by Henry, Max
She has another sip of wine and then sets it down. “Something.”
I settle my gaze on her, resplendent in her flowing dress where she sits in front of our house like the Queen of the Castle. “Do we have anything thawed?”
“I knew I forgot to do something before I went out this morning.” She smiles, sweetly. “Can you figure it out, honey?”
I close my eyes and sigh out my nose. “Sure.”
I guess if I cook, it should at least be edible.
Plus, bonus points, it gives me an angle to approach with Dad when I ask him for my cash: chores.
I never thought I’d see the day when my name and paid tasks are mentioned in the same sentence.
Then again, I guess I never expected a lot of the firsts I’ll get this year.
“Where are you headed?” Dad asks Colt as my brother searches the side table for his keys.
“Richard’s.”
I ignore the equal pangs of jealousy and rage that answer gives and curl my legs a little tighter where the sofa envelops me. He gets to go out and see our old friends while I have to sit here at home, grounded. But to top it all off, he’s out with that jerk. The guy whose fault it is I’m sitting here on a Saturday night instead of out like most kids my age.
“I spoke to someone yesterday who might be able to get me a replacement tailgate for your Explorer,” Dad offers.
Colt grunts, back toward us. “Swell. I hope it’s the same colour,” he quips.
I glance between the two of them, yet all Dad does is frown. Mum’s not even home, and he still lets Colt walk all over him.
“I guess we find out when I hear back from him.”
Colt lifts the keyring, tossing it in his palm before he spins to face us. “Would you like a lift, Lacey?” A cruel smile curls his lips. “Oh, that’s right. You’re grounded.”
“That was uncalled for,” Dad grumbles, rising from his armchair.
Colt snorts at our father and then leaves without another word.
“It’s okay, Dad.” I mean, my brother hadn’t spoken to me since the incident at the stables yesterday, but you know, that’s all cool. Right? Ugh.
“It’s not okay.” He marches to the fridge and snags a beer, calling out from the other room. “What’s happened to this family? You can’t tell me money is the only thing that held us together.”
Dad’s so different to Mum; he remembers what it was like at the start of their relationship when he was working his butt off to get partner in the business that eventually broke him. Mum, however. Well, her memory seems to stretch back as far as mine. Wealth and status are all I ever knew. Dad was already on six figures when Colt was born, and we moved into our vast apartment when I was little enough that I don’t remember our first house.
I do remember, though, how close Dad and I were before I became a young lady and Mum took over.
“I’m happy having the night in with you,” I offer when he enters the room and reclaims his seat before the TV. “It’s been an age since we’ve hung out on our own.”
He smiles, huffing out his nose. “I suppose it has.”
Hard work has roughened his appearance already, but beneath the messy hair and grease-stained cuticles lays the same handsome man I’ve admired my whole life.
Through it all, he’s remained down-to-earth and respectful. That’s more than I can say for myself. I allowed Mum to sway my opinions in a desperate attempt to be everything she wanted. I still battle with the side of me that longs for her approval. But at least now I can see the bullshit for what it is.
Arcadia has opened my eyes, and wow is the world ugly when you’re not shielded from the struggle by the kind of beautiful illusion prosperity can provide.
“Have you made any new friends here?” Dad asks before taking a swig of his beer.
I lean into the rolled arm of the sofa a little more. “Sort of.”
He grins. “They’re either your friends, or they aren’t, Lacey.”
“It’s complicated,” I say with a laugh. “There’s one girl who I get along with, but we don’t hang out or anything. And I have a guy that’s in a few of my classes, and he’s been helpful mostly.”
“Mostly,” Dad echoes.
“You know how boys are.” I wave him off. “They’re hard to understand.”
He laughs out his nose. “The girl, then. What’s she up to tonight?”
“I don’t know.” I shrug. “I never thought to ask.”
Maggie’s a friend, and she did help me with my boots, but I didn’t get the bestie vibe from her. She seems content to float on her own, coming and going as she pleases.
