Текст книги "The Diary of Lexi Ashford"

Автор книги: Jessica Sorensen

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Текущая страница: 4 (всего у книги 6 страниц)

Chapter 7

I make it a whole ten feet from the tent before Carrie Lynn darts toward me, flailing her arms in the air.

“Lexi! Yoo-hoo! I need to talk to you.”

I flip a U-turn and scramble in the opposite direction.

“Lexi Ashford, are you running away from me?” A high-pitched laugh mixed with a squeal bursts from her lips. “You’re so funny! I forgot how funny you are.”

I veer right, swinging around to the back of the tent, quickening my pace to a sprint. I push past a few people who say my name and ask what I’m doing, but I just wave at them as I round the tent, coming up on the other side. When I’ve almost done a full circle, I sprint like hell for the parking lot.

I parked at the very back, which leaves rows and rows of cars to hide me. I stuff my hands into my pocket to dig my keys out, but I can’t find them. So, I search my jacket pockets and pat my back pockets, but nope. No keys.

I look through the car window, and sure enough, there they are, hanging from the ignition. I cast a glance around the parking lot, searching for a head of teased, blonde hair.

When I don’t spot it anywhere, I relax a smidgeon and think of a game plan. Pick the lock? Sure, I’ll get right on that. I could go ask my dad if he by chance has my spare key in his car, but that means going back to the tent. The sunroof is halfway open, but the gap is a little on the small side. I could just stand here. I mean, it’s a warm day and everyone has migrated to the tent.

“Hey, Lexi. Carrie Lynn’s looking for you,” Davis, Carrie Lynn’s younger brother, approaches my car with his hands tucked in the pockets of his jeans.

“Oh, is she?” I play dumb. “I actually have to take off. I have a couple of things to do.” I prop my boot on the tire and hoist myself onto the hood of the car. Scaling up the window, I sit down on the roof and dangle my legs through the sunroof. It’s a snug fit, and my ass gets stuck.

“Do you need some help?” Davis asks, restraining a laugh.

“Nope. I got it.” Suck it in. Suck it in. I hop up and down, trapping my breath in my chest as I shimmy my hips—

I slip through and my foot slips off the console. I fall backward, kicking the horn and banging my head on the backseat. I hurry and sit up, smoothing my hair into place.

“Are you okay?” Davis peers through the window at me.

I clumsily climb into the driver’s seat. “Yep! Just great.” I roll down the window. “Davis, as one fellow nerd to another, can you do me a solid?”

He arches a brow at me, eyeing me over with distrust. “Since when am I a nerd?”

“Remember when you used to wear those goggles to school … You know what, never mind. Just please don’t tell your sister where I am. It would really mean a lot to me.”

He contemplates my offer, rubbing his jawline. “I might keep my mouth shut if you give me something in return.”

Oh, I so don’t like the wicked tone of his voice. Why do I have a feeling this is about to get a little dirty?

I smile sweetly. “Just as long as that something doesn’t contain the words blow, kiss, suck, rub, or touch.” When he pulls a guilty face, I point a finger at him. “Yeah, I know how your mind works. I remember that little stunt in the cafeteria you pulled with frosting and saran wrap.”

“It was never proven that I was involved with that.”

“Yeah, because your dad’s the sheriff.”

“Fine. Whatever. Give me ten bucks, and I’ll tell Carrie Lynn you left.”

When I dig out ten bucks in one dollar bills and change and hand it to him, his face pinches in disgust.

“Hey, I’m broke, okay?” I point out. “Why do you think I moved back here?”

“I’m glad to see you haven’t changed.” He rolls his eyes and strolls away, stuffing the change into his pocket.

“Hey! I’ve changed!” I yell after him, but he just keeps on truckin’.

After I roll up my window, I hunker down in my seat and spend the next hour hiding from an ex-cheerleader who used to cut up my clothes for fun, all while getting straight As, being homecoming queen, and baking cupcakes for every bake sale.

Yep, I’m pretty sure I just hit rock bottom.

Chapter 8

Nope. I was wrong, this is rock bottom, I think to myself as I look around the loft my parents live in now.

