daynight (22 page)

“We’ll eventually work it out, but I wouldn’t start planning any baby showers,” I say. Bailey smirks, but Bri looks at me oddly, and I realize she may no longer know what a baby shower is, so she’s probably picturing babies falling from the sky.
 

We watch as Blake abruptly screeches to a stop in the canyon, his board flying up and nearly scalloping Spud Rosenberg’s head. They’re too far for me to hear the conversation, but with Spud’s animated arm waving and Blake’s defensive body language I can imagine the tone. Blake wasn’t sent here to improve his boarding skills, but to befriend and spy on the Second Chancers, and his anti-social stance is contrary to the Plan. I see him glance at us before pushing off and heading our way.

“Ladies,” he says with a nod to Bri and Bailey, before taking a left towards a group of guys.
 

“Hold on, Blake,” Bailey says. “Not so fast. Come here, I have to ask you something.” Blake looks a little fearful, but stops and waits for her to approach him.
 

Bailey puts her hands on his chest and rubs him up and down suggestively. “We’re having a dinner party at Bri and Tristan’s house this morn. You have to come,” she says and then she whisper something in his ear that makes him turn beet red. Blake’s eyes shift first to Bailey’s lips, then to me, and then to Spud Rosenberg who is making his way up the hill before he looks back at Bailey and answers. She probably mentioned the oil in the shower thing and he kind of looks like he’s considering her proposition.

“Sure. Sounds, uh, exciting,” he says. “I’ll see you there,” looking Bailey directly in the eyes, which causes a visible swoon to occur. Even Briella looks affected. This isn’t lost on Tristan who caught sight of the exchange from the nearby basketball court and exits to come protect his interests. Not wanting to watch Bailey and Bri ogle Blake any longer, I depart for the gym early, hoping to get changed and on a treadmill before the masses. There’s no way my sore body can handle Tristan’s circuit or the subsequent hate that’d be directed towards me if I agreed to a repeat of the other night.

Seeing the density of kids
packed into Tristan and Bri’s small home makes me shudder with discomfort, not because I’m unhappy to have plenty of distractions from Blake and Tristan, but because the last party I went to with these same people didn’t end so well. The dining table is heaped with goodies and the kitchen filled with bottled waters and soft drinks. Seemingly tame, but something’s off, because it’s only a half hour in and kids are already pairing up and slurring words. What did I miss? I wasn’t that late, only stopping home to take some pain meds, and psych myself up for the event by watching the sunrise from our sunroom.

I must have missed the memo about wearing party attire, probably because I didn’t realize the skimpy stuff in my dresser was earmarked for that purpose and not some sleazy swimsuit photo shoot. The girls’ outfits make our workout attire look modest, consisting of a sparkly gold tube top and an itty-bitty green tube skort. The boys’ attire is somewhat better, though still right out of some seventies’ disco movie, with a shirtless gold vest and tight shimmery green pants.
 

Art skills are being put to use painting bodies, with what I hope to be temporary greenish-blue tattoos. Bri shows me the technique. Then has me practice on her. I’m able to apply a quick Garden Valley High logo to her exposed shoulder blade.
 

If the Grand Council were to stop by I’d envision a whole new host of rules would be born, unless they know and look the other way to encourage as many Cleavings to happen as possible.

I head towards the kitchen to find a drink, but when I see Blake practically drooling at Bailey’s cleavage while she whispers more not-so-sweet nothings into his ear, I promptly turn around.

“Darn,” I hear behind me. “I was looking forward to seeing you in… less.” I turn to see Tristan, who appears to be imagining me in less than less. “Want a drink?” he says, offering me a glass.

“What is it?” I ask about the drink, studying his face. His eyes betray the fact that he’s partaken of some mind-altering substance, which I want no part of. My pain meds have already kicked in enough to make me a little loopy.

“Relax,” he says, as he hands me the cup. “It’s just Theranberry juice.” I smell it and it certainly doesn’t smell like alcohol, but sip it warily regardless. Its flavor is strong, but pleasant like its scent, closest to Hawaiian passionfruit with a hint of berry and citrus. Despite my thirst there’s no way I’m going to down it quickly until I know how Tristan and the others got their ‘high.’ Lucas and a pack of inebriated friends come over to bro-hug Tristan and nod their approval at our conversation, before making a kitchen run.

