Текст книги "A Midsummer's Nightmare"

Автор книги: Kody Keplinger

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Текущая страница: 8 (всего у книги 15 страниц)

16

I spent the next several days avoiding Nathan as much as was humanly possible. This involved lots of the silent treatment and cold-shouldering, mixed with a little bit of immature “Did you hear something? Must have been the wind,” whenever he tried to get my attention in the presence of others. Sylvia raised her eyebrows at this once or twice, but she had the sense not to ask me questions. And Dad… Well, I didn’t see Dad much, so he probably had no idea.

Bailey was the only one who ventured into the questioning territory, stupid kid.

“Did Nathan, like, do something to piss you off?” she asked one afternoon on the couch after Nathan spent ten minutes trying to talk to me with no luck.

“Since when do you say piss?” I asked, picking up the remote and flipping to a movie channel.

“I’m almost fourteen. I swear sometimes.”

“I’ve never heard you swear.”

“Well, I do. So, what did Nathan do?”

“Your mother will kill you if she hears you talking like that.”

“I won’t let her hear me, then,” she said. “Why are you mad at Nathan?”

I groaned and leaned my head against the back of the couch. “Not that it’s any of your business, but he said something stupid, so yes, I’m pissed at him.”

“Oh. What did he say?”

I narrowed my eyes at her. “Bailey.”

“Okay, sorry. I’ll stop asking questions.” She repositioned herself on the couch to see the screen better. “But you can tell me if you decide you want to talk about it.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, thanks.”

Not many people could get away with pestering me the way Bailey did, but I was just incapable of getting mad at her. Maybe it was all the time we’d been spending together, watching bad reality TV and goofy eighties movies, or maybe it was the constant guilt I felt when I looked at her, thinking of what those boys had done to her and knowing it was my fault for not watching her.

Either way, I just couldn’t get mad at her, even when she was at her most annoying.

“Hey, girls,” Dad said as he walked into the living room. He’d been doing something in his office ever since he got home from work earlier that afternoon. “Can you two do me a favor?”

“Sure,” I said, twisting to look at him over the back of the couch. “What’s up?”

“Do you mind picking up around the house? Taking out the trash, dusting some of the furniture, the usual? Sylvia’s asked me to run to the grocery store, and I want the house cleaned up before she gets home.”

“We can do that,” Bailey said, switching off the TV.

“Thanks. I owe you both.” He started for the door, pausing to slip on his shoes.

“Hey, Dad?” I said, getting to my feet.

“Uh-huh?”

He kept facing the wall, bending down to tie his shoes without looking at me. I wanted him to look at me, wanted to see his eyes when they met mine. He hadn’t said a word about the pictures on Facebook, but he had to have seen them… right?

“Um, do you think we could hang out soon?” I asked. “To talk about, like, college and majors and stuff?”

“Sure. I’ll have to look at my schedule, but I should have time next weekend. We’ll do something then.”

He had to find time in his schedule to talk to me. Wow, that made me feel important.

“Great,” I said. “I’m going to spend the night at Harrison’s on the Fourth, but maybe that afternoon? Before he picks me up?”

“Sounds good.” He gave me a quick smile before pulling open the front door and heading out. He’d glanced at me, but only for a millisecond—not enough for me to tell if he was looking at me differently.

I sighed and ran a hand through my hair.

“You okay?” Bailey asked. I turned and found her already holding a dust rag in her hand. “You look… Are you pissed at Greg, too?”

“Stop saying pissed. It’s weird.”

She grinned. “That time I just did it to see what you’d say.”

I grabbed the dust rag out of her hand and started cleaning the entertainment center. “Go take out the trash, Potty Mouth.”

She laughed and headed into the kitchen. “Pissed!” she shouted as she walked through the dining room. “Shit! Damn!”

I rolled my eyes. If Nathan heard her tossing out curses, he’d probably blame me for that, too. Say it was my influence or something.

Really, though, I wouldn’t have cared. I was just happy she was in a good mood, laughing and joking. I was glad those boys hadn’t taken that Bailey away from me. Especially because at the moment, she was the only person in this family I actually liked.