The maybe thousand square-foot space consists of a bed, a dresser, a fridge, an oven, and a roll-in closet. There’s a door in the corner, which I’m hoping is the bathroom. But I’m kind of worried it might not be and that the shed I saw outside that my dad told me to ignore is really an outhouse, and he just didn’t want to break the news to me.

“I know it’s not big,” my mom says, her first place ribbon still pinned proudly to her side-tied shirt. “But once the lights are off, it doesn’t seem as small.”

“That’s what he said.” I heave a sigh, setting my bag down on the floor. Man, I’m making dirty jokes with my parents. I must be losing my damn marbles.

My dad snorts a laugh and high-fives me while my mom gapes at me in confusion.

“I don’t get it,” she mumbles with her forehead scrunched.

“It’s a dirty joke, hon,” my dad explains as he sets down a couple of my boxes he carried in.

It takes a second, and then her lips form an O. “Oh, I get it. It’s an innuendo for a small penis.” She pats my back. “Sweetie, I hate to break this to you, but even with the lights off, a small penis is still a small penis.” She waggles her brows at my dad. “Of course, I wouldn’t know anything about that.”

“And on that note.” I make a beeline for the bathroom, slip inside, and shut the door.

“Hon, you know you can’t say things like penis around her,” my dad says to my mom from the other side of the door. “Remember when you were trying to give her the sex talk? She nearly cried for over an hour.”

I bang my head against the door.

“She’s too sensitive,” my mom loudly whispers. “Always has been.”

Too sensitive? Her sex talk consisted of her using a zucchini and a balloon to demonstrate how to put on a condom, a lesson she picked up while subbing for my high school health teacher.

When I asked why we were using a balloon instead of a condom, my mom explained, “Your dad and I went roller skating last night, and he wore those short, orange shorts. I couldn’t keep my hands off him, and we ended up using all the condoms.”

“She needs to get over this,” my mom continues. “She’s twenty-six years old. Penises shouldn’t freak her out anymore. I’m sure she’s seen her fair share of them by now.”

“I hope not.” My dad sounds appalled. “I hate the idea of my daughter sleeping around.”

“It’s perfectly for a woman her age to explore her body,” my mom says.

“Um, hello, I can hear everything you’re saying,” I say to them through the door.

“That’s nice, honey,” my mom replies. “It’s good your hearing’s so great.”

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

Once I’ve hit a state of Zen where nothing can get to me, not even my parents discussing my sex life and my phobia of the word penis, I turn around to head for the toilet—

“Holy shit!” I let out a blood-curdling scream as I come face-to-face with hundreds of garden gnomes lining the walls, the counter, the back of the toilet, the shower.

“Lexi, are you okay?” My dad barges into the bathroom like he’s a freakin’ superhero ready to save the day.

“Gnomes,” I manage to get out, pressing my hand over my racing heart.

My dad promptly chillaxes. “Yeah, your mom couldn’t bring herself to get rid of them when we moved, but since we don’t have a good enough yard to put them in…” He gestures at the gnomes. “Your mom thought it’d be better if we put them in here.”

“What am I supposed to do when I have to pee?”

“Sit down on the toilet,” he jokes, laughing at himself. “Lexi, I thought we potty-trained you a long time ago.”

“Hardy, har, har,” I reply dryly. “Seriously, Dad. I don’t think I can pee with these things watching me.”

“Why? Are you gun shy?”

“No, they just freak me out.”

“Oh, yeah. I forgot you have gnomophobia.”

“I don’t have gnomophobia, Dad. It just feels like the ugly, little critters are watching me.”

“Well, then pee with your eyes closed,” he suggests, throwing me a grin before walking out of the bathroom.

Sighing, I lift the toilet lid. “Don’t look at me like that. It’s a natural, human thing.” I glare at the gnome perched on the back of the toilet and end up having to turn it around before I can sit down and do my business.

“All right, can I just make a quick suggestion?” I announce as I stroll out of the bathroom. “Can we please put those gnomes in the shed …?” I slow to a stop.

