09 | knight in neverland-4

"I sure as hell hope so. But we might need backup. Just in case." Ean seemed to share my sentiments for he nodded quickly. "I'll get Jake and the others from the jet ski place, I think they might be willing to help." I grinned and gave him a huge hug, to which he hastily shrugged off in embarrassment. "Thanks. Anyway, it's free flow of alcohol, what's not to like?" Ean jogged off, leaving Miles and me behind. I was just about to lead Miles back to the shack, knowing that Greg and my other friends were probably still there, stuffing their faces with my Mom's homemade tacos. But Miles pulled me back, before glancing down at me worriedly. "You alright?" "I'm alright, why wouldn't I be?" I replied, a little too quickly. His gaze sharpened, like he'd detected something rather off-ish in my tone, but didn't probe more. Instead, he smiled softly and said, "Ean told me you brought all these people down to the beach specially for this round. So thank you." "Don't thank me. Thank Greg and the others when you see them." ▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ I should've figured that Ean had some ulterior motive for being so nice. After all, while he was generally a nice person, he offered his help far too readily that day. So much so that by the time the ten minutes was up, Ean returned with about twenty other people in tow. Majority of them were familiar faces, people both Ean and I knew for years now. There was Jake and his workers from the jet ski place. Martha, who ran the diner some distance away, and two of her waitresses plus a couple of her customers. Some lifeguards and regular beach-goers. I was just about to fling my arms around Ean and kiss the very ground he walked on, when he opened his big mouth and said; "These people will help Miles only if I get to drink." Greg, Keith and Miles, all of whom were standing close enough to hear, began to laugh in amusement. I, on the other hand, was far less amused. "No freaking way," I returned flatly. "You're only fifteen. It's illegal." Ean's reply came swift and quick. "You're nineteen. You can't drink either." He had a point. And either way, no matter what anyone said, I was helping Miles and I was going to drink. Eventually, after a moment of internal debate, I gave up. "Only one sip. The second you take a second taste I'm going to tell Dad." "Okay, mom." Scowling at him, I turned back to Miles, who was standing next to the table. He seemed rather overwhelmed by the number of tequila bottles stacked in rows on the table. I gave his arm a reassuring squeeze. "Don't worry. We've got your back." He smiled, looking rather relieved. I knew he was still nervous, however. His hands were braced on the edge of the table, eyes alert as he watched Hank pace around. The next round was starting in less than a minute, all Hank needed to do was to blow the whistle. It was different watching from the side-lines and actually participating. Watching was passive. Like a wallflower, never to take part in the excitement, always seeing but not being a part of. Participating had a certain appeal, a sense of competitiveness that one simply couldn't help but partake in. And as I stood there, in the few moments before it all began, I eventually understood how the Hell Weeks could be dangerously alluring if one allowed it to be. And it was on this note that the Seven Minutes in Hell began. The second Hank blew the whistle, Miles and I sprang into action. Pulling my Wavelength cap backwards over my head, I focused on handing out the bottles, making sure not to pass one to Ean even though he stretched out a willing hand to me. But Callum, like the absolute idiot he was, slyly passed Ean a bottle. And before I knew it, my brother was taking his first ever sip of tequila. He choked as the liquid seeped down his throat, eyes watering briefly before he tipped the bottle to his lips again. With a horrified shriek, I grabbed the bottle away from him before he could take a second gulp. "You are not turning into an alcoholic in front of me!" I exclaimed, when Ean reached out for it again. Beside us, Greg and Callum were practically killing themselves with laughter and I scowled at the latter. "How could you?" Callum's lips curled up in an amused smirk. "He'll have to learn to drink sooner or later anyway." "Oh, really?" I deadpanned, before handing the bottle to the pretty brunette beside him. Callum had begrudgingly introduced us earlier, after many incessant demands on my part. "Here, Scout, you drink this." A wicked gleam appeared in Scout's eyes and she took the bottle from me before lifting it to her lips. She winced as she drank, obviously not used to the taste of it. The expression of unfiltered concern on Callum's face was almost too good to be true. "Don't get yourself drunk, Scout." In all the years I'd known Callum, I'd never seen him worry about someone like that before. The sight of that was thoroughly amusing, even more amusing when Scout returned the bottle to me before saying to him, "I'll be fine, you loser." Holding back a laugh when Callum shot me a scowl, I returned to Miles's side. He was still on his first bottle, which was just the way I wanted it to be, since I didn't want him to get drunk. I smiled when he set the bottle down, taking a deep breath as the liquid burned its way down his throat. "Take it easy. You're going to get through anyway." He didn't have to glance around to know that I was right. The other boys hadn't as much people as we had. And the boy standing in the far end, the one with the blue polka-dotted shorts, didn't stand a chance. "Thanks Darcy," Miles murmured, softly. I nodded, and as he tipped the bottle to his lips again, I threaded my fingers through his other hand, giving him a reassuring squeeze. After a brief moment's pause, his fingers intertwined with mine. He didn't let go.