited.

Kyle’s foot was now touching my back. “Keel’s twenty-one and Dave and I are twenty-two. I cannot freaking believe you’re eighteen. You just graduated high school. Damn, Sloan, you’re a baby.”

I stuck my tongue out at him. Maybe this meant he would stop showing up at the places I frequented. It was getting increasingly difficult to avoid him in this tiny trap of musicians. I had far too much free time.

An uncomfortable moment of silence fell over us—to cover it up, Keeley handed me a soda. I shot her a glance. Cute. She shrugged, as if to say, Well, what else am I supposed to do? This was stupid. Then, suddenly, she started to giggle.

Dave was the first to jump on the opportunity to ask a question, to start conversation, any conversation. “What’s that, Keel?”

Her giggles were just like her voice—light, airy, pretty. “Well,” she gasped between chortles, “I was just thinking who I’d be married to if I got married right out of high school.” I pitied whoever she’d been dating at the time, if the thought was really that comical. Dave joined in laughing.

“That’s not funny, you two,” Kyle muttered darkly.

“You?” I asked, disbelief coloring my tone. “Are you serious? You dated Keeley?”

“Oh, shut up, Sloan,” he muttered.

I bit my lip back against a laugh. It was funny, when you thought about it—fun, bright, vibrant Keeley with dark, serious, intense Kyle? If you’d asked, I couldn’t have thought of a worse match.

Keeley shrugged. “You’d have done better with me, Kyle,” she said. “At least then you weren’t cradle robbing.”

That prompted an uncomfortable silence. By some unspoken agreement we didn’t discuss whatever game Kyle was playing. In fact, I hadn’t really been sure anyone had noticed it but me. “I’m married.”

She laughed at me, like I was missing something extremely vital, something that changed the whole situation. “But you’re here,” she pointed out. When I narrowed my eyes at her, she just smiled an angelic smile.

Huffing, I jumped off the edge of the bed. “I’ll see you later, then.” Kyle made a halfhearted attempt to grab my arm, to stop me from leaving, but missed. I was becoming predictable.

They knew I would be back.

“Later, Baby,” Dave called after me. Later, Baby, indeed.