by Darcy Woods
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.”
“Don’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?”
“You’d think,” I reply. Someone jumps in the pool, inciting screams and splashes.
“Wil!” It’s Seth.
Elated, I stand on my tiptoes, but the crowd obscures him. “Seth! Where are you?” My return shout turns heads in our direction.
“Here! I’ll come to you!” Seth hollers from wherever he is.
One of the turned heads takes an instant shine to Irina. The muscled guy takes off his ball cap, turning it backward, before mouthing a sexy hello. Except…uh, I’ve never seen anything so unsexy in all my life. Then he tries to wink but his eye function is delayed, so his one eye sticks closed. Now he just looks like a deranged pirate.
“It’s bad enough Jordan canceled. You owe me to infinity and back,” Irina grumbles in my ear. It’s the second time she’s reminded me. Had it not been for my monumental desperation, I wouldn’t have asked, because I’m well aware of her eastsider contempt.
Spotting Seth, I feel anxiety coursing through me once more. But I plaster on a smile and wave before addressing my friend. “Give it a chance. You might have fun. Everyone else here seems to be.” Her squinty eyes assure me that ain’t happening. “Okay, could you at least try to keep havoc at a minimum?” I plead.
Irina’s dark red lips twist in a smirk. “Then how am I supposed to have fun, dorogaya?” She chuckles. “Go on, reunite with your boy. And it better be more than satisfactory. I’m going to mingle.”
Clearly, havoc will not be at a minimum. Terms I’ve come to accept where my comrade’s concerned.
Seth squeezes through a dancing cluster of girls who are eager to have him press against them. Is it possible he’s gotten even hotter in four days’ time? His shorts are slightly baggy, but fitted in all the right places, and the light blue T-shirt makes his skin look beautifully bronzed.
“Hey, gorgeous.” He scoops me up in his arms. And now that I’m wrapped up in Seth, I decide I was probably worrying for nothing. Perhaps I’d even blown the whole conversation over Grant out of proportion. “Mmm, I missed you.”
“Missed you, too.” I bury my face in his warm neck, breathing in.
“I had a bad feeling you might not show. I called and texted.” He sets me back on my feet. “What happened?”
“Gram confiscated my phone. I’m sorry, Seth, I didn’t have a way to reach you. And she was watching me like a hawk, so…”
He traces his thumb over my fretful brow. “Hey, now, don’t apologize. I figured your punishment was gonna be steep. I’m just psyched you came. Must’ve worked some magic to get here tonight.”
“Gram doesn’t know I’m here.”
Seth cringes. “Really? Aw, hell, the woman doesn’t need another reason to hate me.”
“She…she doesn’t hate you. And she won’t find out. Let’s not talk about it, okay?” Because every time I think of my scheming deception, the guilt feels like asteroids pummeling my solar plexus. Which will dampen the night like a big soggy blanket.
You know what? Screw it! No more angsting over what I’ve done to get here. In another seven months and change, I’ll be eighteen and no longer subject to Gram’s antiquated rules anyway. Tonight I will take full advantage of my hard-won freedom. Starting now.
Seth laces his fingers in mine, drawing the back of my hand to his lips. “Am I allowed to say how effing incredible you look tonight?” He brushes another kiss on my hand. “Ah, now she smiles. How about a drink?”
“Sounds perfect.”
Seth gestures toward the fire pit. “Ryan’s over there with his girlfriend, Ginger, who’s dying to meet you.” He scans the area. “And you have to meet Brody and Jack, because they think I’m making you up.”
“Brody Cooper?” I ask weakly.
“Yeah, you know him?” Seth peers back at me.
“Uh…” Well, it’s not like I can tell him Brody was Mr. Saliva from freshman year under the bleachers. What are the odds? “Yes, we’ve met. It was a long time ago, so he might not remember.”
A girl can hope.
“Guys, it’s like I’ve always said.” Ryan’s girlfriend, Ginger, rises from the couch, adjusting the wrap dress over her petite figure. She might be small, but nature has packed adorable into every inch of the redhead, right down to the spray of freckles on her nose and cheekbones. “Seth just had to find the right girl. The right girl can tame even the wildest boy.”
“Who you calling tame, woman?” Ryan challenges.
She rolls her eyes before gathering her long copper curls over her shoulder. “I’m talking about him.” Ginger points at Seth.