I got up early the morning of Harrison’s party, hoping to spend a few hours talking with Dad about potential majors. I was fully prepared for an awkward confrontation about the Facebook pictures, and I’d even figured out exactly how I’d respond when he started asking me about the group.

Unfortunately, I never got the chance to use my speech.

I waited around downstairs all afternoon for Dad to get home from work. One o’clock, two o’clock, three o’clock… Around three thirty he called the house from his cell phone.

“Hi, munchkin,” he said. “Could you do me a favor and ask Nathan to meet me at the theater? I’d swing by and pick him up, but it took longer than I expected to pick out fireworks for tonight.”

“The theater?” I repeated. “Nathan? But I thought you and I were going to talk about college and… I don’t know. Hang out.”

“Oh, right,” he said. “I’m sorry—I forgot. We’ll do it soon, I promise.”

There was some muffled noise from his end.

“I’ve got to go, munchkin,” he said. “I’m in line to buy these fireworks. I’ll see you tonight.”

“I’m going to Harrison’s tonight.”

“Then I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said. “I love you. Bye.”

I clenched my fist around the cordless phone for a long moment before slamming it back down on the counter. Frustration boiled inside my chest. He’d ditched me for Nathan. For his new son. His new family.

I turned and stormed upstairs, pushing open the door to Nathan’s room without knocking. He was sitting on his bed, reading a book. He looked up when I walked in. To my surprise—and annoyance—he looked happy to see me.

“Hey,” he said. “I’m glad you’re here. I wanted to talk to you about what I said—”

“Dad wants you to meet him at the theater,” I said. “He can’t pick you up because he’s buying fireworks…. You’re going to the movies with him?”

“Um… Yeah, I am. We’re going to see that sci-fi movie—this is the last week it’s showing. Is that okay? Do you want to come with us?”

“No,” I snapped. “No, it’s not okay. He was supposed to hang out with me today. He was supposed to talk to me. About my future, my major, the shit people are saying online. He hasn’t talked to me about any of it, and he was supposed to today. But he’s not. Instead he’s going to the movies with you. And no, Nathan, I don’t fucking want to come with you.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t know. Maybe he forgot.”

“Just like he’s been forgetting to look me in the eye lately. No, he’s just more excited to start fresh with his new, perfect family.”

Nathan had the grace to look genuinely sympathetic, at least. “Is there anything I can do? I could cancel, or I could drive you, and you could go instead.”

I softened a little. It was hard to be angry when he seemed to really care—even if my dad was replacing me with him. “No. I just—I need to check something on your computer.”

“Um, okay. What?”

“Facebook.” I sat down at the desk and brought up the Internet. I heard the springs of Nathan’s bed creak as he set his book aside and walked up behind me.

“You don’t want—”

“Don’t tell me what I want, Nathan.”

He was already signed in to Facebook when I opened the page. Finding the group wasn’t hard. It popped up as soon as I typed my name into the search bar.

I scrolled down, trying to ignore the left panel and the 167 people like this message there. Jesus, were there even 167 people in Hamilton to begin with? There were no new photos up, which made sense, since I hadn’t left the house in the last few days. But posts and comments and speculations about where I’d been had popped up.

Rehab already, maybe?

Wonder if Greg shipped her back to where she came from? I wouldn’t want my fans to see my daughter if she behaved that way.

I pushed their words out of my head and made myself click on the top photo—the one of me and the dreadlocks guy kissing.

“Nathan,” I said. “If someone’s name is tagged in a photo on here one day, but it isn’t now… What does that mean?”

“The person tagged can untag themselves,” he said. “Why?”

“Because,” I said, “Dad was tagged in this photo when you showed me the page, and now he isn’t. Which means he untagged himself. So he saw this picture. He saw it, and he didn’t say anything to me about it. He just… He untagged himself. Like it never happened.”

“Maybe he just—”

“He just doesn’t give a shit.”

I stood up and started for the door, but Nathan caught my arm. “Whit.”

“Whitley.”

