“You’ll love Hamilton,” Sylvia said as she buttered a roll.
I glared at her. This was all her fault. Sure, Dad should have told me about this, but if she hadn’t just barged into his life, putting on her flashy Martha Stewart–inspired song and dance, there wouldn’t have been anything to tell. I hated her.
“Of course she will,” Dad said. “It’s a great place for teenagers, too, munchkin. Nathan, have you told Whitley about the Nest?”
“I hadn’t gotten around to it yet.”
“When can we go?” Bailey asked. “Can we go tomorrow night? Will you come with us, Whitley?”
“Go where?” Her enthusiasm made me uneasy.
“The Nest,” Sylvia answered, sounding stiff but still wearing that annoying smile. “It’s a little dance club for teenagers.”
“They have bands and music and food,” Dad explained. “It’s a nice, safe, wholesome place for local teenagers to spend time. Sherri, Sylvia’s sister, says it’s packed with high school students every weekend. And during the summer, it’s open all week long. I told Nate he should take you and Bailey-Boop.”
I cringed. Bailey-Boop? The nickname made me want to barf almost as much as Dad’s description of the Nest. A “wholesome” place to hang out? Seriously? Already I knew that this place would not be my scene. If there wasn’t alcohol to distract me from all this shit, I wasn’t interested.
“So can we go tomorrow night?” Bailey asked Nathan across the table. “Please?”
“That’s up to Whit,” he said.
“Whitley,” I growled.
I hated—and I mean hated—being called “Whit.” For Christ’s sake, my parents named me Whitley for a reason. If they’d wanted me to be called Whit, that’s what they would have written on my birth certificate.
“So, you up for it tomorrow night?” Nathan asked, like he hadn’t heard me.
“I don’t know, Nathan.” Sylvia was watching him. “I’m not sure if it’s a good idea. Maybe you should stay in.”
“I’d love to go.” I looked right at Nathan. “It sounds great.”
“Oh, honey. Let them have some fun,” Dad said. “It’s summertime. They’re kids. A night out won’t hurt.”
Sylvia looked distinctly unhappy. Good. I might have to spend tomorrow night at a lame club with her spawn, but if that meant pissing her off, it was so worth it.
“Fine,” she relented. “Just behave yourselves.”
“You three will have a good time,” Dad said, handing me the plate of rolls. “This will be a chance for you to bond. Become friends.”
“Awesome.” Bailey grinned at me. “I’ll have to figure out what I’ll wear.”
Then Dad was talking about some special report he was airing the next morning and Sylvia returned to her smiling, bubbly ways. The dent I’d tried to make in her perfect little meal didn’t seem to matter. Of course not.
When everyone was done, Nathan offered to help Sylvia clean up. As I walked out of the dining room, I heard him say quietly, “Mom, it’ll be fine.”
I thought about lingering, eavesdropping to see what he meant, but Sylvia caught me in the doorway and gave me that smile again. “Do you want Bailey to help you set up your room?” she asked.
I shook my head and walked away.
When I got upstairs, I locked the door and dug out my bottle of cheap tequila. If there was one thing that would cheer me up, it was booze.
Later, as I lay stretched out on the bed, I glanced at the bottle on the nightstand. Sylvia would freak if she knew I’d brought alcohol into her house. The thought made me laugh. They were so perfect, so proper and clean. Dad and Sylvia and Nathan and Bailey—they were all downstairs, probably watching a fun family movie and playing Monopoly. And I was upstairs, alone, drunk on Margaritaville Gold.
I didn’t fit in with them at all.
It was so funny, so funny I couldn’t remember why I’d been angry before.
I laughed until it hurt, until the room spun, until I closed my eyes and fell asleep.
6
The next day I woke to the sound of Bobby Brown singing “My Prerogative.” I sighed and rolled over, groping blindly for my phone on the nightstand and knocking over the bottle of tequila by accident.
“Shit,” I muttered. Thank God the bottle was closed, or that would have been a bitch to explain.