Carrie Lynn is babbling to my mom by the front door, clutching a large, pink bag in her hand. She’s changed out of her 80s clothes and is now decked out in a pale pink dress, matching heels, and pearls, looking one step away from becoming a Stepford Wife.

“Did she see me?” I whisper to my dad. “Do I still have time to hide?”

My dad barks a laugh then decides to go traitor on me. “Here she is, Carrie Lynn.”

“Traitor,” I hiss as Carrie Lynn spots me and smiles.

“You need to make friends while you’re here,” he whispers. “Otherwise, you’ll just end up hanging out with your mom and me every night, and we need our alone time sometimes”—he winks at me—“if you know what I mean.”

I just shake my head. “Unfortunately, Dad, I do. I always do.”

“I’m so glad I found you.” Carrie Lynn urges me to take the bag. “I brought you this.”

“Thanks.” I warily take the bag from her and peer inside to find a travel-sized bottle of shampoo, a glittery plastic tiara, a feather boa … Oh, a cookie! Yum.

“It’s an official invitation to my bachelorette party tomorrow.” She ravels her pearls around her finger. “I already gave your mom a wedding invitation about a month ago, but you’re welcome to come to that, too. In fact, you have to. It’s going to be the party of the year.”

“I’m sure it is. “ I plaster on a smile. “Thanks for the invitation, but I’m not sure I can make it. I have a lot of stuff to unpack.”

“Oh, honey, I hate to break it to you, but most of your stuff is going to have to stay in boxes, and we’re probably going to have to see if someone will let us store them in their garage.” My mom frowns as she glances around the loft. “There’s just not enough space in here for everything.”

“What about the shed outside?” I ask. “I could put most of the boxes in there.”

“There’s no room in the shed,” my dad sputters, looking horrified. When I give him a suspicious look, he shrugs. “Plus, it’s locked and I lost the key. Whoopsie.”

“What are you hiding in that shed?” I elevate my brows. “A dead body or something?”

“Stay out of the shed,” he warns. “I have to check on the store. The grand opening is next week, and we still have a ton of stuff to do.”

“How can you have a grand opening for a store that’s been open for almost thirty years?” I ask as he collects a set of keys from off the counter and heads for the front door.

“Oh, they closed that, like, six months ago,” Carrie Lynn answers for him. “They’re turning it into a bakery, which I so can’t wait for. Cakes beat books any day.”

“That’s the silliest thing I’ve ever heard you say,” I tell her then fist pump the air. “Brain power beats cupcakes all the way, baby.”

She fakes an off-pitch laugh that sounds like a hyena. “Oh, my God, I forgot how funny you are. Seriously. You so have to come to my party and entertain us.”

I wasn’t trying to be funny, but okay. “I wish I could, but like I said, I have lots and lots of stuff to do.” I shrug, like what are you gonna do? “If you want entertainment, I do know a male stripper who might be willing to drive down here for the weekend. I have to warn you, though, he’s a little well-aged. But he does have some great squatting skills.”

Carrie Lynn’s eyes practically bulge out of the sockets. “Oh … I don’t think we’ll need any strippers, but thanks for the offer.”

“Lexi, I’m sure you can unpack next week,” my mom interrupts, opening up the fridge. “You should go to the party. Have some fun for once in your life.”

“Mom, I promise I have tons of fun all the time. Last weekend, I partied way too hard and then went out with a friend and did all these crazy tasks on her list,” I say, which is technically the truth.

Last week, I spent Saturday night with Miss F. getting high, and then we walked around and did stuff on her errand list while eating a bunch of cheese and wearing paper crowns we made.

“And I’ve been jobless for almost a month now. I need to get out and find a job, not go to a party.”

My mom grabs a bottle of pinkish-looking goo and bumps the fridge shut with her hip. “Okay, I was trying to be nice about this, but we’re having people sleeping over tomorrow night, and I’d really appreciate it if you weren’t here.”

I gape at her. “You have people sleeping over?”

“Yeah, for my wildcat party.” She unscrews the cap off the bottle of goo.

“Is wildcat code for orgy?” I question with skepticism.

She shakes her head in all seriousness. “No, it’s the annual wildcat fundraiser party.” She nods her head toward a pile of flyers stacked on the bed.