“I’m sorry for what I said to you that day.” Nathan’s hand slid from my elbow to my wrist. “It wasn’t okay for me to call you a whore. It’s not okay for anyone to say that. Not the people online, and definitely not me. You told me once that I’m a hypocrite. And you’re right. I am. You should know that I—”

“While I’m sure this is going to be a fascinating story,” I interrupted, “I don’t care. I’m having a major parental crisis that sort of outshines your little tantrum, and frankly it seems like my dad agrees with you. I have a party to get ready for, so can we do this later?”

He let go of my arm. “I get it. Yeah. Fine.”

“Great. Thanks.”

I knew this was Dad’s fault, that it was Dad I should be angry with, but I hated Nathan right then, too. Because Dad was spending time with Nathan today instead of with me. Nathan was the child he wanted. He couldn’t even make time in his schedule to talk to me, to care.

Untagged. He’d untagged himself from the photo.

From me.

17

“I think you’ve had enough, sweetie.”

Harrison tried to take the glass from me, but I jerked away from him, keeping it out of his grip and spilling some of the vodka on my purple top at the same time. I hated vodka, but that’s what Harrison’s sister had bought for us. Whatever. It was better than nothing. Way better than yucky beer.

“Leave me alone,” I said.

“You’re smashed. And not in your usual goofy, funny way. You’re getting obnoxious, and more than a little morose. You should stop now.”

“I’m fine,” I snapped. “It’s the Fourth of July. I can have as much as I want. Mind your own business.”

“God, Whitley, stop being so dramatic,” he called as I walked away from him, crossing his backyard in a beeline for the row of trees.

I wondered if he’d seen the Facebook page.

I took another gulp of the vodka. I was still thinking about the Facebook page, about Dad. I was still thinking, so I wasn’t drunk enough.

My hair was all in my face, and I tried to flip the strands out of my eyes somewhat gracefully. Thank God Harrison lived way out in the country. His house was set almost a mile off the highway, surrounded by thick woods. This was a fabulous thing since, apparently, he was incredibly popular. There had to be a hundred kids at this party. Every member of the Blond Mafia. Wesley and his stupid, ugly girlfriend. Geeks, jocks, preps. People in high school and on summer break from college. Harrison knew everyone.

I knew that these people had their little cameras ready, ready to catch me doing something skanky or illegal. I’d thought about it as soon as I arrived at the party. And then I thought, Fuck it, because Dad didn’t care, so why should I? Might as well give these people the show they wanted.

But I flinched each time I saw someone on their phone, wondering if they were about to sneak a picture of me.

So I drank more, and waited for the moment when I’d stop caring.

I stumbled over a patch of uneven ground and my drink flew out of my hand, sending shards of glass scattering across the grass and turning the dirt into vodka-flavored mud.

“Shit,” I whined, trying to correct my posture. I got a little assistance when a hand took hold of my elbow and helped me straighten up.

“Steady there.”

“Thanks,” I muttered.

“Not a problem.”

I turned to face my rescuer. He had blond hair, a strong jaw, and really shiny teeth. Maybe it was just the drunk goggles clouding my vision, but at that moment, he looked like perfection in the flesh.

“Hi,” I said, smiling. Behind him, the backyard blurred and tilted.

“Hey,” he said, still holding my elbow. “You’re Whitley, right?”

I grimaced. “How did you know?”

“Harrison told me about you,” he said. “His sister and I go to college together. My name is Theo.”

I was relieved to know that he knew me from Harrison rather than from the Facebook page. For a second, I was worried he was one of the 167 people who’d joined the group.

“Theo,” I said. “That’s an interesting name.”

“So is Whitley.” He grinned, leaning in to whisper in my ear. “But I like it.”

A chill ran up my spine. “Do you?” I murmured.

“It’s sexy.”

I laughed. “Theo… Your name makes me think of Alvin and the Chipmunks.”

He chuckled, pulling back from me and letting go of my arm. “Well,” he said, “I guess I’ll leave you alone. You probably want to hang out with your friends.”

I scoffed. “What friends?”

Theo gestured to the crowds all around us. They were a fog of brightly colored clothes and swaying limbs. No faces. No familiar or distinct voices. Everything blended together. Strange and unreal.

