Where You'll Find Me (11 page)

Chapter Fifteen

The outfit I select for the party is one of my favorites—my newest dark-wash skinny jeans with a sheer, long-sleeve boatneck shirt that shows off my neck and shoulders. Straightened hair and dramatic makeup complete the look.

Call me conceited, but I look
good
.

My parents go to bed around 10:00. Once Dad is snoring, I sneak into their room, thankful that the door is not in need of WD40 and also that the carpeted floors are sans squeaky boards. My heart races the closer I get to my parents’ bed, or more importantly, the green glow of the clock on the nightstand.

With careful fingers, I feel around for the “alarm off” button. My worst fear is that I’ll accidentally hit the “play” button to make the radio start blaring. If I can pull this off, they’ll never be able to prove it was me. If I can’t pull it off, I might end up in boarding school.

Finding what I hope and pray is the right button, I press it and watch as the “Alarm 1” light on the display disappears. My sigh of relief is too loud, but Dad keeps snoring and Mom doesn’t stir. I turn off the second alarm and tiptoe out of the room, leaving my parents sound asleep. It’s too easy, really. I should have tried this a long time ago.

In the garage, I turn on the light. “Nate?”

“Hanley?”

My name sounds better on his lips than it does on anyone else’s. When I reach the Trans Am, he’s sitting with a suspiciously familiar flashlight and his copy of
The Perks of Being a Wallflower
. He dog-ears the page he’s on, puts the flashlight and book in his backpack, then shoves the backpack under the car. “Stealing our flashlight?” I ask.

“I like to call it ‘borrowing.’” He stands and looks me over, head to toe. “You look incredible.”

“Thanks. You’re not so bad yourself.” He’s wearing a different shirt, not the plain white T-shirts or hooded sweatshirt I’ve seen him in before. This is a button-up shirt, and it looks really, really good on him. “New shirt?”

His smile widens to reveal his crooked front tooth. “Bought it a couple of hours ago, actually.”

I run a finger over the soft fabric on his chest, where the shirt is showing through his unzipped jacket. “I like it.”

“While we’re liking things…” He leans in and presses his lips to mine. As my eyes fall shut, I melt into him. He kisses like it’s the first and the last time we’ll ever kiss. Always. He kisses his way down my neck to where the Petoskey stone rests against my skin. Lifting the stone, he blows a breath of cool air against the uncovered skin before pressing his lips there, too. Goose bumps spread over my skin. “Are you sure about this whole ‘party’ thing?” he asks, voice deep and soft.

It takes all of my effort not to say “no” and spend the rest of the night right here with him. After one last kiss, I force myself away and say, “Yes. It’s going to be great. Let’s go.”

When we arrive at the end of the subdivision, Misty’s van is already waiting.

“Nice ride,” Nate observes.

“Oh, it gets better. Just wait until you’re inside. Hey,” I say, opening the door and crawling in, bypassing my usual seat for the one next to it. I knock hangers and clothes and for some reason, tennis balls on the ground so we can both sit.

“Hey, late girl,” Rosalinda says.

“Like thirty seconds late,” I argue. Nate sits down and closes the sliding door behind him. “Rosalinda, Misty, you remember Nate?”

“Hey,” Nate says. “Nice to see both of you again.”

Rosalinda spins so that she’s facing him. “You, too.” She’s a bit too enthusiastic and winks at me. Dork.

Nate pats the side of his seat. “No seat belts?”

“I’m pretty sure this beast was made before the seat belt law went into effect,” Misty says, turning onto the main road. “Are you two ready for tonight? It’s going to be epic.”

“Whose house is this at again?” I ask.

“Brock,” Rosalinda answers. “I don’t know his last name, but he’s the senior who threw that foam party this summer. Remember?”

Just barely.

“Foam party?” Nate asks, eyebrows raised.

“Yeah…it’s exactly like it sounds. Works best in the summer when bikinis are appropriate attire. I don’t think tonight’s party is themed, right?”

“No,” Rosalinda answers. “Unless you count multiple kegs as a theme. Do you drink, Nate?”

Nate shrugs. “A little.”

“Perfect.” Rosalinda grins, turning back to face the front of the vehicle.

“So, Nate, which school did you say you go to?” Misty asks.

For a second, I panic. We should have come up with a backstory. Luckily, he doesn’t have to answer the question because Rosalinda shouts out, “Misty, turn there,” when the street is almost behind us.

