Keeping Secrets Page 24

  But I know better. I know Abby’s just romantic enough to want a date who asked her for real, and stubborn enough to insist on that, or not go at all.

  “Okay, everyone, just lean in, a little bit closer. Echo, move your hair out of your eyes so I can see your beautiful face,” Jenay’s stepmom says, the fingers on her free hand directing us toward the center, while she holds the tiny digital camera with the other. “Perfect. Hold it . . . great. One more. Okay, I’ll e-mail copies to all of your parents.” She leans against Jenay’s dad and smiles. “Oops! There goes Landon! I knew it wouldn’t last. Okay, have fun everyone, and girls, you look gorgeous!”

  She hugs Jenay and me, careful not to mess up our hair, then runs upstairs to the nursery in her bare feet, snug jeans, and tight pink T-shirt, with her stream of blond hair trailing behind her, making her look more like Jenay’s hip older sister than her father’s second wife.

  “Okay, the limo’s outside waiting. So everyone, be good, have fun, and stay out of trouble,” her dad says, delivering the exact same speech my dad gave, just half an hour before.

  One by one we crawl into the back of the limo, sliding across the long, leather seat. The second the door is closed and the driver pulls away from the curb, Jenay leans her head back, heaves a dramatic sigh, and goes, “Thank God that’s over.”

  Chess grabs her hand and smiles. “What do you mean? Your mom’s really nice, and your dad seems cool too.” He shrugs.

  “Well, she’s actually my stepmom. My real mom died when I was little, and my dad didn’t remarry until about four years ago. So yeah, she’s nice and all, and it’s good to have a mom again and not be the only girl in the house for a change. But still, parents, you know?” She smiles.

  “Echo’s parents are way cool,” Parker says, obviously wanting to say something positive, even if it means he has to lie.

  But Jenay and I just look at each other and burst out laughing. And even though it’s really not all that funny, every time we look at each other we laugh that much harder. And I know it’s kind of rude, and I know it excludes the guys, but still, being able to share a private joke like this makes me feel calmer, reminding me how whatever happens tonight, we’re both in it together.

  We go to this restaurant called the Blue Water Grill even though our town is completely landlocked and there’s no blue water anywhere to be found (including the lake at the park where the water is polluted, murky, and brown). I mean, let’s face it, a name like that can’t help but conjure up images of vast ocean views and glamorous diners docking their yachts, before strolling inside for a nice sunset meal.

  But here, instead of ocean views, you get a parking lot. And instead of a yacht, you get a smiling, plywood, cartoon pelican ushering you into the nautical-themed interior that’s a lot closer to Moby Dick than luxury liner.

  The hostess leads us to a table where Teresa and Sean, Lisa and Drew, and Kaitlin and Mike are already waiting, and I spend the entire time fiddling with my menu and napkin and pretty much doing whatever it takes to keep my hands busy and as far away from Parker’s as possible.

  I know I’m acting all weird and uptight and ridiculous, and it’s not like I can even explain why. I mean, I used to love watching Zoë get ready for all her school dances, and I could hardly wait for the day when it would be my turn. I even used to dream about us going together, you know double-dating, just two cool sisters and their cute, hottie boyfriends, sharing a limo and acting all glamorous and sophisticated. And even after I learned how Zoë and her friends usually only stayed long enough to take the formal pictures before heading out to go party somewhere else, that still didn’t change it for me.

  I guess it just always seemed like Zoë was part of this mysterious, grown-up world, one that I couldn’t wait to join. Only now that I’m being admitted, I no longer feel ready. And since everything Zoë did was always bigger, and brighter, and better than everyone else, I know that no matter how hard I try, I’ll never be able to match her.

  “Did I tell you how much I love your dress? That color is like, so amazing,” Teresa says, leaning close to the bathroom mirror and applying a layer of pale pink lip gloss over the dark pink lipstick she just applied.

  I gaze down the length of my dress, all the way to my strappy sandals, amazed at how it all came together so much better than I ever would’ve guessed.