I grab one and read it. “Annual Wildcat fundraiser. Come join the yarn fun. Spend all night working until your body aches then join us for waffles in the morning.” Still sounds kind of like an orgy to me, but whatever.

“This year, we’re making scarves, and we’re going to raffle them off at the bake sale next Friday.” She dips her finger into the bottle, digs out a blob of goo, and tastes it before wiping it on her cheek. “I’d invite you to come, but I know how much you hate sewing and wildcats.”

“I don’t hate wildcats,” I protest. “Why would you think that?”

“Hmmm … Maybe I was thinking of wild turkeys,” she replies with her head slanted to the side. “It was wild something …”

“See, now you have an excuse to come to my party,” Carrie Lynn interrupts, startling me.

Jesus. I forgot she was standing there.

“Um …” Before I can come up with another excuse, she starts blabbing off the details.

“And make sure to bring a change of clothes,” she presses. “We’ll be spending the night in Vegas and who knows what kind of trouble we’ll get into.”

I perk up slightly. “Wait … Your party’s in Vegas?”

She bobs her head up and down. “It’s only about a six hour drive, so we’re carpooling there.” She lets out an ear-splitting squeal then throws her arms around me. “I’m so excited you’re coming. I can’t wait to tell the girls.”

I awkwardly pat her back. “Yeah … me, too…”

She pulls away, bouncing with energy, as she skips toward the door. “And make sure to bring your favorite wine coolers.” Her excitement goes up a thousand notches. “We have a driver, so we’re going to get wasted on the drive there.”

Wine coolers? Yeah, that’ll work if by wine coolers she means tequila shots.

“This is going to be so much fun. Just no hard alcohol, okay. We don’t want to get too crazy.” She whisks out the door, wiggling her fingers at me.

“You know, I never would’ve thought it was possible, but I think she got even more peppy than when she was a cheerleader,” I say to Mom after Carrie Lynn leaves the loft.

“She seems nice, though.” My mom continues to wipe the goo all over her face, smearing it over her cheeks and eyelids.

“Mom, what is that?”

“It’s a face mask. It’s supposed to give my skin a glittery glow and make me look fifty years younger.”

“You’re only fifty, Mom, so how can you look fifty years younger?” I point out, leaning against the counter. “And it looks like Ghostbusters slime. Where’d you even get it?”

“This lovely young man was going door to door, selling it out of his van.” She eyeballs the bottle. “It does kind of look like the slime, doesn’t it?” She smiles and then breaks out into an off-key version of the movie’s theme song as she continues to lather goo all over her face.

I sit down on the edge of their bed and dig the invitation out of the bag. Despite the heavy amounts of glitter on it—seriously, it looks like a faerie pooped on it—I decide the party might not be too bad. I’ll be back by Sunday and can unpack then start looking for a job first thing Monday morning. Half the stores in the town aren’t open on weekends, anyway.

And Vegas sounds fun. What could possibly go wrong?

Chapter 9

That night, while sleeping in a sleeping bag on the floor of my parents’ loft, I dream of sexy strangers with green eyes, dinging slot machines, clouds that rain glitter, crazy-ass zombie gnomes eating my flesh, and baby marshmallow men sprouting from my mom’s zero day old skin. By the time I wake up, I’ve vowed to throw away my mom’s face cream and to start my investigation on Evan Mackay.

The next morning, before I head off to Carrie Lynn’s, I circle some potential jobs in the newspaper and then ask my mom if she still has any of my old yearbooks.

“I think I kept a couple.” She tears her attention away from color coordinating her yawn just long enough to point over at the kitchen. “Check the top drawer by the fridge.”

I dig through the drawer filled with random junk until I find my sophomore yearbook and fan through the pages until I find where Evan Mackay’s photo should be, but he was MIA for picture day. I check the clubs and the index, but nope. Nothing.

“The dude’s a ghost,” I mutter, shutting the book.

My mom starts humming the Ghostbusters theme again. “That reminds me. I need to put on my mask.”