“Thanks for the drink,” I say, raising my glass and looking around. “This is quite the rager. Are all your parties like this?”

“Everyone’s got to eat, right?” he says. “We might as well have fun doing it. Let me show you around,” he adds, motioning me forward, as if his house layout isn’t identical to my own.

“Looks familiar,” I say.

“Not the artwork,” he says, taking my hand and leading me back towards the bedrooms. Crap, I do not want to be alone with my dead ex-boyfriend, particularly when his restraints are loosened. He ushers some kids out and closes the door behind us. “The painting’s incredible, isn’t it?” Not really, I think. Looks like a kindergartner tackled this mural, although I’m sure someone would label it modern art.

“It is different,” I say, immediately turning around and towards the door. “I should get back out there and get to know more people.” And make sure Bailey hasn’t convinced Blake to Cleave her yet.

“What’s your hurry? You have yet to get to know me and I promise you that I’m the most interested person here in getting to know you. Particularly now that you’ve dumped your loser boyfriend,” he says, pinning me with my back to the door. I squirm and grimace at his proximity, but he leans in to try to entrance me. Doesn’t work. Whatever he’s on has sucked the luster right out of his eyes. And his breath’s fruity, but too strong, reminding me of his drinking days.

“Blake’s not a loser and this is not the way to get to know me,” I say, feeling woozier than I should.
 

“You must be popping something stronger than TB to think that Blake has any redeeming value. He’s a loner with zero social skills,” he says, eyes lasered on me.

“Ugh. Please back up,” I say, pushing him far enough to wedge my way around him. “You don’t know the first thing about him, or me. And the only thing I’ve ‘popped’ is pain meds for my abdominal pain. What’s TB?”

“You’ll be teebed soon enough,” he chuckles as he traps me again and pushes my hair away from my eyes. “Fine, defend the boy with the itsy-bitsy cleaver. You’ll come around to my way of thinking when you see what he’s not packing.”
 

I ignore the insult to Blake’s manhood, since I doubt Tristan has firsthand knowledge. There’s no love lost there. “Did you drug me?” I say. “What’s in here?” I ask, sloshing my drink around my cup, before setting it down atop his dresser and vowing to never accept another drink from him that isn’t in a closed container. From his expression, he confirms my worst fears.

“You just need to loosen up a little and have some fun,” he says, pulling me towards him and trying to plant a big one on my lips. The move, altogether too familiar, fails as I turn my head in time for him to suck cheek. Just then the door opens to a very angry looking Briella and Blake. Bailey’s behind them and looks thrilled to see my tenuous situation.

“In our house? Right under my nose? Really?” Briella says to both of us.

“What can I say?” Tristan says. “She’s been all over me.” I roll my eyes, push him away again, and shuffle towards the door. My legs move robotically, the drugs hampering with my motor function. As I respond my words slur together.

“He’s wasted. He drugged me with something called TB, whatever that is, which by the way does not mix well with pain medicine. Nothing happened, nor would it have, despite the roofie. But you guys can believe whatever you want. I’m going home. Thanks for the party, Bri. Sorry about this whole deal.”
 

“You drugged her?” Blake says, pushing Tristan against the wall. Tristan reacts by swinging his right arm towards Blake’s jaw, which Blake avoids Matrix-style, before landing a hook of his own in Tristan’s gut. This has little effect on Tristan who charges Blake full throttle, albeit impaired by whatever he imbibed. Blake sidesteps just enough to get the advantage and flip Tristan onto his back, knocking the wind out of him. Blake stands over Tristan and says, “You try it again and I’ll have no issue facing Exile to make you pay. Understand?”

Tristan doesn’t bother getting up. Still flat on his back and with belabored breath he says, “What’s your problem? Both of you? Everyone gets teebed here and I had no freaking idea she’d downed pain meds before showing. It was harmless.”

“I couldn’t give a crap what everyone else does. We don’t do TB or anything like it, understand? And it’s not harmless when you don’t ask first,” Blake says, still fuming. “TB, teebed—what is it?” he says to Bri.

“It’s not real kosher to talk outside our group, understand?” she says to him.

“Spill,” Blake says, putting a hand on her shoulder. “I won’t mention it to anyone.”