  “You and Parker are so cute together,” she says, dropping her lip gloss into her bag and moving on to her blond highlighted hair, which has been professionally twisted, curled, and pinned into the world’s most complicated updo.

  I force my face into a smile, watching as she fishes around in her green, oversized tote bag, which I have to admit looks incredibly odd with her pink shiny dress and gold shoes.

  “Want some?” she asks, retrieving a water bottle filled with some kind of red homemade brew. “I brought enough for everyone. That’s why this bag is so big, in case you were wondering.” She laughs. “I’ll probably pass them out in the limos. But let’s just get a head start and take a little hit now, K?” She unscrews the lid and takes a long, hearty sip. Then she shoves it toward me, urging me on with her wide, blue eyes. “Go ahead.” She nods. “It’s awesome. So sweet you can barely taste the alcohol.”

  I hesitate, but only for a moment. Then I tilt the bottle back and take a gulp. A much bigger gulp than I’d planned. Then I close my eyes and realize she’s right. It is sweet. And other than the sting, burning its way down my throat, I can hardly taste the vodka.

  Twelve

  The second the band starts playing a slow song, I try to bolt for the bathroom. But then Parker grabs my arm and says, “No way. Forget it. Step away from the vodka, and come with me.”

  I grip his hand tightly as I follow behind, hoping he’ll understand that my sudden display of hand passion has more to do with the effects of drinking than any romantic or passionate connection, because if I’ve bonded with anyone tonight it would definitely be Teresa, the former Queen Bee of Parkview Junior High. The girl with the moonshine water bottles.

  I mean Jenay, now free to make out with Chess whenever she chooses and no longer needing alcohol as an excuse, took only a sip or two, before giving her bottle away. And even though everyone else was pretty much drinking on the way to the dance, it was Teresa and I who kept at it long after we’d arrived. And it’s not that I actually like it all that much, because to be honest, it really is a little too sweet. But with Jenay totally focused on Chess and ignoring me, there’s no way I can not drink and still manage to have a good time.

  It’s like, I’ve barely finished my bottle, and already I’m feeling lighter, looser, and free. More like my sister, and a lot less like me.

  “Are you having fun?” Parker asks, tightening his grip on my waist and pulling me closer.

  “Um, yeah.” I shrug, gazing around at all the sparkly silver decorations, the fake snow at the edge of the stage, and the hot, sweaty lead singer, his eyes shut tight as he wails into the microphone, singing a song about lost love.

  At first it all seems so pretty and sparkly, but soon it turns blurry and bendy. And when Parker brings his hand to my cheek and says, “Look at me,” I push him away and rush for the door, mumbling something about needing some air.

  “Are you okay?” he asks, concern in his voice as he trails close behind.

  I rock from foot to foot, hugging myself with both arms, not having considered the cold in my rush to be free. All I wanted was some time alone, so I could clear my head, settle my stomach, and stand in the dark, watching my breath escape my body and then disappear into the night.

  What I didn’t want was for Parker to tag along. Partly because I wasn’t sure if I was going to be sick, and partly because I’m not sure I’m ready for Parker, and me, and all that we entail. But now that he’s here, I don’t want him to think I’m a freak. So I try to say something just to fill up the quiet.

  “Which one do you think is ours?” I ask, motioning to the long line of black shiny limos, as Par
ker removes his jacket and places it over my narrow, pale, goose bump—covered shoulders.

  He squints across the parking lot and smiles. “Third one,” he says, nodding like he’s sure.

  “No way.” I shake my head and gaze at the long line of generic cars. “I mean, how can you even tell? They all look alike.”

  “See the guy standing next to it? He’s our driver.” He nods. “I can tell by the hat.”

  “They all wear hats, its part of the uniform,” I say, gazing at him and laughing in spite of myself.

  “Trust me. I can tell. His hat is different.” He looks at me, those gorgeous blue eyes that used to ignore me, now searching for mine.

  And even though my head has cleared, my stomach still feels a little weird. But I know it’s just nerves. I also know how to get through it. “Wanna bet?” I ask, suddenly feeling better, braver, using Zoë as my guide.

