On the Loose (25 page)

“Is this your plant experiment you’ve been working on?” Maxine asks.

“Yep, that’s the one. Trevor Jackson is picking me up tonight, and we’re gonna . . .” Declare our undying love for each other, decide to date exclusively, and practice our good-night kiss. “We’re gonna swap data.” Or spit. Whatever.

Maxine scratches her chin. “Sounds totally dull.”

“That’s me.” I force a smile. “I’m all about the homework, you know.”

Nearby the dog begins to snore.

“Rocky, get out. What is that mutt doing in my room?” I nudge the oversized fur ball awake and shoo him out. He stares blankly, refusing to move.

Maxine rises from the bed. “Well, I’m sure you have some notes to review. Some data to check. I’ll let you get ready for your . . . science fair project.” She snaps her fingers. “Come on, Rocky.”

The dog doesn’t move a muscle.

“Want Grandma to make us a banana split?”

Rocky races Maxine downstairs.

I spend a good two hours sanitizing the room. Amy’s belongings stack neatly in a corner. I have sprayed the room with deodorizer until it smells like a Hawaiian tropical rainforest.

And now on to the portion of the evening in which I get beautiful. Or at least passably mediocre.

Aside from Target Teen events, this is my first party in In Between. What should I wear? I skip to my closet and twirl around. I need an outfit that says, “I’m available, but not in a slutty sort of way.” Or “I’m a good time. But not
that
kind of a good time.” Or “Though I have nothing in common with you preps, I’ve got A-list potential.”

I decide on a slim-fitting pair of jeans, distressed in all the right places, and a black, long-sleeved t-shirt, decorated with the emblem of a vintage punk-rock band. I slip into my favorite pair of Cons, stretched out from Maxine “borrowing” them. And of course, my favorite turbo-padded bra.

In the bathroom, I retouch my makeup, going a little heavier with the smoky eyeliner for evening. I fluff my hair, then give it a good shellac of spray. A little perfume. A little gloss.

And then I sit. For hours. Afraid to move or blink. I grab a magazine and flip through it to see if there are any last-minute tips I can use, but that only makes me more nervous. I want Trevor to like me. I want his friends to like me. God owes me this moment, I think. Kind of like a reward after my horrendous day. Like Millie gives Rocky a bone when he needs a treat. I need this night to go well.

I should’ve got my ends trimmed.

I shouldn’t have lied to Maxine. What am I doing going to this party?

I’m just dropping in at the party. Not staying long. It will be fine.

Trouble won’t possibly have time to find me.

“M
axine! What are
you doing?” I leap off the last few stairs and speed into the living room.

Trevor, right on time at eight o’clock, sits in a leather wingback chair.

Maxine skewers him to the seat, holding a broomstick to his chest. “Just thought Trevor and I would get to know one another.”

He looks to me for help.

“All right, back away from him.” My voice resonates with calmness. Like on those cop shoes when the investigators talk to insane lunatics holding bomb detonators. “Drop the broom nice and slow.”

While I might be going to the party, my dignity will no longer be joining us.

“Please.” For the love.

She eases up on the broom. “I just wanted a closer look at the boy.”

“Then get your bifocals.”

Maxine chokes. “I do not wear bifocals.” She smiles at Trevor. “Silly girl. She’s so funny. Always making me laugh.”

I mouth an apology to Trevor, who has yet to move a single, beautiful muscle.

“Maxine, this is Trevor Jackson.”

“Your science partner?”

“We gotta go.” With my eyes, I plead with Trevor to play along.

“So, Mr. Jackson . . .” Maxine runs a hand through her hair. “Are you looking forward to the science fair?”

He startles. “I . . . yes. Love the science fair. Just can’t get enough . . . science.”

Behind Maxine I nod my approval.

“Well, I think your topic is simply fascinating.” Maxine takes a seat in the matching wingback, a mere foot away from Trevor. “Tell me, what progress have you made this week? Any discoveries? Interesting observations?”

Why did Trevor have to come to the door? Couldn’t he have waited out in the car and laid on the horn like any other guy? It’s all caving in on me. I’m so stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

The object of my affection flashes Maxine a smile with all the brilliance of a Fourth of July sparkler. “Ma’am, I would love to share my latest data with you, but then you wouldn’t have any reason to come to the science fair.” He stands and props a lazy arm on the chair. “And I’m going to enjoy counting the days until I see you there.”

Maxine twists a strand of golden hair around her finger. “Well . . . my, my, my.”

“We gotta be going. See you in a few hours.” I sling my purse over my shoulder. “And if Amy comes back, tell her to sleep in her parents’ room. There’s no vacancy in my bed.”

My hand latches onto Trevor’s bicep, and I lead him out the door.

The door clicks shut behind us.
Whew
.

Reluctantly I release my grip on Trevor. “Sorry about that. She’s a little kooky. If she knew I was going to a party, she’d demand her own invitation.”

I walk beside Trevor, very aware of how lucky I am in this moment to be with him.

Until the door crashes open, rattling the house.

I jump and turn around.

“Oh, Katie, dear?” Maxine sashays outside, her hair glowing under the porch lights.

I swallow. “Um . . . yes?”

“Did you really think I would just let you leave?”