“Send her a message,” he instructs, gesturing with his bottle. “Let me know if you need me to drop you somewhere before I have too many of these.”
Why not? I meant it when I said I didn’t mind spending the time with him, but a chance to let my hair down while not breaking the rules of my grounding would be great. “Are you sure Mum won’t mind?”
“She’s not here, is she?” Either frustration or hurt tinges his words—I can’t pick which.
I leave him to flick through the channels and get to work hunting Maggie down on Facebook. I don’t have her number, but that doesn’t mean I have no chance of reaching her. I don’t know what her last name is, which makes things difficult, but after checking the Maverick’s profiles one-by-one, I find Dee’s is open, and after twenty minutes of digging I discover they have a mutual friend; some girl from the rugby team.
L: I totally stalked you just now to find your profile, but what are you up to tonight?
I follow up the message with a friend request in case my chat is relegated to the dreaded Other folder. Dad’s flicked the TV across to some gold mining program, so the two of us sit in silence and watch a team of men argue with each other more than they find any gold.
No wonder it’s so expensive if that’s how they spend their hours.
M: Ooo - creeper. I’m flattered to be hunted down by such a babe, though. Not doing much. You?
I read her message twice wondering if there’s more to her mention of flattery than just a little tease. Stop it. Colt’s judgmental assertions about her are messing with my gut feeling.
L: Nothing. I’m grounded. Not allowed in the city.
M: So you settle for us?
My gut sinks. That’s not what I meant, but I can see how she’d be offen—
M: I’m kidding, dickhead! You wanna do something?
Thank, Christ.
L: What do you have in mind?
M: How grounded is grounded exactly?
L: Tell me what to wear and I’ll be there.
I glance up and open my mouth, and then hastily add,
L: What’s your address?
“I’ll take that ride, Dad, if it’s still on the table.”
He grins. “Of course, it is. Let me know when you’re ready.” He doesn’t move an inch. The guy knows how long I can take to prepare to go out.
“Thanks, Dad.” I jump off the sofa and stop by his chair on my way out of the room. “I appreciate it.”
He’s surprised by the kiss on the cheek I give him but laughs it off. “Anyone would think you’ve just been released from a stint in jail.”
Both of us stiffen at the flippant remark. Once upon a time, it would have been a great joke, but nowadays? Yeah. Jail hits a bit close to home when Dad got detained for a while following his arrest.
“Go get yourself ready,” he instructs, calling after me as I dash up the hallway, “But wear a damn jacket. It’s cold outside tonight!”
Dad waits until Maggie answers the door before he gives me a wave and pulls away from the curb. Her house is a pretty, old rail worker’s cottage on the outskirts of the actual Arcadia township. Vines with yellowed leaves wrap around the posts of the covered porch, the winter not far away now. The place is painted a crisp white with a contrasting pale pink on the windowsills and decorative accents.
“I didn’t pick you for the cute coun
try cottage type,” I tease as I step inside.
She laughs, closing the stained-glass insert door behind me. “That’s because I’m nothing like my Mum.”
I follow Maggie left into what would have been the parlour back when the house was built. Now, it houses an array of mismatched furniture that barely fits in the small room, yet the collection pulls off the eclectic, homely vibe beautifully. Throw pillows and blankets accent the chairs, paintings on every wall, and a roaring open fire the focus of the room on the outer wall.
“Mum. This is Lacey, the new girl I told you about.”
A woman with tight brown curls rises out of the seat closest to us, emerging from behind its cushy over-stuffed depths. “Hi, there!” Her cheeks are a warm pink colour, her smile full and genuine. “It’s lovely to meet you. Maggie doesn’t bring many people home,” she adds on the sly.
“Mum!”
The woman smells of daffodils, her clothes homemade, and an array of brightly coloured materials. She’s the epitome of what I’d call an artsy person; larger than life and full of joy.
