d everyone is watching me, and I don’t know how to talk to people, and George didn’t even do anything wrong, except… except pick the worst girl in school to try to kiss, and god, this would all be so much easier if I’d taken an oxy tonight.” She punctuates this by rattling the door when her head bangs back against it, nostrils flared out with her breaths.
That may be the most I’ve ever heard Vandy say in her life.
“Hey.” I keep my voice low, waiting for her eyes to meet mine. “Hey, come on. Parties suck. Why do you think I’m in here?” I stand from the chair, burying my hands into my pockets. “And look, everyone does embarrassing stuff. Fucking ChattySnap will be full of hormonal teenage regret by tomorrow. And George?” I swallow back rising irritation and try to come up with the right words to say. “George is a fucking idiot, but I’m pretty sure you’re not the worst girl in school to try to kiss.”
Her cheeks turn the most delightful shade of pink, spreading down her neck and to the V of her shirt. I notice the black cord and instinctively feel for the one in my pocket. I’d spent half the bus ride to and from the game wondering what it goes to.
Now I’m wondering if hers is the same.
Vandy shakes her head, eyes dropping. “He’s an idiot because he picked the one girl at this party with zero experience.” She presses her palms to her cheeks, giving me a wincing look. “I completely panicked when he tried. I didn’t even have time to think about if I wanted it or not. I mean, god, it would have been my first kiss, and I just shoved him off and ran away like a coward.”
I let out a slow, relieved breath. Halle-fucking-lujah, I won’t have to pummel that kid.
Her face turns inexplicably red and I try to come up with an appropriate answer for that. Appropriate in the way her brother’s best friend might be, an answer that doesn’t slip into improper territory because, well…
When I first saw the photo in the trophy case, I’d noticed how pretty she was, but in person? In the dim light of this room, with the red cheeks and the short-shorts? It’s more than obvious. She’s stunning. A little low-key, especially compared to girls like her friend Sydney, but cute in a whole different way.
Not in the big-brotherly kind of way, either.
“Doesn’t seem like a big loss.” I eventually say, shrugging. “Do you really want your first kiss to be with some chicken-shit pizza face, next to the keg?”
I’m not sure why, but she looks vaguely embarrassed by this. “He’s not so bad.”
It occurs to me that she might actually like that douchebag. I have a lot of opinions on this, but don’t voice a single one. I just grit my teeth, reaching out to finger the cigar lighter again. “Whatever floats your boat, Baby V.”
Her eyebrows furl into something dark and combative. “Well, some people don’t have prospects throwing themselves at us all the time.”
I feel my lip curl at this, because I’ve seen the way guys look at Vandy—far better guys than George—and seriously? This is the culmination of Emory’s bullshit efforts to keep them away? I can see it perfectly. She’s going to go for the first guy who has the balls to make a move. All it’ll take are a few generically pleasant words, the right place, and some gentle coaxing, and he’s in there. Just like that. It could totally be George. It could be Tyson, who already lies to a girl every single day, just to get into her pants. It could even be Sebastian, who legitimately seems one misspoken word from an assault charge. It could be anyone.
She’d just… settle.
The thought makes me boil inside.
Before I can decide how to even voice any of that, the sounds of distant sirens begin swelling beyond the house. I instantly recognize it as the howl of Fucking Jerry’s golf cart. I walk to the window and take a furtive peek through the curtains, and sure enough, his amber lights are flashing up the drive.
But blue lights follow close behind.
“Fuck.”
It’s not just him this time. He’s called for back-up from his buddies, two police cruisers rolling up behind him.
I glance over at Vandy, and all of that restless, wide-eyed panic has returned with a vengeance. “Oh my god, I can’t get caught here.”
“You and me both, Baby V.” There’s no Mountain Point at the end of this road. There’s just probation violations and more time in juvie, for me. I snatch the lighter off the desk and put the guillotine carefully back in its place. Then, I walk over to the opposite side of the room and push back the sheer white curtain, revealing French doors that lead to the side yard. “Come on,” I tell her, holding out my hand.
She blinks and stares at it, frozen still as a statue.
It’s like I’m transported back in time. Suddenly this room is a parking lot and I’m watching the glow of stadium lights playing across the softness of her young cheeks and bright eyes. It takes me a moment to blink myself out of it, but when I do, I snatch my hand away.
I swallow and ball my fist, shoving it in my pocket. “I can get you home safe. I promise.”
The words ring hollow, even to me—even knowing that I can. That I will.
For a moment I think she’s going to turn and run, and for a longer moment I’m thinking that she should.
She should run like hell.
Instead, she braces herself and walks across the room, following me out the door.