Where You'll Find Me (9 page)

Chapter Thirteen

When I get up on Saturday morning—okay, Saturday afternoon—I go downstairs. Since my parents don’t shoot me or say anything besides “good morning” from behind their laptops, I assume Nate made it out of the house unnoticed. He must have learned the Third Step Rule.

When I sneak out to the garage, Nate isn’t there. Even though I’m disappointed, I’m not surprised. It’s the middle of the day, so he’s probably out watching movies or walking around the mall.

Most of my day is spent in bed, sleeping and watching reality TV. At one point I’m bored enough that I get up and clean my room, proudly showing it off to my mom.

“Very nice,” she says as she surveys my work. “I’d forgotten what color your carpet was. But if you think this is going to end your grounding early, you’ve got another think coming.”

Talk about a complete and total waste of time.

Saturday night, Rosalinda goes to a party. I play the “grounded” card again, but really I want to hang out with Nate. We don’t have an agreement that he’ll be in my garage tonight, but I know he will be.

After the first bed check, I sneak downstairs. Sure enough, Nate is there. When I see him, I smile so hard my face hurts. It would be nice if I could say that we spent a few hours deep in conversation, where Nate revealed all of his secrets and I revealed all of mine. But that would be a lie. No, we spend a few hours making out. There may have been a little bit of talking, but not much. Even with the cold garage and the hard cement floor, it’s perfect.

I try to convince Nate to come upstairs again, but he refuses. Something about how he didn’t have time to process the potential consequences the night before, but now he’s had time, and he’s not willing to take the risk. He says we can try again after bed checks have bit the bullet, and I can’t wait for that to be the case.

On Sunday, Mom and Dad go to some all-day golf event for Dad’s firm. Mom’s never swung a golf club in her life, so I don’t really understand what she’s going to do all day, but I don’t ask questions. I’m planning on spending the afternoon with Rosalinda and Misty. With my parents out of the picture, the only thing stopping me is my sister. Instead of being out with friends or watching awesomely awful made-for-TV movies, Heather is on the couch doing homework. The fact that we are related feels like a complete lie.

“Hey,” I say, walking into the den, already wearing my coat and shoes.

She raises her eyebrows at me before looking back at the book in her lap. “Hey.”

“So…what’s it going to take for you to cover for me? Tell Mom and Dad I’ve been upstairs in my room all day?”

“Nothing.” For a split second, I’m excited. But then I remember if something sounds too good to be true… She continues, “I’m not going to lie to Mom and Dad.”

I flip my bangs away from my face. “Come on, Heather. I’ll pay you.”

She snorts. “With what money?”

It’s a good point. “I’ll clean your room for a month.”

Heather doesn’t even justify that one with a verbal response, just rolls her eyes and goes back to the book.

“Three months?”

This time, she doesn’t bother looking up.

I clench my fists, trying to keep frustration at bay. “Come on. There’s gotta be something you want. It’ll just be a little white lie. Who knows? Maybe Mom and Dad won’t even ask if I’ve been home all day and you won’t have to lie.”

Heather’s pen stops moving across the page. I wait, knowing I’ve said the right thing. At this point I don’t care what she asks for. I’ll say yes. I’m feeling claustrophobic and need to get out of this house.

“Well, there is this one thing…” She toys with the pen cap.

“Anything. Name it.”

When Heather looks up, her cheeks are flushed, and she only meets my gaze for a second before turning away. Whatever this is, it’s going to be big.

“Well…I was kind of wondering if you could…if you might be able to…introduce me…to someone.”

This is not the sister I know. Heather is perfect. She does not stutter. She does not get nervous. And she certainly does not want to know anyone that I know. “Who?”

The flush in her cheeks deepens. She shuffles her books and shakes her head. “Never mind. Just go. I’ll cover for you.”

Though I should turn and dash out the door, now I’m curious. I perch on the arm of the couch. “No, really. Who do you want me to introduce you to? I’ll do it.”

She goes back to playing with the pen cap. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

I rack my brain, trying to imagine who I know that she would want in her world. “Just tell me. It’s no big deal.”

With a sigh, Heather looks up. “Clinton Evans.”