But Theo was right in front of me. Solid. Clear.

“They’re not my friends,” I said, stepping closer. “I’d rather spend time with you.”

“Me?” He raised an eyebrow. “An old college guy? I’d probably bore you to death.”

“I wouldn’t mind.”

His arm was around my waist. I wasn’t sure how it got there. “Then maybe you’ve just made a new friend, Whitley Johnson.”

I shook my head, but that only made it hurt. “Nah,” I said. “I don’t do friends. But we can hang out.”

“That works for me.”

So Theo and I sat on one of the picnic tables, away from the rest of the partygoers, and just talked for a while. He was a music major. He liked Elvis, Jet Li, and extra-cheesy pizza. He knew the names of every constellation in the sky that night, and he didn’t mention my father once.

By one AM, I was smitten.

But by two, he was standing up, moving away from the picnic table.

“Where are you going?” I asked, trying to follow him and tripping over my own feet. I’d had two more glasses of vodka and Sprite since we’d started talking.

He smiled at me. “I just have to run to my car,” he said. “I left my cell phone out there, and I should probably make sure my mom hasn’t tried to call.”

“Your mom?”

“Yeah.” He shrugged, apparently a little embarrassed. “She gets a little protective when I’m home for the summer. It’s sweet.”

“Moms don’t like me.”

“My mom would.” He grinned and turned around again, walking toward the front yard.

“Can I come with you?” I asked, stumbling after him.

“Of course,” he said, his hand quickly sliding around my waist, helping me to keep pace and remain upright. “You’re great company. I just feel bad for keeping you from all the other kids your age.”

“First of all,” I slurred, “I’m not a kid. And secondly, I like you better. They’re dumb. You’re fun.”

“And you’re just drunk enough to actually believe that.” He laughed. “I’m boring, I swear.”

“No, you’re not. You’re cute.”

We were walking around Harrison’s house now, nearing the front yard. The sounds of the party faded into the distance behind us as we moved toward the driveway and Theo directed me to his SUV.

I snorted. “My dad drives one just like that.”

Theo chuckled. “Your dad must have good taste. This baby is amazing.”

“Boys who like cars are lame.”

“Hey,” he said, pulling open the driver’s side door, “you’re the one who thinks I’m cute. So, technically, that makes you pretty lame, too.”

“Shut up.”

I glanced through the window as he pulled his cell phone from the console. Leather interior. All shiny and pretty. Everything was exactly like Dad’s… except for the stereo.

“Dude!” I cried. “Your stereo kicks ass!”

“Girls who like stereos are lame,” Theo teased.

“I thought I told you to shut up.”

“Never said I’d listen.”

I made my way around the front of the car and climbed into the passenger’s seat. “Play me something,” I demanded, leaning back. “I want to see just how awesome that thing must sound. What did you pay for it? Two hundred bucks?”

“With the new speakers, it was closer to five hundred,” he said, sitting down in the driver’s seat and shutting the door. The windows were rolled up. The party was far, far away. We were all alone.

“What are you in the mood to hear?” he asked, hooking his MP3 player into the system.

“Michael Jackson,” I said.

Theo raised an eyebrow at me. “Really? You like MJ?”

“Yep. Can you guess my favorite song?”

“Easy,” he said. “ ‘Billie Jean.’ ”

“You got it.”

He smiled and pushed a few buttons on his MP3 player. Seconds later, Michael Jackson was singing to us about the beauty queen who was not the mother of his baby.

“You know, Whitley,” Theo said, his lips suddenly very close to my ear, “you’re pretty cute for a high school girl.”

“I’m not in high school,” I told him. “I just graduated, thank you very much. I’m going to be a freshman in college soon. Maybe I’ll major in music, like you. But I’m a big girl now, no kid.”

He chuckled again. He had a cute chuckle.

“That’s good,” he said. “Then I don’t feel so guilty about doing this.”

Then he was kissing me, and I was kissing him back. He had very strong lips. They sent shock waves down my spine. My arms wrapped around him, and my eyes slid closed. The windows were tinted; there would be no pictures of this online. No small-town paparazzi. This was all mine.