A second later, I found my cell and flipped it open. “Hello?”
“Hey, sis. Saw you called. Sorry I couldn’t talk last night. We had to take Marie to the doctor.”
“Huh? Oh, Marie… Is she okay?”
“Fine. Emily just got freaked out about a little fever. But you sound awful. You hungover?”
“A little.”
“God, Whitley.”
“Did you know Dad is getting married?” I asked.
“What? No.”
“Yep. Her name is Sylvia. She’s a widow with two kids. She and Dad met last September.”
“Well,” he said. “I guess that’s nice. If they wait a few months to get married, maybe I can fly out for the wedding with Emily and Marie.”
“Is that all you have to say?” I asked.
“What else do you expect me to say?”
I sighed. “I don’t know. I hate it, Trace. I don’t like how different he is with them. He’s not the same Dad we grew up with.”
“That might not be a bad thing,” Trace grumbled.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Whitley, you were pretty young during those last few years Mom and Dad were together. There was a lot you didn’t—” I could hear Marie starting to scream in the background. “Shit, Emily’s at the drugstore and I’ve got Marie—she just woke up.” I could hear him shift the phone away from his mouth. “Shh, shh, it’s okay.” I’d been through this before, and I knew the conversation was as good as over. Sure enough, he came back a second later. “I’ve got to go. I’ll talk to you tomorrow, Whitley. Good luck with Dad. Love you. Bye.”
Click.
“Hurry up, Whit! We’re waiting on you.”
“Then get the hell out of here and leave me alone,” I growled to myself as I slipped a navy blue tank over my head and turned to examine myself in the bathroom mirror. I wondered if Sylvia would be offended by the way my black bra straps showed. I really hoped so.
I applied a little bit of black eyeliner and a dab of lip gloss.
Honestly, I didn’t expect to have any fun at this “wholesome” club, but I did hope to meet someone who could tell me where the real party was. Towns this small still had parties, right? I figured if I was going to be stuck here all summer, I needed to find out where to have a decent time. That bottle of Margaritaville Gold wasn’t going to last me long.
I’d never had to go looking for a good time during the summer before. Hanging out with Dad, watching movies and talking over dinner and listening to music at the condo… That had been enough.
This summer was different, though. Dad was different. He didn’t care about me this year. And I wasn’t going to let myself go insane in this house for three months.
“Whit!” Nathan yelled again.
“Give me a second! Shit.”
I really did need to hurry up, though. It was already seven, and Bailey had been completely made up, wearing her pink cocktail dress and strappy white sandals, since five.
The sad part was that I knew she’d leave the Nest disappointed. Sure, Bailey was all excited to go to this little teen club, but it wasn’t as if she’d make friends. She probably wouldn’t even talk to anyone. She’d cling to Nathan or me the whole night and come home feeling like crap. That’s how it always went. I know it sounds cynical or bitchy to say, but it’s true.
I put on my flip-flops and started walking downstairs. They were waiting by the door, Bailey fidgeting with her dress. She looked like she was ready for a Homecoming dance, not a nightclub. On the other hand, Nathan was totally casual. Ripped blue jeans, faded band T-shirt, sloppy hair. He looked like a mess next
to his sister.
I was surprised Perfect Sylvia let one of her Perfect Offspring dress with such imperfection.
“Ready?” Nathan asked, pulling car keys from his pocket.
“You kids have fun,” Dad said from the sofa, turning a page in the novel he was reading. “Get to know each other. You’re family now.”
Yeah, I thought. Family who’ve banged each other.
“Be careful,” Sylvia said. She was standing in the doorway between the living room and kitchen, her arms crossed over her chest. She looked a little on edge. One minute this chick was bubbly as could be, and the next she looked all uptight and anxious. “I’ll expect you home by ten thirty.”
“No problem,” Nathan said, giving the adults a casual wave before turning to his sister and me. “Let’s go, shall we?”
Bailey was already out the door, running down the steps, golden hair streaming behind her. She stopped abruptly in the middle of the sidewalk, glancing over her shoulder at us. Her face turned a little pink, as if she were embarrassed by her own excitement.
