Part 21 (1/2)

Dean ignores me, letting my teasing roll off him like water off a duck's back. But Ben chuckles, elbowing him in the ribs.

”I always had a feeling about you two. The s.e.xual tension between y'all is ridiculous.”

My eyes meet Dean's, and I burst out laughing. ”Right. All that fighting and cold silences were just foreplay.”

”Big time,” Ben agrees with a sly look at Dean. ”You do like living dangerously, Youngblood. s.h.i.+t, man, you keep playing with someone else's toys, you're gonna get caught.”

To my surprise, Dean smirks back at him. ”I'm not gonna get caught.”

I don't know what they're talking about, but I'm certain it doesn't have anything to do with me. Which is why I'm letting that 'someone else's toys' comment go. I wonder what secrets Ben knows about Dean, though.

I decide to change the subject before curiosity gets the better of me. ”Ben, have you seen my friend, Heather?”

”You mean the drunk redhead glued to Sloane's a.s.s? Can't exactly miss her when she's going around telling everyone she's the president of the Itty Bitty t.i.tty Club.”

”Oh noooo,” I groan. ”I have to go.”

Trying to run while putting my sandals on, I hop awkwardly away. d.a.m.n it, Heather! I warned her, and she just-grrr!

I briefly entertain visions of dragging Heather away by her hair while she shrieks like a tea kettle. It would have been perfectly acceptable in caveman times, according to the movies. If only.

I find Heather in a circle of people near one of the bonfires. One of the girls is Arianna, and I'm annoyed to find them giggling together. Sloane stands on the other side of Heather, and she appears to be listening to whatever fascinating story the drunk redhead is recounting animatedly. Gosh, I wish I could rent her out at parties. I would make a fortune.

The group's mood sours as soon as I intrude, mostly due to Arianna's glare. What is that girl's problem? I pull Heather away to scold her about breaking her promise not to get drunk. She's irritated with me for interrupting her moment with Sloane, but I don't care. I resolve to shadow her every movement for the rest of the night.

It goes downhill quickly after that. I manage to catch the attention of one of the many drunk and h.o.r.n.y guys roaming the party like stray dogs. Not only does he grab my b.o.o.b and try to hump me from behind-he does this in front of Johnny, who at his most sober, is not known for his Zen-like control. He body slams the drunk pervert to the ground and proceeds to beat his face in.

Three guys I don't recognize try to pull Johnny off the guy, but it's not happening. Finally, Mack and Nick come to the rescue, wrestling the beaten guy out from under him. The drunk guy makes it only a few stumbling feet before he falls into the sand ,bawling loudly. No one seems to notice, and the party continues on. I try to help the guy out by getting him some ice and a towel-and while I'm cleaning him up, he tries to go for the b.o.o.b again! What the h.e.l.l?! I just can't.

By the time our group is willing to call it a night, Dean and I are the only sober ones left. Jason and Ryan decide to spend the night at Mark's along with several other kids, so it's Mack in the pa.s.senger seat, and Nick and Heather leaning against each other and snoring away in the middle. Johnny and I are alone in the back, and it doesn't take him long to find out I'm not wearing a bra. Even smashed out of his mind, he's still irresistible. Fortunately, the memory of him beating some guy to a b.l.o.o.d.y pulp is still fresh in my mind, and I have no problem yanking his hands out of my dress. Besides, I'm not down with exhibitionism, and I never understood how couples could just make out at parties in full view of everyone else. Aren't the girls afraid it would end up on the internet?

The drive back seems to last hours. When we finally arrive at my house, Heather refuses to get out of the car. She wraps her arms around the headrest and keeps shouting, ”porque, porque!” I have to repeatedly pinch the fleshy underside of her upper arm to make her let go. Finally, Dean swings her into his arms like she's a little kid, and offers to carry her in the house. But I see the flickering light of the television through our big picture window, indicating my mother's home and awake. I decline his offer and tow Heather up the front walk by myself. If we fell into the bushes planted by the porch, I'll never tell.

Chapter 19.

I'm getting ready to go to Dad's when my phone rings. I stare at the screen in disbelief before answering.

”How do you still have your phone?” I demand by way of greeting. ”How are you not chained to a post in the bas.e.m.e.nt?”

”I am awesome,” Heather replies after a short pause and a strange hissing sound. ”The only thing I'm in trouble for is puking on Barney Cat. I'm bathing him right now.”

I fold my favorite blue hoodie and stick it in my bag. ”Okay, how?” I'm not asking about the cat.

I can practically hear the shrug in her voice. ”I told them someone spiked the punch at our pajama party. And since I've never had a drop of alcohol in my innocent life, how was I to know that the foul taste was the liquid devil?”

”What?! They bought it? I'm so rolling my eyes right now.”

”I know. I can practically see it.” Heather laughs her goofy good-natured laugh. ”So, I think I blacked out a little last night, 'cause I really don't remember what happened after we left the party. Wanna fill in some of the blanks for me?”

