Summer of Supernovas (22 page)

I study his intense expression, full lips pressed together as he works. More squeaks follow, until he’s satisfied and drops his arm. I turn to read the message he’s written in the condensation above my head:

YOU. JUST YOU
.

He only wants me. More emotions than I can name go flooding through me. Weeks ago I sought to find love, love and universal synchronicity. Which has been impossible with the steady dance of doubt and uncertainty shadowing my thoughts. But tonight, with Seth…

I think I’m finally sure. “Just you, Seth. That’s all I want, too.”

He smiles, and it’s as bright as the moon hanging in the inky sky. He gathers me in his arms and I feel the elation in his kiss. It makes me happy to be the one to put it there.

More minutes pass and his cell beeps. It beeps again.

And again.

I turn my head in the direction of the noise. “Seth?” He’s totally oblivious. I can’t fathom how. “Are you going to get that?”

“What?” he rasps.

“Your phone. Don’t you hear it?”

“Wil,” he chuckles, “I don’t hear anything when I’m with you like this.” But he groans and finally moves away.

I take the opportunity to tug my dress back into place.

Gradually I become aware of how he’s gripping the phone. He curses under his breath as he taps out a response, and sends the phone clattering into the cup holder.

“What?” I ask with sudden alertness. I sit upright.

The headlights blaze and he’s throwing the Lexus in reverse, barreling through the parking lot.

I scramble to fasten my seat belt. “Seth, what’s going on? What’s wrong?”

His sole focus is the road. And his hands are wringing the life out of the steering wheel. “You missed curfew.”

Oh God. The glowing clock on the dash informs me I’ve
missed
curfew by over half an hour. It’ll be almost an hour by the time I get home. This is bad, real bad, but doesn’t explain Seth’s explosive reaction. His phone lights up with another text.

Seth grabs it, scowling once more. “And my punk brother needs a lesson in boundaries.”

“Your brother?” What could Grant possibly have to do with this? I thought we’d passed that obstacle. Beyond freaked, I snatch my cell—still muted from the movie—and listen to the messages. It’s worse than I thought. Gram’s voice is fraught with worry and desperate to know my whereabouts. And she has managed to enlist the help of the
one person
I wished she hadn’t…

Grant.

Any assurances Seth had about the nature of our relationship seem to dissipate like his writing on the glass.

“S-Seth,” I stammer, “I don’t even know how Gram got his number. It must’ve been Saturday, when—”

“Don’t.” His hand pushes irritably through his hair as he stops at a light.

We ride in uncomfortable silence until we’re less than a mile from my street, and finally I have to broach the question. “Are we…are things between us still…?” Between being unnerved by Seth’s reaction, and unnerved by what Gram’s reaction
will
be, I can’t seem to articulate the question.

But I can tell he sees what I’m driving at, despite my ineffective, floundering words. Seth rubs his fingers over his temple. “I don’t know, Wil. I really hate this back-and-forth vibe. It’s like I’m constantly wondering what’s going on in your head. One second you’re kissing me and it seems like you’re into it, and the next…I don’t know. It’s like you’re there, but not.”

I wish I could refute that, but before tonight, my head
was
in a vicious tug-of-war. I just didn’t realize I’ve been so transparent.

Seth exhales. “Honestly, the only way I see this working between us is if you’re willing to do one thing.”

“Anything.” And I mean it. I’d do anything to reassure him of my feelings for him. “Anything, Seth.”

“Don’t see Grant anymore.”

Anything except that.

“But…we’re friends,” I croak. The car interior spins around me. “You can’t ask—”

“I like you, Wil,” Seth plows on. “I really,
really
like you. But if we’re gonna have any kind of shot at this, you can’t keep seeing him, even as friends. I think it just…
confuses
things.”

I stare at my hands clutching my purse. Wait a sec, is my Sagittarius giving me an ultimatum? He can’t mean it. He just
can’t.
Because a true soul mate would never do that. Right?

“It’s not his fault Gram called him,” I deflect.

Seth pulls into my driveway, where the vehicle idles more calmly than the situation. “Wil, please…” He starts to reach for my hand when the porch light flicks on.

Gram appears at the screen door; her anger shifts the tectonic plates.

My mind instantly turns to the heap of trouble I’m about to face.

“Not now.” I pull away, wrenching open the door. “I gotta go.”

“D
on’t be nervous,” I tell my reflection. I dust on some powder to dull the pink in my cheeks. “Go downstairs, say good night, and don’t make unnecessary chitchat. Babbling will only give you away. Okay? Okay.” I blow out a rattling breath, and grab the overnight bag stuffed with my green dress, heels, and a bottle of Downy Wrinkle Releaser.

For the first time in eleven years…I am out-and-out lying to my grandmother.

I mean, technically, I
will
stay the night at Irina’s. But first we’re going to Tristan’s party on the east side. Which is the part I don’t mention to Gram, the part I
won’t
mention to Gram. Even under threat of torture.

It’s been four days of atonement since my date with Seth, when we kissed until my lips went numb before the whole night went to crap, plunging us into a relationship no-man’s-land. And if questioning our status wasn’t awful enough, I also broke curfew by fifty-two minutes.

Curfew. The
one
thing Gram’s an absolute stickler for. Oh, and don’t think she didn’t voice her disapproval of any boy who doesn’t have the proper respect and courtesy to get a girl home at a reasonable hour.
Lord have mercy!
The incident had Grant rising even higher than he already was in Gram’s estimation. Grant would never do this and Grant would’ve done that…I checked my ears twice for bleeding.