Nathan looked at me and shrugged. “Ladies first,” he said, holding the front door open.
I moved past him and headed for the car. Bailey smiled at me as she climbed into the backseat.
“I’ve never been to a club before,” she said once I’d gotten comfortable in the passenger’s seat. “I mean, like, I’ve been to my friends’ parties and stuff—obviously. But they were kind of boring. A club will be cooler, right?”
“Um… sure.”
Nathan climbed into the car and immediately turned on the air conditioner. The sun was still out, and despite it being mid-evening, the air was scorching hot and so humid I thought I’d drown. “Buckle up,” he said to me, hitting the button for the radio.
He waited until my seat belt had clicked before he even pulled out of the driveway. As if traveling those three extra feet without restraints might actually kill me or something. I didn’t expect someone who had one-night stands with strangers or threw crazy parties to have such a stick up his ass.
I didn’t say anything on the way to the Nest. Bailey jabbered away at us from the backseat, speculating on the kind of music they’d play, what the other girls there might be wearing, how crowded the place might be. After a while, Nathan cranked up the radio as a subtle hint that she should quiet down. A hint that she, eventually, took.
The silence didn’t last long, though. A minute later Nathan was singing along with the radio, tapping his fingers against the wheel to keep the beat. I couldn’t help watching, a moment from the party sliding into my memory. We’d been kissing in the armchair, amid the chaos of dancing and drinking, when Van Morrison’s “Brown Eyed Girl” started playing through the speakers.
Nathan had pulled back a little, giving me a second to come up for air. He grinned at me and started singing along with the song—off-key, but he was pretty drunk by then, so I guess that was to be expected. I reached up and clapped a hand over his mouth, laughing. “Stop. You can’t sing at all.”
Clumsily, he took hold of my wrist and eased it away from his lips. “I love this song, even if it is really old,” he slurred.
“Me, too.”
“Good, then it can be our song. You’re my brown-eyed girl.”
“But my eyes are blue,” I told him.
“I know. But there aren’t songs about blue eyes.”
I started laughing harder and almost fell off Nathan’s lap. “Yes there are. ‘Blue Eyes Crying in the Rain,’ ‘Behind Blue Eyes,’ ‘The Bluest Eyes in Texas,’ and then there’s just ‘Blue Eyes’ by Elton John.”
“Yeah?” he said. “Well, those suck.”
“You suck.”
And then we were kissing again. It couldn’t have been long after that that we migrated to the bedroom.
Three days later, sitting in the car beside him, part of me wondered if it had really happened. He’d said that as far as he was concerned that night had never occurred, but could he really forget so easily? Probably not, but he acted like he could. He acted way better than I did.
He parked the car in front of the small brick building and cut the engine. “Behold,” he said. “The Nest.”
Honestly, the place looked kind of run-down, but the parking lot was packed with cars. Either it was actually a cool place (I kind of doubted it) or there was nothing better to do in this town.
When Nathan pushed open the front door for Bailey and me, I knew it was definitely the second theory.
First of all, the band blew. Though I admit I was impressed to see a band at all. The lead singer had zero talent, and the drummer had no rhythm whatsoever. It was just sickening, really. I knew people who had more musical ability than these guys when they were plastered. Myself included. And the sad excuse for a dance floor was half the size of the guest room at Dad’s new place. The walls were lined with booths, all packed with teenagers sipping on sodas or bobbing their heads to the music.
“Wow,” I heard Bailey murmur, and I could tell she was overwhelmed—whether by how pathetic the place was or by the number of people, I wasn’t sure.
“I’m thirsty,” Nathan said. “Let’s get drinks. What do you want, Whit?”
“Nothing.” I was already walking away from them. “I’ll get it myself.”
I’d decided early on that if I was going to track down some fun—i.e., boys and booze—I needed to ditch Nathan and Bailey. I couldn’t afford to have them cockblocking me tonight.