“Home before midnight, Mags,” she warns with a stern finger her daughter’s way. “I’ll have the extra mattress in your room for Lacey by then.”
“Oh.” I glance between the two. “I didn’t let Dad know I’d be staying.”
Maggie snorts. “Way easier if you do. I’ll loan you some threads for tomorrow.”
“Are you sure?”
“Girl,” Maggie’s Mum says with a pat of her rounded belly. “I don’t need to eat all the waffles in the cupboard on my own. A couple of girls with a healthy metabolism is the best thing for my hips on a Sunday morning.”
“I’ll let Dad know, then.” I tug my phone from the pocket of my coat and open his thread. “Thank you.”
“Any time.”
“Come on.” Maggie drags me by the sleeve while I flick Dad a message. “Let’s get ready.”
“Why? Where are we going?” I stuff the device away and weave down the narrow hallway, past the brightly-painted shelves and sideboards, to Maggie’s room.
Her space is such a contrast to the rest of the house that I let out a most unladylike snort. “I’m sorry. It’s just so…”
“Me?” Maggie says with a teasing smile.
“Yeah.”
Her walls are black. As are her curtains. And light shade. Come to think of it, the only thing not decorated black in here is the old floral-print carpet.
“You legit like black, huh?” I take a seat on the end of her bed, shoving a pile of clothes aside… also mostly black.
“Goes with everything,” she sasses, tugging her freestanding wardrobe doors open. “You might want to borrow these, though.” A pair of black gumboots with purple skull and crossbones land at my feet. “It gets quite messy out there this time of year.”
“Where on earth are we going?”
“Beau’s house.”
My fingers hesitate on the top of the boots. “Maggie…”
“Nope.” She waves a finger my way before tugging out another, more worn, pair of black and white striped gumboots. “You’re going. Fuck the girls.”
“It’s not the girls I’m worried about.” It’s Tuck. And to a lesser degree, Johnson.
I don’t want to overstep my welcome. Or lack of welcome as it were.
Maggie snorts. “The guys don’t care about you. They do their own thing. Apart from Amber, the guys and girls can’t stand each other.”
“But they all walk into the assembly together? And Johnson’s always with Amber.”
Maggie rolls her eyes, tugging out a huge fur-lined black coat. “Yeah.” She threads her arms. “They’re always together.” She inserts her pointer finger through a loop with her fingers on the other hand in a universal lude gesture for… well, you know what.
“Mandy hates Johnson’s guts. Ed made Dee’s life hell in primary, so she hates him. And Beau.” Her face softens. “He just follows along to save causing drama.”
“What about that other girl who was with Mandy at assembly?”
“Cate?” Maggie shakes her head, tugging the top drawer of her bureau open. “Nah. She’s like the girls’ version of Beau.”
Makes sense considering I haven’t heard her say a word.
“Don’t tell Mum about these.” Maggie slides a sneaky pack of smokes from her top drawer and stuffs them in the pocket of her jacket.
“You play sports,” I scoff. “And you smoke?” I add on a whisper.
“Meh.” Maggie shrugs. “Not as though I’m going to make national level. Are you ready?”
I look down at the gumboots covering the lower half of my legs. “I guess so.”
“Sweet. I’ll go beg for some gas money off Mum and then we’re out of here.”
^*^
The roads don’t have streetlights this far out. It’s yet another creature comfort I didn’t realise I was accustomed to until I no longer had it. The fields out the side window are dark and eerie; the first fingers of fog snake through the depths.
Although the days are still comfortable enough with the late autumn sun, the night drops quickly. I lift my hands in front of the heater vent and turn my head toward Maggie.
“How much further?” We’ve been driving for what feels like forever down the longest damn backroad I’ve been on.
“Not far.” She leans forward, squinting past the dull amber of her headlights. “If you look hard enough, you can see the glow from the bonfire over there.” She points to her right, through a stand of ghostly trees.
“A bonfire?” I lean forward also as though that’s bound to help my eyesight, and indeed find a pale orange flicker through the breaks in the branches.