Not wanting to hear her chew my butt off because I threw the mask away the moment I woke up, I grab my bag and bolt out the door, even though it’s early. I have to make a quick stop by Mrs. Timpler’s, anyway, because she’s letting me store my stuff in her garage.

It takes me a total of three minutes to drive there and two more minutes to pile my stuff into the corner of the garage.

“That’s all your stuff?” Mrs. Timpler questions, eyeing over my boxes and bags.

“I’m a minimalist,” I lie.

The truth is I suck with money and planning my future. I’ve just never thought about it that much until recently. I’m a fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants sort of gal, and while it’s been a fun ride, it’s depressing seeing your life crammed in a total of six boxes and two bags.

“Thanks for letting me keep it here.” I wave to Mrs. Timpler as I open my car door.

“It’s no problem at all.” She wanders toward my car as the garage door closes. “I owe your mom, anyway, for all that confetti I’ve borrowed over the years.”

I smile, even though I have no clue what she’s talking about, and I really don’t want to, considering I’ve seen what she does with confetti. Then I get into my car and drive toward Carrie Lynn’s.

Since I’m still early, I stop by the grocery store to buy a bottle of tequila. After getting into a very uncomfortable conversation with one of my teachers about what I’m doing with my life, I end up arriving ten minutes late, which is apparently the end of the world in peppy ex-cheerleader land.

“There you are!” She jogs down the gravel driveway toward me as I climb out of my car. “We were getting worried about you! I even called your mom since I don’t have your phone number, but she told me not to worry, because you’re always late.” She places her hands on her hips. “I hate to be a thorn in the behind, but we have a tight schedule to follow, so I’d appreciate it if you could leave the tardiness here in the driveway.”

“Got it.” I pantomime dropping something in the driveway, but the gesture goes over her head. I grab my bag then bump the car door shut. “Quick question, though. Isn’t Vegas supposed to be, I don’t know, a place to let go and be crazy? Do whatever the hell you want? Be carefree? Not follow a schedule?”

She shakes her head. “Being carefree is for hippies and those girls who wear those sweatpants that say things like ‘juicy’ and ‘sexy’ on the rear end.”

I glance at the sweatpants she’s wearing that are decorated with ‘Bride to Be’ on the behind, but she simply shrugs.

“Okay, so we have one car we’re taking.” She rounds the back of the biggest SUV I have ever seen. “And this is our driver, Evan.” She gestures at the guy piling bags into the back of the car.

Evan? Sexy Stranger is the driver?

“I’m not your driver, Carrie Lynn.” Evan tosses a bag into the back of the SUV. “I’m just doing your fiancé a favor.”

“Because you’re too nice.” Emersyn Mackay, Ander’s younger sister, and I guess Evan’s, too, drapes her arm around Evan. “But I’m glad you’re going, big bro. God knows what’d happen to me if I went alone with them. I’d probably come back with hair twice the size of my head and addicted to lollipops and bubblegum.”

“What do you mean by that?” Carrie Lynn pops a bubble. “Because it feels like you mean something.”

Emersyn grins wickedly, but doesn’t say anything.

Shaking her head, Carrie Lynn faces me. “Do you know Emersyn? If you don’t, you really should. I think you two will get along great. You have the same odd sense of humor.”

I glance at Emersyn, dressed in black jeans, boots, and a plaid shirt, no glitter or sparkles in sight. “I could maybe see that happening.”

Emersyn skims me over with doubt. “I don’t know. That’s some awfully sparkly eyeshadow you’re wearing.”

I instinctively touch the corner of my eye. “Hey, it’s black.”

“It looks like it’s shimmering,” she says with insinuation.

“It’s just the sunlight,” I lie. The color is called shimmering midnight, but she doesn’t need to know that. “And what about you?”

She looks taken aback. “I don’t have anything glittery, shimmering, sparkling, or twinkling on me. I know that for a fact.”

I give a pressing glance at her clunky boots.

When she tracks my gaze, her eyes narrow. “Dammit, Carrie Lynn, why do you have to put glitter on everything?”

“I didn’t mean to put it on your shoes,” Carrie Lynn protests. “It must’ve leaked out of one of the suitcases.”