Out of all the names that could have come out of Heather’s mouth, that’s the last one I expected to hear. A noise somewhere between a laugh, a choke, and a snort makes its way out of my throat. “Clinton?” I ask before I can stop myself. “You want me to introduce you to Clinton? Why?”

The color of Heather’s cheeks is now florescent. She dumps her books on the couch, gets up, and goes into the kitchen. I follow while she gets a glass of water.

“What, do you like him or something?”

“No,” Heather says quickly. Too quickly. “It’s just…he’s…he’s in my English class. And he’s…he seems…nice.”

“He’s not.”

Heather whirls away from the counter, almost spilling her glass of water in the process. Now her green eyes are angry, just like our mom’s get when I’ve done something to piss her off. “Oh, and the guys you like are shining stars of excellence? What about that guy from the mall, huh? Is he someone you’d bring home to Mom and Dad?”

What’s funny is that she can’t possibly know how right she is. Heather takes her glass back into the den, and I follow. “Okay. I’ll introduce you to Clinton. This week.” What is it with this guy? First Rosalinda, now Heather. It’s like he can brainwash girls with his smile. Must be the dimples.

Heather looks up, and the embarrassment and frustration are replaced with hope. “Really? You will?”

“Sure. No problem.”

She nods and sets her books back up in her lap. “Thanks, Hanley.”

“You’re welcome. And if Mom or Dad call or ask…”

“You’ve been in your room all day.”

“Perfect.” A horn honks in the driveway. I dash through the empty garage and jump in the passenger seat of Misty’s van, knocking a few empty water bottles and one stray sock from the seat.

“Hey,” Misty says, backing out of the driveway.

“Hey,” I respond. Misty is wearing her usual wardrobe: jeans, sweatshirt, ponytail. I’m casual, too, not wearing much makeup, hair more wavy than straight. An afternoon with the girls means we don’t have to impress each other or anyone else.

“Did your parents drop your sentence early?”

“No. They’re not home. Heather’s home, but I got her to cover for me.”

Misty glances over suspiciously. She’s an only child, so she doesn’t understand the whole “older sister” dynamic, but she knows Heather and I don’t see eye to eye.

“Yeah, I know. I was shocked, too.” I chew on the edge of my lip. “Do you like Clinton?”

“What?” Misty chokes.

“Just answer the question. Do you like him?”

“No.
Hell
no. I mean, he’s cute, and he does have those dimples, but he’s far too much of a man-whore for me. He’s a tool. Besides, Rosalinda’s got that one covered.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, she was drunk last night…”

“I’m shocked.”

Misty laughs. “Right? Should have given you a spoiler alert. But anyway, she was drunk enough to let slip that she and Clinton have been close lately.”

“Close as in…”

“Close as in…yeah. Apparently, they’ve hooked up a few times.”

“Ew,” I say, wrinkling my nose.

“He’s not
all
gross. You know. The dimples.”

“I was actually thinking about the STDs.”

“Oh,” Misty says, wrinkling her nose as well as we turn onto another street. “Ew.”

“Do you think we need to have ‘the talk’ with her?”

She tears one hand away from the steering wheel and whips her pointer finger to her nose, making me the loser in this round of Nose Goes.

“Shit.”

Misty laughs as she pulls into Rosalinda’s driveway with a squeal of the brakes. A few empty bottles roll to the back of the van. “Gotta be faster, girl.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll talk to her later. Let’s go.”

Rosalinda’s house is small, but the perfect size for her and her mom. I love hanging out here because the pantry is always full of snacks and they get all the movie channels on TV.

“Hello?” Misty calls as we walk through the front door. Like usual, the house smells faintly of chili powder.

“Down here,” Rosalinda yells from the basement.

“Are you alone?” I ask as we head down the stairs. In light of the new information about Clinton, the last thing I want is to walk in on the two of them.

“Yes. Why?”

“Never mind,” I say. “Hi.”

“Hey.” She stretches yoga-pant-covered legs onto the coffee table. “How’d you bust out?”

“Bribed Heather.” I choose to leave out the part about introducing her to Clinton. Something tells me neither Heather nor Rosalinda would approve of that detail.

“Nice. Hey, Misty.”

“Hey,” Misty says as we flop into our usual places on Rosalinda’s couch.

“So,” I say. “How was the party last night?”