She’s referring to the doting and continuous displays of affection. “Later,” I promise Seth when he leans in nuzzling my neck and his hands begin to wander.
Of course, I’ve missed him, too. I just…don’t need to prove it before an audience. It’s bad enough the couple on the other side of the fire pit are going at it.
“One day, Wil,” Ginger says, smirking, “promise you’ll tell me what you did to win the heart of Absinthe’s serial dater.”
I flash a hearty smile I don’t feel. It’s nothing to do with jealousy, and everything to do with how I’m suddenly smothering under Seth’s attention. What the hell’s my problem? He finds me mesmerizing, enchanting even—those sweet words should have turned me to putty, coming from my soul mate.
Why, then, do I feel like Andromeda chained to a rock?
“Ginger’s exaggerating about that serial-dater thing,” Seth says softly in my ear. He drapes an arm over my shoulders, caressing my skin.
Ryan pipes in, “I think that was Grant’s title, actually.”
The mere mention of Grant causes Seth’s fingers to spasm midmotion on my arm. I hoped to skirt the subject tonight. Hoped he’d forgotten his heat-of-the-moment ultimatum. Maybe that was unrealistic. But was it too much to ask for a single night of worry-free fun?
“Yeah, was.” Ginger frowns, taking a swig of her drink. “Has Grant even dated anyone in the past year?” If not for being shackled by Seth’s arm, I would lean forward to hear the answer.
“Babe,” Ryan groans, “you know he hasn’t. There hasn’t been anyone serious since…you know.”
Ginger nods to herself. “Well, he’s going to be my next project. I’m going to find Grant a girl. Not just any girl either. She’s going to be extra, extra special. He deserves that after everything he went through.”
The smothering feeling manages to worsen, as if the weight of the sky bears down on my chest.
Now the guys are in deep discussion, planning their next trip to Lannister since the last was rained out. With Seth distracted, it’s a perfect opportunity to get a little breathing room. I wriggle from his arms, which have managed to replicate four times. Because I am suddenly dating an octopus.
“Where are you going?” Seth’s brows draw together.
“Refill.” I shake my empty cup and rise from the couch.
“I’ll come with you.” He jumps to his feet.
“No, I’m…going to use the bathroom, too.”
Ryan gives his head a shake before standing. “Dude, give the girl some oxygen.” Seth laughs and flips him off. “Sorry, Walker, you’re not my type. Besides, our beer-pong title won’t defend itself.” Ryan cocks his head. “You in or o
ut, man?”
Seth looks uncertainly down at me.
“Go. Defend your title,” I say, pecking him on the cheek and all but shoving him into Ryan’s ready arms. “I can entertain myself for a while.”
Tentacle-free, I work through the partygoers to the nearest bathroom, in the pool house. With the exception of the basement level, the rest of the mansion is locked up tighter than Fort Knox. Totally understandable. I wouldn’t want a quarter of this rowdy crowd in my backyard, let alone my house. As if on cue, a girl barfs on a patch of neatly pruned bushes while her friend holds back her hair.
Ick. I quickly take care of business and return to the festivities.
I spot Manny, who’s apparently appointed himself guardian of the keg. He tops off the red plastic cups of several girls circling him. They’re rapt as he sits on the long table, explaining the secret to a minimal-foam pour. I have to suppress a giggle, because you’d think he was spouting poetry.
And it doesn’t matter that Manny’s short by guy standards. He’s got a rare charisma that makes him shine brighter than the people around him. They want to bask in his glow. And I don’t blame them.
“Hey, chica!” Manny bursts into a smile, holding up an arm for me to tuck into. He gives me a squeeze. “Where you been hiding your fine self? Hmm?”
“Hey.” I grin. “Unfortunately, I’ve been under house arrest.” I tug the bottom of his T-shirt featuring a giant handlebar mustache packing pistols on each end. “Can I ask where you even find these?”
“My cousin has a screen-printing business. If I dream it, he can do it. Ahem, ladies”—he tilts his cup in my direction—“this is my girl, Wil. And by ‘my girl’ I mean she would be if the Walker boys hadn’t snatched her out from under me.”
The eyes all flick to me. It is a lot of eyes. They outnumber the octopus arms I just escaped. “Walker boy, Manny—singular, not plural. Has he been this delusional all night?” I ask the semicircle. One of them drunkenly giggles.
“Oh, cut me some grammatical slack. English is my second language, after all.”