Emersyn, Evan, and I stare at a trail of glitter that goes from the bumper to the inside of the SUV where the suitcases are piled. Then Evan reaches in and lifts up a bright pink bag with hearts on it. Glitter leaks from the bottom and floats to the floor.

“Darn it, the bin must’ve leaked,” Carrie Lynn says as she sends a text. “I’ll be right back. Stacey’s having a shoe crisis. Too many shoes, not enough bags.”

Once she’s in the house, I turn to Emersyn and Evan. “Anyone else worried about the bin of glitter she’s bringing?”

“Not as worried as I am about this schedule she has planned.” Emersyn pulls a repulsed face at the glitter. “And how the glitter fits in it.” She lets her head fall back and stares at the sky. “God, I hope we aren’t doing arts and crafts.”

“Me, neither,” I agree. “Unless I’m high. I get really creative when I’m high.”

Emersyn’s lips tug into a tiny smile. “You do that a lot?

I give a half shrug. “Nah. Not too much. Just whenever I hang out with Miss F.”

Her brows drip. “Who’s Miss F?”

“My cranky, old neighbor.” I sigh, feeling homesick for Miss F. and our crazy running-errands-when-you’re-high adventures. “But, anyway, I’ll tell you what. If arts and crafts ends up coming up, I’ll fake food poisoning, and you can pretend you have to run me to the hospital.”

She considers my offer, and then a grin breaks out across her face. “Sounds like a deal. Now, if you could solve the wine-coolers-only problem, we should be golden.”

Grinning, I do my best mafia-come-a-little-closer gesture and show her the bottle of tequila in my bag.

“Mad props, city girl.” She snatches the bottle from my bag, throws back a swig, and then offers the bottle to me.

I take a tiny sip, but don’t go too crazy. It is only ten o’clock in the morning, after all—I need to wait until at least lunch time—and we have a long drive ahead of us. I need to pace myself, not get too crazy too fast. Otherwise, I’ll turn into reckless Lexi, and she causes even more chaos than sober Lexi.

Yep, I definitely need to take it easy. The last thing I want to do is end up in Vegas, drunk off my ass. Knowing my luck, I’ll end up in some cheesy Elvis wedding chapel, wearing a weird kitty cat get-up, marrying a guy named Bologna who wears a collection of Smurf doll head necklaces around his neck and sports an athletic cup all the time because, as he says, “To protect his nuts from squirrels! They’re sneaky, little bastards! They’ll get you when you least expect it!”

True story. Not about the marriage part, but about the guy named Bologna.

I met him during a strange night when I somehow ended up drunk in the park, wearing a cardboard box and talking to a tree about my life problems.

“I have to pee,” Emersyn announces. “I guess I better go now, since the first scheduled bathroom stop isn’t for another three hours.” Grumbling under her breath, she hikes up the driveway toward the house.

“So, how’s Veronica Mars doing?” Evan asks as he lightly chucks the pink bag back into the trunk.

“She’s doing great.” I hold my finger and thumb an inch apart. “I’m this close to figuring you out. I even found your photo in the yearbook. You were pretty photogenic, if I do say so myself.”

“That’s funny because I’m pretty sure I was purposefully absent every year during picture day.” He folds his lean arm across his chest and stares me down, doing that freaky, unblinking thing again. “And I wasn’t photogenic at all. Never have been.”

“Yeah, right. Have you seen yourself?” I pause, realizing what I said aloud, and then quickly add, “Okay, okay. I looked in one yearbook and couldn’t find a photo of you. I thought I’d go out on a limb, though, because I didn’t think you’d be MIA in all of them.”

“Well, I was, and for a very good reason.” He chews on his bottom lip, looking lost in deep thought, and it just might be the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. Then he shakes his head, as if clearing his thoughts, and slams the back of the vehicle shut. “Keep tryin’, Lex. I’m sure you’ll figure it out eventually, or maybe you can just ask my brother since the two of you seem so close.”

“We aren’t close.” Although, if I had my way, we’d be dirty texting each other already.

“Really? That’s weird since I spent all last night listening to him talk about how much he likes you and how he really wants to ask you out, but he’s too worried you’ll say no.”