  “Bet what?” He gives me a dubious yet interested look.

  “That you’re wrong. That you’re totally, completely off base. Because there’s no way you can tell from all the way over here if that guy’s really our driver.” I look him in the eye, my gaze steady and sure, my mouth curving into a smile.

  “And if I’m right?” he asks, obviously interested in where this might lead.

  “Then you win.” I shrug.

  “Yeah, but what do I win?” He smiles as he moves in closer, quickly adapting to the new me. “It’s a bet. So there’s got to be a prize, right?”

  I look at him, gazing directly into his eyes for the first time tonight. “Oh, there’s a prize all right. But you won’t know what it is until it’s too late and you’ve already lost.” I laugh, grabbing hold of his hand and pulling him across the lot, all the way over to limo number three.

  “Hey,” Parker says, reaching out to slap hands with the chauffeur, who squeezes his cell phone between his shoulder and ear so he can slap back.

  “You guys ready to leave?” He places his hand over the mouthpiece, and gazes from Parker to me.

  “No, we’re just—” Parker starts, but I cut him off.

  “I just need to get something out of the back. It’ll only take a sec.” I smile, watching as he winks at Parker before walking away.

  “So, about this prize,” Parker says, closing the door and appearing by my side so fast and seamless it’s like he has springs in his shoes, ones that activate at the first hint of sex.

  I look into his eyes and wait, knowing that soon, he’ll lean in to kiss me.

  We kiss for a while. And while it’s nice, and sweet, and way better than that time in the closet since there’s no bad smells or hockey sticks shoved against my butt, I’m still not fully convinced that he actually wants to make out with me—boring, inept, plain Jane me.

  So in my head, I imagine I’m Zoë—that I’m beautiful, wild, glamorous, and experienced—that there’s nothing in the world that can scare me.

  And as Parker wraps his arms around my waist, I slide my hands down the front of his shirt, making my way down to his pants, hesitating near the spot that I would never try to touch, but that Zoë wouldn’t think twice about.

  “I don’t get you,” he whispers, suddenly pulling away. “It’s like, inside the dance you’d barely even look at me, but now?” He shakes his head and squints, obviously not complaining, but still, more than a little perplexed.

  But I just smile, knowing I’m no longer me. I ditched that nervous loser and became someone better. “I lost the bet,” I say, gazing at him with Zoë’s eyes, touching him with Zoë’s hands, and kissing him with Zoë’s lips.

  He kisses me on the neck, as I lean back against the seat, feeling so incredibly daring and free. Then he slips his finger under my blue silk strap, sliding it all the way down, as I turn my head and gaze toward the window, shocked to see my own dull reflection staring back at me.

  “I can’t do this,” I say, pushing him away, frantically reaching for my strap.

  Parker just looks at me, his face flushed and confused, his hands halted in panic. “But you seemed so—”

  I turn back toward the window, hoping not to see me, feeling disappointed when I do.

  “Echo, really, I didn’t mean . . . please don’t be mad,” he says, his hands fumbling awkwardly as he reaches for me, trying to make me face him.

  I move farther away, my heart beating frantically as I run my hands through my hair and over my dress, erasing all evidence of my little digression, knowing I need to act fast, to come up with some excuse that will explain my bizarre behavior, so everything will get back to normal and stop being so weird. “Jeez Parker, it was only a limo bet. I mean, just how big a prize did you think you were gonna get?” I ask, chasing it with a laugh so he’ll think we’re okay.

  He laughs too, his eyes relaxing, his face clearly relieved. Then he opens the door and steps onto the curb, offering his hand as a guide. “Well, I probably should’ve told you this before, and I hope you’re not too mad, but I have a confession to make,” he says, slipping his arm through mine as we head back inside.

  I gaze up at him, happy that we’ve moved on, but only mildly interested in what it might be.

  “That wasn’t really our limo.” He smiles.

  Thirteen

  The next morning when I woke I didn’t feel nearly as bad as I expected. Or at least not in a physical way. I mean, I didn’t throw up, I didn’t have a headache, and I didn’t feel the slightest bit queasy. Which basically means that all of my parents’ warnings about the “high price one always pays for a night of overindulgence,” didn’t come true for me.