Rosalinda and Misty launch into a story about a girl who got really drunk and a guy who got taken away by the cops, and while it sounds like one of the more entertaining parties, I’m glad I wasn’t there. Just the memory of Nate’s hands in my hair and lips against mine sends a rush of excitement through my veins. It’s slightly disappointing that I still didn’t learn any more about him or why he’s in my garage, but mouths can only be used for one thing at a time, and talking is not the purpose I chose.

After the party discussion, we end up getting out nail polish and giving one another manicures because even though we can do our own nails, there’s just something nice about having your nails done by someone else. We laugh and talk, about parties and boys. Thankfully, Clinton is mostly left out of the conversation, just a jab here or there, which Rosalinda waves off with a shrug of her shoulders. Then we move onto movies and TV and celebrity crushes.

I’m having such a great time that I almost forget about Nate. Almost. I’m glad I came, though. Hanging out with Misty and Rosalinda is the best because they make me forget about everything I really
need
to forget.

The first time I met Rosalinda was not too long after Kayla’s death. The pain was still fresh, and I was still a mess. It was lunchtime at school, and I was out front, sitting in the trees where the few teens who smoked usually sat. I couldn’t sit in the cafeteria anymore. The empty space at the table next to me was the size of a black hole.

“Hey,” Rosalinda had said. I’d been so absorbed in my own thoughts, or maybe trying to avoid my thoughts, that I hadn’t heard her approach.

“Hey.” I took in the excessive makeup, dark hair, tight clothes.

“Got a light?”

“No.” I scuffed my toe against the ground and didn’t look her in the eye. “Sorry.”

“Yeah. You don’t look like the type. But I thought I’d ask anyway.”

“The type?”

Rosalinda motioned to my outfit, which bordered dangerously close to preppy, my hair, which was light and boring, and my makeup, which was almost nonexistent. “The type,” she said. “I’m Rosalinda. I just started here a week ago.”

“Hanley.”

“Nice to meet you. So, you don’t eat?”

Knowing she was probably insinuating at an eating disorder, I shook my head. “I eat… I just needed to not be in there.” I nodded toward the school.

“That’s cool.”

I was surprised and relieved to realize that she wasn’t going to make me elaborate. Elaboration meant talking about what happened, and talking about what happened made my throat clog up with unshed tears. “What about you?” I asked.

Rosalinda shrugged. “I’m still hungover. I’ll eat later.”

“Hungover?” The question seemed innocent and naïve even to me.

“Yeah. I went to this party last night. There was a keg, and there were shots, and—” She stopped with a laugh. “Well, that’s all I remember.”

At that moment, I thought not being able to remember might be the best thing in the world. “Sounds like fun.”

“You drink?”

I shrugged, hoping that the real answer wasn’t blatantly obvious. “Maybe.”

“There’s another party this weekend. I can give you the address if you want.”

It took me less than a second to make the decision. “That sounds good.”

Rosalinda smiled. “Cool. Give me your number. I’ll text you the address.” We exchanged phone numbers and the address. It was within walking distance of my house. A long walk, but a walk nonetheless. The party was days away, but I was already nervous and excited. Rosalinda said she’d see me there, then turned to leave. “Oh, but, Hanley?”

“Yeah?”

“Wear something…” Rosalinda motioned to my outfit. “Different.”

“I will.”

From that moment on, our friendship has been everything I need. We drink, we laugh, we watch movies, but we never go deeper than surface level. Rosalinda and Misty know nothing about Kayla. They don’t give me the sympathetic look that I hate. The look like I might break at any minute. The look that everyone else who knows the story gives me.

It’s only now that I realize one of the things I like best about Nate is that he doesn’t give me that look, either.

…

That night, I wait until my parents are in bed before heading to the garage. When I got home from Rosalinda’s, Nate wasn’t there yet, but somehow I know he’ll be there now. I stop in the kitchen on the way to the garage and grab a couple bottles of water and some licorice.

“Hello?” I call, turning on the light.

“Nobody’s home.”

“No? Well, I guess I’ll just go back upstairs then.”

Nate stands and leans on the Trans Am. “You wouldn’t do that.”

“I wouldn’t? How do you know?”

“You’d miss me too much.”

“Lies,” I say, even though it’s the truth.

“Yeah? Then why did you bring two water bottles out?”