But for some reason I just couldn’t get into it. Theo was a good kisser, and he was attractive, but the longer it went on, the less I wanted it.

“Hey… stop,” I gasped, pulling away as Theo’s hand slid beneath the waistband of my jeans. “Slow down, okay?”

He pressed his mouth against mine again, but his hands didn’t stop. His fingers kept dancing down into my jeans, toying with the elastic of my underwear.

Part of me wanted to say Screw it! and let him do what he wanted. Why not? It wouldn’t be the first time I’d slept with someone I barely knew, and I came into tonight looking for some level of hookup. It’s not like anyone would think less of me.

But maybe I’d think less of me…

I kept imagining Nathan. Showing me that stupid website. Reminding me of the example I was setting for Bailey. Saying he couldn’t believe I’d sleep with someone after we… He hadn’t finished that thought.

“Seriously,” I murmured, pushing at Theo’s wrist. “Not tonight.”

Theo’s hand slid out of my pants and I relaxed. Until he began trying to pull down the zipper of my jeans. When I pushed at his wrist again he resisted, shoving me lower in the seat as he moved in closer. My head thudded against the passenger’s window and my back pressed into the door, the handle digging into my spine. Theo’s face, distorted and hazy, swam before me. Then it—he—descended on me, like a snake striking its prey.

All of a sudden, I was scared.

“Theo, quit it,” I said, firmly this time. Or at least I tried to sound firm. I knew my words were slurring, and I could feel my voice shaking when I spoke. “I’m not joking.”

“Shh,” he whispered in my ear. “You know you want to. I’m cute, remember? Way cuter than that guy in the photo. With the shitty dreadlocks.”

I felt something catch in my throat.

He had seen the Facebook page.

His mouth covered mine, but it felt more like suffocation than a kiss. I pushed at his arm again, trying to turn my head so I could breathe. But his whole body was on top of mine now, holding me in place. When his tongue forced its way between my lips, I bit down as hard as I could.

Theo jerked back, and for a second I thought I was free. I groped for the door handle, but then he lunged at me again, knocking my searching hand aside and hitting the lock on the door. I was drunk and he was fast. He had my wrists, forcing them over my head.

“Stop!” I screamed. “Stop! Stop!”

But the windows were rolled up. The party was far, far away. My phone was somewhere out there. We were all alone.

And if someone happened to walk by, to stumble upon us, they wouldn’t stop him. They would think I’d asked for this. They’d think I wanted this. Or maybe they’d think I deserved it. My antics, my “behavior,” had finally gotten me into serious trouble. Would they believe that? Because of a stupid website and a few stupid kisses and more than a few stupid drinks—would they believe I’d set myself up for this?

Maybe I did. Maybe they’d be right. Maybe this was my punishment for hooking up with boys I didn’t know, or for drinking so much I couldn’t fight back.

“Please don’t,” I said, sobbing, tears rolling down my cheeks as Theo made another move to push my jeans down.

“Get the fuck off her!”

The driver’s side door was yanked wide open. Two hands caught Theo’s shoulders and dragged him away from me.

With my arms released from his grip, I grabbed the waistband of my thong and jeans and yanked them back up, closing the zipper as fast as I could. I wanted to lock them, if that was possible. To make it so that only I could unfasten my pants. No one else.

It took me a minute to find my breath, but once I could inhale and exhale normally again, I unlocked the door and hurled myself out of the SUV.

I couldn’t stand up anymore. My legs gave way, and I fell on all fours, puking next to the passenger’s side door of Theo’s SUV. Face wet, throat aching, I practically crawled around the front of the vehicle, trying to figure out what had just happened.

Then I saw Harrison.

His fists moved so fast that I barely saw them, but I heard the thuds as each hit Theo—one in the jaw, one in the stomach.

The last thing I saw before I passed out in the gravel driveway was Harrison’s foot colliding with Theo’s rib cage as he lay, groaning, in the grass.

Yes, I thought as the blackness swept over me. Harrison is definitely my friend.