“How else do you have a party?”
An amused huff escapes my nose when I drop back into the seat and tug the collar on my coat higher. My feet are already like ice inside the gumboots; I should have asked for another pair of socks. Why on earth they want to party outdoors when it’s this cold, I have no idea.
At least, until we turn up the long dirt driveway and I get a glimpse of the antics going on in Beau Maun’s front paddock.
An enormous fire rages in the centre, a handful of vehicles backed up around it in a circle with people seated or dancing on the back of them. A group spreads over the most massive log I’ve laid eyes on, lounged against its side or perched on top. Girls dance, boys playfight, and the music is loud. Really loud.
But it’s not the sort of music I’m used to. There’s no chart-topping EDM pop mix here. The heavy beat is accented by the lull of guitar strings and a definite country twang to the words that weave through the melody.
It’s fun. Surprisingly so.
I let out a short laugh as Maggie turns her car through the open gate and drives onto the grass.
“What’s so funny?” She navigates to a gap between two cars parked in a line behind the circle.
“I never thought I’d actually be excited to come to a party like this.”
She smacks me on the arm with a loose fist. “Hollywood, you ain’t been to a party until you’ve fallen over and got muddy or stepped in shit.”
My eyes go wide.
She chuckles. “Yeah. I’m serious. Watch where you’re walking. This is why gumboots are good. You hose them off the next day.”
She gets out of the car, leaving me to huff a laugh to myself. What the hell am I in for tonight? The freezing night air smacks me in the face the second I open the door. With a shudder, I step out and shut the car, drinking in my surroundings. Drinks. “Mags.”
She turns and lifts her chin.
“Were we supposed to bring something to drink? I mean we’re… you know.”
“Underage?” She scoffs. “So? Don’t your parents trust you?”
“Your mum’s okay with this?” I catch up to her as she heads for the crowd.
“No way.” She smiles. “But the parents are happier knowing that if we are going to break the rules, that we do it somewhere where there’s a
n adult available if need be.”
I search the crowd, but all I find are students. “There are adults here?”
“Yeah.” She frowns. “Beau’s parents are up at the house.”
Totally not the sort of parties I’m accustomed to. We did this kind of thing in Riverbourne to rebel, and always when the homeowners were away. But his parents are here, and not only that but they approve.
What is this utopia?
“I think he’s this way.” Maggie legs it to the right of the fire.
I follow, surprised by the intensity of the heat, even at this distance. She leads us toward a group of guys and girls. Ones that unfortunately I know all too well. What the heck is she doing?
“Hey.” Mags lifts a hand, garnering a few unwelcome stares from the girls.
I’m not sure who they are, but I’m sure I’ve seen them around. They’re first-year, I think. They seem young enough. Too young to be out here when even I toe the line at sixteen.
“Hi, Mag.” To my shock, the deliciously low voice belongs to none other than the usually silent Beau. “Your stash is over here.”
He flicks his black hair out of his face and sticks the smoke in his hand between his lips. If he looks mysterious enough in his school uniform, kit the guy out in a-typical bad boy attire: black jeans, leather jacket, black boots, and he’s damn dreamy.
No wonder she went all gooey when she mentioned him back at her house.
“Thanks for this.” Maggie produces the gas money she got from her mum and hands it over.
The two of them stare at each other a fraction longer than acquaintances would, and then part ways. Interesting.
“Beer,” Mags states, a plastic bag held high as she heads back to where I’m frozen—literally.
“I’ve never drunk beer before. Is it nice?”
“Is it nice?” she echoes, regarding me with a pitied stare. “Baby girl, you’ve been sheltered up there in your crystal palace, haven’t you?”
“Shut up,” I say with a laugh. “I didn’t say I’ve never had alcohol. Just not beer.”
“Well.” Maggie drops the bag to the grass at her feet, then pulling a bottle free. “Let’s pop that cherry.” She twists the top off and hands the bottle over.