Misty whips the wheel, and the van makes a dramatic turn to the right, sending water bottles and trash everywhere. Nate slides partway off his seat, crashing into me. “Sorry,” Misty says, laughing. “I forgot.”

“Sorry, Nate,” Rosalinda says. “We should have warned you to hold on with this girl driving.”

“Hey,” Misty says, “you can walk. I’ll pull this van over right now and…”

“No,” Rosalinda says. “Sorry. I didn’t mean it.”

While they argue, Nate slides back to his own seat. “That’s right,” I say, tapping his knee. “Get away from me. Keep your hands to yourself.”

He leans in so only I can hear and says, “I don’t plan on it.”

I grin as Rosalinda calls out, “We’re here,” dragging both words out longer than necessary.

This place is vaguely familiar. It’s a huge house, bigger and fancier than the one I live in. There are cars lining both sides of the street and people pouring in and out of the front door. Some I recognize, many I don’t. Some are drunk already, some are just arriving.

Nate opens the van door and steps out. “Wow,” he says, looking up at the house.

“Yeah. Brock’s family is kind of rich, I guess.”

“I’d say so.”

“You ready, lovebirds?” Rosalinda asks, looking over her shoulder. She and Misty are already a few steps ahead.

“Lead the way,” Nate says, taking my hand. My fingers intertwine with his, a perfect fit.

Inside, the party is in full swing. The music is loud enough to shake the floor, and the lights are dim.

People are dancing, drinking, laughing, yelling. A group is playing strip poker in one corner of the room. There are a couple of makeshift beer pong tables set up. In the kitchen, the counter has been turned into a giant flip cup platform. Nate doesn’t let go of my hand. I feel different with him here. Important. Special.

It’s warm, and I wish I would have left my fleece in the car. With Nate’s heavy jacket, I know he’s got to be dying. “It’s hot in here,” I say, standing on my tiptoes and leaning close so he can hear.

“It is,” he agrees, releasing my hand to unzip his jacket.

I nod to a chair in the corner of the kitchen. “I’ll put our coats over there.”

When he takes off his jacket, the shirt underneath is tight in all the right places, and I can’t help but smile.

After depositing our jackets on the chair, I hurry back to Nate, who is standing at the keg with Rosalinda and Misty. Misty already has a cup in hand. Nate fills a cup for Rosalinda, then one for me and one for himself. “Cheers,” he says, holding out his red plastic cup.

“Cheers.” Our cups give the plastic equivalent of a
clink
.

“Ooo!” Rosalinda says. “Beer pong table is open! Let’s play. Me and Misty against you two.”

“Have you ever played before?” I yell to Nate as we set up.

He shrugs. “A few times.” He rolls up his sleeves, revealing the muscles in his forearms.

“Are you any good?” Rosalinda asks from across the table.

“Terrible,” he says, but somehow I don’t believe him.

And I’m right. Turns out, Nate is awesome at beer pong. We kick ass and take names. Actually, he kicks ass, and I cheer him on. Rosalinda and Misty have only knocked out two cups, and we only have one left.

“You got this,” I say, happy and buzzed. Even though we’re winning, it doesn’t mean I haven’t been drinking.

“I know,” Nate says easily. He’s only had one drink, but seems to be having a good time as well.

“Just one left. No pressure.”

“None at all.” He takes a deep breath and shakes out his arms, like he’s warming up for a sporting event of some kind.

“Miss it, miss it, miss it,” Misty chants from the other side of the table.

Nate holds the ping pong ball in front of his face, like he’s holding up a miniature bowling ball. His eyes are focused and intense. I clamp a hand over my mouth to keep from laughing.

“Miss it, miss it, miss it,” Rosalinda adds to the chorus, fist-pumping on every “it.”

Nate winds up and releases the ball. It makes a perfect arc into the lone plastic cup.

“Yeah,” I cheer, going in for a hug when he turns to me.

Instead, he scoops me up, twirling me around once before setting me down. He plants a quick kiss on my lips, and I taste beer and ChapStick. This is exactly what I wanted for tonight—Nate warm and smiling and by my side.

“Rematch?” Rosalinda asks, setting the cups up. “Best of three?”

I look to Nate, eyebrows raised. He holds up his empty cup. “I need more.” Then he turns toward the makeshift dance floor that is taking up most of the living room. “Actually…do you want to dance?”