After scanning the room once, I came to the conclusion that the selection of guys here sucked. I mean, they were average, I guess, but none of them were hot. Because of this, I was feeling a little disappointed when I made my second turn around the dance floor.
Then I saw the sexy tanned boy sitting at the bar.
He wasn’t tall, but he had the dark and the handsome parts down. His hair was a sleek, shiny black, and his eyes were huge emerald spotlights in the dim lighting of the club. Smoldering hot, and well dressed, too. He had on a nice, neat button-up shirt and black jeans.
Target acquired.
I approached the bar, tossing back my long hair and giving him my best seductive smile. I eased up right next to him. “Hey,” I said, winking. “What’s up?”
He grinned. Rows of straight, glittering white teeth. “Do I know you?”
“Nope, but you want to.” I slid onto the barstool next to his.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“Yours first.”
“Harrison Carlyle,” he said, sounding a little amused. “Now do I get your name?”
“Whitley Johnson.”
Harrison’s eyes widened and he sat up a little straighter as he looked me over. My moves must have been working—he was already interested. Awesome, I thought. Even if he didn’t know where I could find a party, I wouldn’t mind fooling around with him. That was one thing I loved about boys—if I wanted a quick, meaningless hookup just for fun, they were never very hard to convince.
I was wondering how much chitchat we’d have to make before I could get Harrison to take me somewhere private… and then he started talking.
“Oh my God!” he said excitedly. “Are you—You have to be! You’re totally related to Greg Johnson, aren’t you? The news guy. Are you his daughter? You are, right?”
“Um… yeah. He’s my dad.”
“That is so cool,” he cried. “I still can’t believe he moved here. No one famous lives in this place. I know he’s not a movie star or anything, but still. He’s on TV, which is a big deal around here. We love him.”
“Thanks.” Great. I was the one with boobs, but the boy had a thing for my dad. What the hell? Okay. It was time for a subject change.
“So,” I said, crossing my legs. I was wearing a short white skirt, showing off plenty of skin. Too bad it wasn’t quite tanned yet. “What all is there to do around here?”
“Absolutely nothing,” he answered, shrugging his broad shoulders. “We live in the lamest town ever. You just kind of ge
t used to it.”
“Well…” I swiveled in my seat a little, turning so I could press my leg right up against his. My signature move. Worked every time. “We could make it exciting, if you want. I’m a pretty exciting girl.”
Then he started laughing at me.
Not the reaction I was going for.
“Oh, honey.” He reached out suddenly and took my hand in both of his. “You’re cute. You really, really are, but I’m not interested.”
“Why not?” I asked point-blank. No use wondering about it for weeks or letting my self-image plummet because of this loser. Might as well cut to the chase.
Harrison sighed and took one of his hands away from mine. “See that guy over there, with the blond?” he asked, pointing.
My eyes followed in the direction he indicated. Across the room, sitting at a booth by themselves, were Nathan and Bailey. Even from here, I could tell Bailey looked disappointed. Nathan was chatting with her, moving his arms in big, over-the-top gestures. He must have been trying to cheer her up.
“I see him,” I said, nodding. “That’s my… future stepbrother.” I choked on the last two words.
“For real?” Harrison asked.
“Yeah.”
“That sucks for you. I could just eat him up.”
I gawked at him. “What?”
“That’s why I’m not interested,” he explained calmly, like I was an irrational five-year-old. “Your stepbrother over there, he’s more my type… if you know what I mean.”
And, of course, I knew what he meant.
It figured. The one boy in this place I was interested in was not interested in me. After all the shit I’d dealt with over the last two days, getting shot down was just the icing on the cake. But I tried to soothe my ego with the fact that it wasn’t me he wasn’t interested in, it was all girls. Still, not what I needed tonight.
“Shit,” I muttered, slumping back against the bar with my arms folded over my chest.
“I’m sorry,” he said, squeezing my shoulder. “It’s nothing personal. You’re a hottie, but boobs just aren’t my thing.”
A Midsummer's Nightmare Page 4
