Kids These Days

Chapter 28: Finn

"You've got to be kidding me. Are you hungover right now?"

We find Ronan at dawn, sprawled across a pool chair behind the Super 8 motel. He's holding a half-empty bottle of cheap champagne and sporting a pair of tinted aviators. His black hair is as spiky as ever and his Judas Priest graphic tee is stained with -- is that blood?

"I'm not hungover," Ronan says, taking a swig of champagne. "I'm drunk."

I fight the urge to smack the bottle out of his hands. "What the hell is going on with you, man? Becca and I have been looking for you for hours. Apparently, Oliver is missing -- which we would've found out a lot sooner if you actually came back to the ranch last night, like you were supposed to!"

"Hey, Fish?"

"You know I hate it when you call me that."

"Yeah, I know. How's the view from that high fuckin' horse of yours?"

I'm highly considering confiscating his champagne now, but Becca beats me to it. She snatches the bottle and drops it in the trash next to the wooden gates. (Thankfully, it's too early for anyone at the motel to witness this charade -- our only spectator is the lonely duck floatie drifting around in the algae-green pool.) "I don't know what shit you're dealing with right now, Lockwood, and quite honestly, I don't care. You need to pull it together and help us search for Oliver."

Ronan adjusts his sunglasses and procures a shooter of Southern Comfort, seemingly out of thin air, and throws it back before either of us can intervene. "Help you? Yeah, I think I've already done my part. Fuck off."

"Where did you even get so much alcohol?" I ask. (At this point, I wouldn't be surprised to hear he robbed a liquor store.) "There's no way you pass as twenty-one."

Ronan procures a plastic card from his pocket. It's a driver's license, listing his name as Joey Ryde, and his birthday as April 1st, 1968. He's smirking in the photo. Of course.

"That sounds like a stripper name," I say, tossing the fake ID in his face.

Ronan just laughs. I swear, it's the most infuriating sound in the world.

"Are you high?" I demand, reaching for his sunglasses. He swats my hand away with impressive coordination for someone who has been on a night-long bender. "Seriously, what the hell is wrong with you? You're being ridiculous!"

I make a second attempt at his sunglasses, and Ronan twists away so fast, he topples off the pool chair. He hooks a shoe around my leg as he falls, taking me down with him. With a not-so muffled curse, I hit the ground, scraping my knee on the "NO DIVING" tile. "Son of a bitch!" I try to grab the sunglasses again, and he rewards me with an elbow to the gut. "You -- bastard -- stop hitting me!"

I haven't tussled with anyone like this since Sarah and I used to have wrestling matches over who got the last Strawberry Shortcake bar. Ronan fights just as dirty as I expected, splashing chlorinated pool water in my face until I'm blinded. "Get off me, Fish!"

"Give me the goddamn sunglasses first!"

Becca groans and slaps a hand against her forehead. "I'm surrounded by idiots."

Finally, I manage to wrench the sunglasses away, leaping to my feet before Ronan can claw them back. He covers his eyes with his hands. "I won, asshole. Stop messing around."

"Wow, I'm the asshole now? Screw you, Murphy!"

Ronan rams me with his shoulder like a linebacker, and we both crash into the pool. For a few bewildering moments, all I can see are streams of air bubbles and a haze of murky green. Then I burst to the surface, gasping for breath.