By normal standards, I’m not drunk enough to dance yet. But today? The prospect of dancing with Nate? Of being close to him? It’s kind of appealing. So I nod. “I think we’re going to dance for a while,” I yell.

“Okay,” Rosalinda says, a knowing look in her eyes. “We’ll meet you out there later.” Then she turns to two terribly drunk guys standing nearby and motions to the beer pong table. One of the guys falls down on his way to his side of the table. I think Rosalinda and Misty might have a better shot at winning their second game.

“Come on,” Nate says, leading me over to the keg. He fills both of our cups.

“Having a good time?”

“Absolutely. And it’s about to get even better.” He twirls me in a way that straddles the line between corny and perfect, and leads me onto the makeshift dance floor. I take another swig of beer. The first few minutes of dancing, before alcohol takes over, are always awkward. To speed the awkwardness reduction along, I down the rest of my beer, which makes me burp.

Nate laughs. “Easy, killer.”

In response, I take the half-full beer out of his hand and down the rest of that, too. I burp again and toss the cups aside.

He’s smiling when he says, “You’re too much, you know that?”

“If you say so.”

The awkwardness passes quickly. Nate’s dancing is confident and assured, and I can’t say I’m surprised. He pulls me close enough that the inches between us disappear. His hands rest low on my waist. We move to the deafening beat in synch. At one point, someone spills beer on my shirt, but I laugh, and we keep dancing.

We stay like that until we’re both sweating and out of breath. When a song ends, I plant a kiss on his lips and say, “I’m not drunk enough. And I’m hot. Want to get another beer?”

He nods and follows me as we squeeze between people, toward the keg. His hand is on the small of my back the entire time, like he craves the connection between us as much as I do. It’s my turn to fill two cups, and I drink like it’s water. It’s quieter over here, with the speakers pointing away from us.

“You’re not such a bad dancer,” I say, wiping the back of my mouth with my hand.

“You either.” He uses his free hand to pull me closer.

Someone taps me on the shoulder. The girl is vaguely familiar, but I can’t figure out why.

“Hanley?” she asks. She’s wearing short shorts and a tank top, and her long blond hair is sweaty.

“Yeah?”

“Ohmygod, I thought that was you. Do you remember me?”

As I shake my head, I get a terrible feeling in the pit of my stomach. Warning bells sound in my mind.

“I’m Crystal. I was a year ahead of you at Sterling Middle.”

“Oh. Yeah. Nice to see you.” I turn and try to lead Nate away before she can say anything else.

But I’m too late.

“Hey, weren’t you friends with that girl? What was her name? Kayla? Weren’t you, like, her best friend?”

Instantly, my heart is at my throat, and my eyes are burning. Memories strike too hard and too fast: Kayla and I in matching Halloween costumes. Attending our first junior high school dance. Spending so many hours in her pool that our fingers pruned. Me at her funeral. Her in the casket with coral lip gloss she never would have worn.

“I heard a rumor that she didn’t really take pills like everyone said. I heard she shot herself. Is it true? Were you there the night she died?” Crystal is yelling over the music, and with the words “shot” and “died,” most of the surrounding crowd turns in our direction.

Too many eyes are on me and Nate’s hand is on my arm, but I can’t feel it because I’m frozen. Numb.

“Hanley,” he says.

But then Crystal speaks again. “God, you must hate that you didn’t stop her. Doesn’t it feel like it’s your fault?”

The words are daggers that stab straight into my heart. People are whispering and staring, and the Petoskey stone necklace is choking me, and it’s too hot and too crowded, and I can’t breathe.

“Hanley?” Crystal asks. “Are you okay?”

“Hanley?” Nate echoes.

I can’t breathe. There’s not enough oxygen. I have to get out of here. My gaze lands on the back door. Focusing on escape, I push past people, getting hit with a few elbows and shoulders that I see but don’t feel.

I throw the door open and rush outside onto a deck. It’s so cold my frantic breaths come out in visible puffs. It’s quiet even with a handful of guys talking and smoking. But it’s not quiet enough or cold enough to slow my heart rate back to normal or erase the memories that crash over me like waves. Though I tell myself over and over
don’t cry don’t cry don’t cry
, a single tear rolls past my eyelashes, onto my cheek.

Leaning my elbows against the deck’s banister, I hold my head in my hands. The ground below me is flecked with cigarette butts and bottle caps. I try to calm my breathing. I try to forget. But Kayla’s face keeps flashing through my mind.