  But mentally? Mentally I felt like crap. And I don’t remember anyone ever cautioning me about that.

  I roll over and gaze out the window, noticing how the big oak tree has lost most of its leaves, making it look stark, alone, and defensive. Or maybe that’s just me. Maybe I’m getting all Freudian and weird, projecting all of my innermost feelings onto a tree. I mean after last night, and that whole freaky limo episode, I found myself feeling pretty stark, alone, and defensive too.

  Yet I was also aware of how I was quite possibly making a snowstorm out of a snowflake. I mean, there are tons of girls who practically line up to “go wild” and who end up going a whole lot further than that. And it’s not like you ever see any of them stopping to think twice, or mentally torturing themselves like me.

  But clearly, I’m nothing like those girls. And I’m obviously nothing like Zoë. And even though I know my life would be way more fun if I was, the truth is, I have no idea how to act like that and not lose myself in the process.

  “I can’t believe you actually brought your books,” Teresa says, eyeing my bulging backpack and laughing.

  “You said we were gonna study,” I say, cringing at how whiny I sound, while wondering what I missed. I mean, earlier, when we were on the phone, I specifically heard her use the word “study.” So excuse me for taking that literally.

  “Well, I also said we were going to the library, but you don’t see me heading there now, do you? The only reason I said all that is ‘cause my mom has ginormous elephant ears, and she was totally listening to our conversation that whole time.”

  “So where are we going?” I ask, walking alongside her, my way-too-heavy backpack digging a wedge deep into my shoulder.

  “The park. I told some people we’d meet them.”

  “What people?” I look at her, noticing for the first time how she’s dressed so differently from how I’m used to seeing her at school, way less preppy and a lot more sexy.

  “Just some guys, no one you know.” She smiles.

  “Like, friends of Sean’s?” I ask, wondering why she’s acting so undercover and secretive.

  But she just laughs. “Please. Sean is totally sweet, don’t get me wrong, and he’s good for school dances and stuff like that, but, well, I don’t know. There’s this other guy, and it’s kind of hard to explain.” She shrugs. “But you’ll see what I mean when you meet him.”

  When we
get to the park, instead of going right down to the lake like I usually do, Teresa leads me over to the old fountain, the one with all the angels and cherubs and overblown biblical images, all molded from a single slab of cement.

  “Omigod! There he is, Jason. He is so hot! So just act cool, okay?” she whispers, shooting me a doubtful look, obviously not convinced I’ll be able to pull it off. She fluffs her hair around her shoulders, then straightens her sweater and picks up the pace, heading straight for these two guys who are drinking, smoking, and just overall loitering on the fountain’s tiled edge.

  “Hey,” she says, stopping before them and tilting her head toward me. “This is Echo.”

  I gaze at the two of them, wondering which one of these delinquents she could possibly think is hot.

  “Echo? Who names their kid that? What’re your parents, like, hippies?” This comes from a fat guy wearing a size too small I DO MY OWN NUDE SCENES T-shirt that I hope is meant to be ironic. And when he laughs his whole belly shakes, stretching and bulging against the overburdened cotton, just like jolly ol’ St. Nick. Only a whole lot grosser.

  I stand there, wondering how soon I can leave, when Teresa shakes her head, pushes him playfully on the shoulder, and says, “Tom, you asshole. Leave her alone. Echo’s cool.” But when she looks at me, her expression tells a whole other story, having already decided I’m not.

  She pulls a pack of cigarettes from her purse and settles herself onto the ground, sitting Indian style at their feet. “Somebody give me a light,” she says, offering the pack to me, as the other guy, the one I’m assuming is “Hot Jason,” leans toward her with a burning match.

  I shake my head as I watch her inhale, then release it back through her nose and mouth like an angry cartoon bull. Making sure to shift just ever so slightly, so that the V of her low-cut sweater is aimed straight at Jason—who’s aiming for slick but nailing seedy, and who’s definitely old enough to know better.