I sigh, flopping back on my bed. ”You pa.s.sed out in the car, snoring like a chainsaw all the way back to my place-where you refused to get out of the car. You kept saying 'el' instead of 'the' and it was really obnoxious. Mom was up when we got home, and she looked you over, and made you drink about a gallon of water before she drove you home. Wait, she didn't say anything to your parents?”

”She didn't even come in the house. Oh, my G.o.d,” Heather mumbles, her voice unnaturally quiet. ”Your mom drove me home? I kind of...I think I remember some of it. Was she wearing a blue sweater last night? I may have tried to lick her arm. I may have tried to hit on her.”

”How did it go with Sloane?” I ask, deciding to change the subject. Anything to erase the image of Heather's tongue on my mother.

Menacing growls sound erupt from Heather's side. ”Um...good, I think,” she pants. It sounds like she's on the move. ”I got her number. We talked a lot last night. She's really-Barney Cat, no!”

I wait patiently, unwrapping a piece of gum and popping it into my mouth as I listen to the splashes and screams coming through my phone's speaker. There's a huge thud, and then something that sounds like a whip being cracked. Heather suddenly lets loose a string of profanity so exotic, I know she must've borrowed them from her Uncle Josiah.

”I'll text you later, Heather!” I yell into the phone. ”I gotta go to my dad's now!”

”Okay!” she yells back through the splas.h.i.+ng. ”Call me when you find out why Mich.e.l.le's being so weird!”

”I will! Talk to you later! Ow!”

Unearthly screams and cras.h.i.+ng sounds have me quickly pulling the phone away from my ear. I stab the end call b.u.t.ton, and breathe a sigh of relief.

I was worried that Heather would be mad at me for turning her in, but it's not like she got in trouble, anyway, d.a.m.n it. I can't believe Mom didn't say anything to the Joneses. She didn't ask me what happened last night, just checked me to see if I had been drinking. When she was satisfied that I was completely sober, she left with Heather without a word. I even hung out in the living room, waiting for her to get back to see if she would blast me for being at a party where there was obviously drinking. But no, when she came back, she stuck her head in and asked me to turn off the television, then headed upstairs without another word. I thought for sure I'd be grounded until graduation. Maybe this is some kind of reverse psychology ploy?

She's still in bed when I'm ready to go, so I just stick my head in her room to tell her I'm leaving. I also let her know that there's a pot roast in the fridge. I get some kind of weird grunt in response. I fear the zombie apocalypse, because how will I know my mother's turned until she bites my nose off?

Luckily, Dad is a little more animated. We play a new board game he picked up-until he reads one of the cards piled on the board, and realizes the game is made for couples.

It's a s.e.x game. I'm gonna hurl.

”I'm sorry,” Dad mutters, red-faced. ”It-it said it would be fun for college-aged kids, so I thought...oh, G.o.d. Sorry.”

”It's okay,” I rea.s.sure him, picking up the box and examining the s.e.xy young couple entwined on the front. ”Anyone could have made that mistake. I think I have to vomit. I'll be back.”

”Okay, well, don't forget we're going to dinner with your aunt and uncle in forty-five minutes.”

Oh, thank G.o.d. ”Sure.”

I can't wait to see Mich.e.l.le. I strip off my faded gray t-s.h.i.+rt in favor of a nicer sapphire blue one, then check to make sure the braids I'm sporting doesn't make my head look too big. Hm, not too bad, I guess. I grab my phone, and I'm ready to go.

We meet Mich.e.l.le and Uncle Derek at s.h.i.+n.o.bu's, an expensive j.a.panese restaurant overlooking the water. Normally, I love j.a.panese food, but my stomach is too twisted in knots to eat much of anything. I'm certain they're going to announce their divorce. Derek avoids eye contact, and every time Mich.e.l.le opens her mouth, she looks like she wants to scream. Even Dad knows something's up. We exchange a couple of nervous glances before he pretends to be preoccupied with using his chopsticks to pick up the pickled ginger on his plate.

”Derek bought this s.h.i.+rt for me,” Mich.e.l.le says into the awkward silence. Her perfectly plucked eyebrows are twitching madly, poor thing.

I smile gently at her. ”That's great. Uh...”

She leans an elbow on the table and props her head against it. I can see her sneaking a glance at Derek. He returns her look, frustrated. G.o.d, I wish they would just spit it out, so I can tell them what a terrible mistake they're about to make. It's that stupid guy's fault-the one who sent her the lingerie. Did she have an affair with him? Ugh, she should have known- Mich.e.l.le suddenly slams a hand down on the table, rattling the dishes, and causing me to jump in my seat.

”Oh, for G.o.d's sake!” she exclaims. ”You two-dingbats! Read my s.h.i.+rt!”

What? My eyes drop down to her chest.