Overnight my grandmother flipped from trusting me completely to being convinced I’d follow in my mother’s footsteps.

Seventeen and knocked up.

No amount of pleading has swayed her. The irony, of course, being you actually have to
have
sex to get pregnant.

But with only eight calendar days remaining, and June slipping like water through my fingers, I’ve got to do everything in my power to right things with Seth.

So I’m lying to Gram.

Irina arrives, Natasha’s headlights panning across the living room, making my palms slick with sweat. I breeze over to the armchair where Gram’s tucked under an afghan, reading. “I’ll be home by noon. Okay?”

“All right, Mena.” She kisses my cheek. “I suppose you’ve done more than enough chores this week to earn a relaxing movie night with Irina.” Yeah, in addition to house arrest and having my phone confiscated, chores have been my other punishment. Mildew removal, dandelion genocide, and oven-scouring to name a few. “Go have fun,” Gram adds with a pat on my cheek.

I avert my eyes so she doesn’t see the untruth burning inside them. “Thanks, I will.” I practically sprint to the hall.

“And, Mena?” I freeze at the door, positive she smells the stink of dishonesty roiling off me. “Love you, child.”

My chin drops to my chest. I am pond scum, the absolute sludge of humanity. “Love you, too. G’night, Gram.”

Dashing down the front steps, I yank open the passenger door, tossing my bag in the back, and myself in the front.

Irina’s arched brow strains higher. “Where do you think you’re going dressed like that?” She’s wearing a short, form-fitting dress, with tights that remind me of black cobwebs, and her trademark neck-break heels.

I glance at my silk pajama bottoms and threadbare T-shirt featuring all the constellations. I push up my glasses. “Curio’s.”

She flicks the curtain of blond hair over her shoulder, resting a hand on the gearshift. “You want to go eat hamburgers in your pajamas,” Iri deadpans.

Curio’s is a regular haunt for much of the Inkporium crew. Everyone knows us, which meant no one would bat an eye if I hogged the bathroom for the time it took to finish getting ready.

“Look, Gram thinks we’re having a girls’ night in. I haven’t seen Seth or talked to him in four whole days, and there’s no way she’d let me go to this party with how she’s been acting.” I pull down the visor and start removing the clips that held my waves as they dried. “I just need to change and slap on a little makeup. Come on, I’ll even spring for the first round of fries.” I add the last bit because Iri can’t resist fries. They’re her Achilles’ heel, and Curio’s has the best in the Northern Hemisphere.

“Sold.” She jams Natasha in reverse.

Night’s fallen; the winding torch-lit path illuminates the immaculate grounds of the three-story mansion. And the east-side grass isn’t just greener; it’s softer, like walking on rolling carpets of velvet.

The distant noise of the party grows louder.

“Quit fussing, it looks perfect,” Iri says, prompting me to drop my hand from the hair I’ve been fiddling with. She sighs as I tug at my hem. “Wil, you used a gallon of that wrinkle-repellent stuff on your dress. I swear to God, that dress should be doing the walking for us. Why are you so nervous?”

“Besides the obvious conniving and lying to Gram?” I glance up at the drifting clouds. “It’s…I’m running out of time, Iri.”

“You are not.” She slaps a mosquito on her arm and gives it a disdainful flick. “Just because you haven’t been able to talk to Seth doesn’t mean he’s written you off.”

“I guess,” I reply, unable to break my gaze from where Mercury was visible a couple weeks earlier. If only the planet was within my view now, I’d be telepathically sucking out all the intelligence and communication energies it’s known for. “But what am I supposed to do if Grant comes? It wouldn’t exactly help the situation.”

Iri sniffs. “Of course Grant will be here, he’s in what’s-his-face’s band.”

“Tristan.” She gives me a funny look. “What’s-his-face,” I add, exasperated, “the one throwing this party?”

“Well, whatever. Seth having a raging case of jealousy doesn’t give him authority to pick your friends—
ever.
” Iri plucks a white flower from a bush as we pass, sniffing it, then discarding it over her shoulder.

“I don’t think that’s how he meant it, Iri. And, anyway, if we’re still a thing”—my gut twinges on the “if”—“I can’t realistically avoid Grant.” I release a heavy sigh. “I just wish Seth and I had the chance to sort this out—preparty—you know? So I knew where things stood.”

“Where things
stood
?” She laughs. “Wasn’t it obvious from your time in his car? Unless he wasn’t—”

“Oh, ha-ha.” I bump against her. “I’ll have you know our time together was
very
satisfactory.”

Irina’s expression turns grave. “
Satisfactory?
Jesus, tell me that’s not how you’d describe kissing him.”

“No, I was—” But I don’t get the chance to defend my thoughtless word choice.

Shouts ring out in the night.

Charging over the crest of the path is a pair of Vikings—literally, two guys clad in Viking helmets and faux-fur undies. So Seth wasn’t exaggerating. A trio of girls race up behind the half-naked warriors, shrieking and giggling as they mercilessly hose them with Super Soakers. Tristan warned the party wouldn’t be at full throttle until much later.

It is only nine-thirty.

Lights strung high above the network of patios light the raucous scene below. Nestled in the far patio is a stone fire pit large enough for a virgin sacrifice; outdoor chairs and couches cluster around it. We stand, mouths gaping, staring at the nearest patio, which serves as the dance floor and bar. An enormous pool with a slate waterfall lies between them. The waterfall is backlit with constantly changing lights that glitter on the pool’s surface.

Iri lets out a low whistle. “Who are these people, the Trumps?”