“The Theranberry bushes in the canyon… The boys figured out the berries and roots give a good buzz. When they’re on it they’re ‘teebed.’ So we always have the juice and root powder on hand for parties. It livens things up, but I’ve never seen someone react the way Kira has—it must be because of her meds,” she says, likely referring to the fact I’ve become as flexible and useful as a wet noodle. Unable to walk, I slump into a pile on the floor. Blake looks even more furious now that the ruse has been explained. He starts towards Tristan, leg up as if he’s going to stomp on him, but upon giving me a gander he thinks the better of it.

“I’m going to take her home. She’ll never get there by herself,” Blake says as he scoops me into his arms.

“Sorry,” Bri says. I attempt to wave to her as we leave.

Blake carries me home and promptly dumps me onto my bed. In my uninhibited state he’s looking pretty darn attractive and appealing.
 

“Don’t leave,” I say.
 

“What?” he says in an angry tone, though he leans over me to make sure I’m not having a medical issue.

“I want you… to stay…” I say, still slurring my words.

“No,” he says, getting up to leave. Not content to let him go, I try to get out of bed to stop him, and instead lurch head first towards the floor, forcing him to catch me. We both end up on the floor and I’m in his arms as intended. I reach my hands up under his shirt to feel his chest, and attempt to deliver a passionate kiss, but he turns his head and all I get is a mouthful of ear.

“Stop it, Kira,” he says. “This isn’t cool. You don’t get to go from hating me to mauling me, nor would you had Tristan not drugged you.”

“You saved me,” I say, words still slurred. “You’re my hero. Let me give you a proper thank you.” I try to kiss him again, but he pulls away, and then hefts me back up onto the bed. I land with a thump.

“Sleep it off. If you still remember when you’re sober we can discuss things. But my bet’s on you still hating me in the evening.”

“I won’t, I swear. You’re the guy for me, Ethan. I’ve known it from the moment I met you,” I say. “We could Cleave,” I add, wanting him more than ever, though that may be the drugs, I’m not sure. Is it Blake or Ethan that’s here? And did I just call Blake, Ethan? It sure looked like Ethan.

“Good day, Kira,” he says, slamming the door behind him as he leaves. Wow, Tristan wouldn’t have blown me off like that. He’d have Cleaved me. But no, ugh, Tristan was repulsive tonight. Come back, Blake or Ethan or whoever you are. Please come back.

“Holy freaking crap. A suicide bomber
just detonated a bomb in my brain,” I say to myself as I rummage through the fridge for some juice, my throat so dry it could disintegrate at any moment. The orange juice I find doesn’t make a dent in my thirst or headache.

“She speaks,” Blake says, looking me in the eye for the first time in nights, although he looks a little angry.

“Yeah, but you shouldn’t. At least not so loudly. What happened last morn? I remember being at that freak show party and then Tristan giving me a drink and a tour,” I say, pausing to try to remember, but the concentration just sets off another blast in my head. “Nope, nothing but pain,” I say to myself.

“Well, I’ve got good news and bad news,” he says, gritting his teeth. “The good news is you won’t have to play house with me anymore.”

“Say what? Why?” I say, confused as to whether that truly constitutes good news. Despite his betrayal, he’s the only thing here that gives me hope of returning to Earth. And before he betrayed me, I had some semi-positive feelings developing for him.

“Well, that’s where I deliver the bad news—or maybe you won’t see it that way. In your intoxicated state last night you Cleaved to Tristan, so you’re now a full citizen of Thera and can live happily ever with him and your to-be-assigned kids. You can teach ‘em how to be self-righteous and Tristan can whip them into shape with that ‘killer’ circuit of his.”

I got drunk? Cleaved to Tristan? Am stuck here forever? The horror slams me like a pro-boxing knockout punch, and I slump to the floor and curl into a ball, rocking myself back and forth, attempting to sob but too dehydrated to get any tears to flow. How many times did Tristan try to convince me to give into him back on Earth, to which my reply was always ‘no’? And now, I chose to do it drunk and don’t even remember?

How did I let it happen? And why didn’t Bri or Blake stop me? Or maybe they knew and looked the other way. Since Blake assumes I hate him over his betrayal, he probably figured it would happen sooner or later, so might as well get it over with and get rid of me so that he won’t have to watch out for me while carrying out his plans.
 

“Anyway,” he says. “Congratulations, I guess. I’m going to get started on my classes. I made waffles if you’re hungry. And, here’s something for your headache,” he says, handing me a couple pills and a glass of water.