“Really?”

“Yep, right after we painted each other’s toenails and braided each other’s hair.” He shakes his head before heading to the side of the SUV.

“Not all girls do that!” I yell after him, but he merely chuckles and slips into the driver’s seat.

Grr. Damn him. Why won’t he just tell me? It’s so frustrating, yet at the same time, I find his desire to torture me very sexy.

“What’s got your panties in a bunch?” Emersyn stops by my side, giving me a quizzical look. “You look sexually frustrated, like you’re about to dry hump the car.” She steps back. “Should I give you two a minute or what?”

I tear my gaze off the SUV. “Your brother’s got me frustrated. I can’t figure out who he is. It’s driving me bananas.”

She crosses her arms and cocks a brow. “You still haven’t figured that out?”

“He told you about that, huh?” I ask and she nods. I grimace. “I feel bad about it, but it’s not like I was Miss Popular in high school. I probably wouldn’t recognize a lot of people.” Lie. I’ve remembered everyone I’ve run into so far, but I’m not about to admit that and make myself look more like an ass.

“Yeah, I remember, kangaroo shirt girl.” The hardness in her expression softens as I cringe. “Okay, I’m going to do you a favor as one ex-dork to another. When you’re trying to remember Evan, picture him as your mother’s worst nightmare. He was so Emo back then. I’m serious, like, really mopey, and he used to lock himself in his bedroom and spend hours writing depressing poetry.” She rolls her eyes. “He had really badly dyed black hair, wore eyeliner, spiky collars, bracelets, chains, and had a ton of piercings.”

It clicks. Well, sort of.

“I know the guy you’re talking about, but that guy’s name wasn’t Evan.” And I know I’m thinking of the right person because there was a total of one Emo kid in Fairville. “His name was Silver.”

“Yeah, Silver is Evan’s middle name. But he went by it in high school because he thought it fit his”—she makes air quotes– “ ‘tortured, misunderstood soul.’ ”

I process what she just told me. Silver—or Evan—and I used to talk a lot during chemistry class. Or, well, I did a lot of talking while he worked on our assignment and nodded his head a lot. I was never quite sure if he was listening or if he just had some weird, constant muscle spasm in his neck.

“All right, ladies, who’s ready to party like it’s 1999!” Carrie Lynn cheers as she and her four friends walk out of the house. They’re wearing the same pants as Carrie Lynn, only the butts of theirs say ‘Bridesmaid Bitches Posse.’ And they’re all sporting tiaras. “You girls remember Lexi Ashford, right?” Carrie Lynn says to them when the five of them reach me. “She went to school with us. She’s the one who wore that shirt with a horse on it all the time.”

There’s a chorus of “Oh, yeah,” and one snide, “Oh, you mean the girl who had really short arms. Didn’t we make up a nickname for her, like Lexi T-Rexi or something?” The wind’s blowing, and she’s clutching on to her tiara like her life depends on it. I make a mental note to steal her tiara when I get a chance and make her watch me break it in half before I throw it off a roof.

Emersyn gives me a sympathetic look before hopping into the passenger seat of the car.

As the four of them pile into the back and middle seat of the SUV, Carrie plops a tiara down on my head. When I start to protest, she holds up her hand. “Everyone at the party has to wear one, Lexi, so be a trooper.”

“But Emersyn isn’t wearing one.” I sulk with my arms folded.

“That’s because she’s allergic to cubic zirconium,” Carrie Lynn says, dead serious.

Sure she is. Dammit! Why couldn’t I come up with an excuse like that?

Emersyn catches my eye through the window and puts her finger to her lips, begging me not to say anything.

Carrie Lynn puts her foot on the sidestep, hoists herself into the middle seat, and then pats the spot beside her. “Now, come on. I promise you that, by the end of the car ride, you’ll be wearing that tiara proudly.”

Yeah, there’s a better chance of the sky raining tiny cupids onto my head then that ever happening. But I force a smile, knowing there’s no use going on this road trip being a Debbie downer, even if I’m being forced to wear a plastic princess crown that, for some reason, smells like cotton candy.