Gulp. “I guess I was hoping.” I am so busted.

“Now what kind of foster grandmother would I be if I let you two go—”

“Maxine, I’m sorry, I thought—”

“—without this.” She shoves my plant toward me.

With trembling hands I take it. “. . . Thanks?” I tuck it under my arm.

Not until I close the Hummer door do I realize I haven’t taken a breath in at least a minute. I sag into the chair, limp with relief.

“Your grandma’s a trip.” Trevor buckles up and starts the engine.

Just drive, Pretty Boy. Get us away from here as fast as you can.

During my long wait for this not-exactly-a-date date, I made a mental list of various conversational topics. Sports (I watched ESPN for a whole fifteen minutes for this guy), school (Principal Wayman—toupee or real hair?), his future plans (Will you be coming back to In Between often?), and the play (Is it just me, or did I totally get the shaft?).

I should have used that time to study lines or catch up on algebra because Trevor grabs his phone as soon as we’re out of the driveway and talks all the way to his house.

The giant SUV weaves through town until we come to a gatehouse. The In Between golf course?
This
is where Trevor lives? He throws two fingers up in greeting to the attendant, and the security gate opens.

He pulls the Hummer through, now making his fourth phone call, as far as I can count, and we pass by the country club, then rows and rows of upscale homes with their sprawling golf-course backyard.

I clutch my plant and suppress a whimper. I am so out of my league. If my mom could see me now, she’d laugh. That is if she still remembers I exist.

Trevor pulls into the driveway of a two-story brick home. The garage door rises, and the Hummer comes to a rest in one of the empty spaces. Right next to a red BMW.

He ends his call, and I blurt out a quick “Thank you for the ride” just as he fires off a text. Does he even remember I’m here?

“Yeah, glad you’re here. Hope you have a good time.” He jumps out.

I open my door and grip my way down to the floor, a hiker making her way back down Everest.

The walls of the garage shake and bump with the loud music from inside. I recognize a familiar rap song.

“Katie, you know, this is my party, so I probably won’t see you around much. I need to make the rounds, talk to everyone. Keep the glasses flowing.”

I grin and bob my head. “Oh, yeah, sure. Totally understand.”

With one hand on the doorknob, Trevor stops. I stop. He turns around and steps closer to me. We are toe to toe. A breath apart.

“I’ll still be watching you all night though.” His tanned face draws nearer. His mouth parts, his hand claims a spot in my shoulder. My eyelids flutter closed.

“Trevor!” A quarterback-sized guy hangs out the door.

Trevor steps away so fast, I lose my balance and bump into the wall.

“Dude, did you get the other keg?”

Trevor hands the guy his keys. “It’s in the back. You and Jennings wanna bring it in?”

Like Rocky gripping my nightshirt with his teeth, something tugs on my conscience. But I let it go. Just a few hours of fun. That’s all I’m asking for.

Trevor follows the party noises into the house. And I follow Trevor.

He high-fives a few people, bumps knuckles with some guys from his baseball team, and stops to talk to the captain of the cheerleading squad.

I fade into the scene and do what any party loner would do. Find the food.

My foot taps in time to the music as I fill my plate with cold pizza rolls and crackers.

Trevor swaggers in my direction, juggling four bags of chips and a cup of beer dangling from his teeth. He drops the chips on the table and grabs his cup.

He returns with another cup and places it in my hand. Guilt squeezes my chest. A horrid image of Pastor Mike flashes in front of me. What would he say if he walked into this party? Or Millie? Or Frances?

But it’s not like I’m doing anything. I’m holding a cup for crying out loud. No crime there.

“Great party.” I am so lame. Who says “great party?” Only total dorks who never get invited to these types of things.

“Thanks.” He smiles and plants a hand on the table.

I step into the space between us. “Did I mention I need to be home in a few hours?”

“But you’re not Cinderella.” He takes a drink and winks.

This guy could pick his nose, and I’d find something hot about it. And normally his sly winks send my heart into orbit. But just now? Not so cute. I’m sure it’s just my bad mood.

“See that guy over there?” Trevor points to another jock. “He’ll be wearing a lampshade within thirty minutes. Four beers and he’s toast.”

“Oh, wow. Four? That’s so weak.” And I laugh. Because he’s Trevor.

“You better drink up. I like a girl with some stamina in her.”

I live with Maxine. You’d need less stamina to run the New York Marathon
and
the Iron Man.

“So . . . about that ride . . .”

“Katie, we just got here. Relax. Eat. Drink. Be merry.” His hand reaches for the hair hanging artfully in my face and tucks it behind my ear. “Gotta get a refill and make some rounds. See ya in a few.”

I wiggle my fingers good-bye.

“He’s something, isn’t he?”

Turning around, I see the voice belongs to an upperclassman from In Between High. Pretty. Painfully skinny. Brunette. Expertly dressed. I dislike her immediately.

“Yeah, he’s nice.” My eyes follow Trevor throughout the living room. A room the size of the Scott’s entire downstairs.

“I wouldn’t get too attached.” She selects a chip and takes a measured bite.

She even eats pretty.

“Oh, we’re just friends.” I smile ferociously, implying more. “We’re in—”

“The play together. Yeah, I know.”

“How do you know?” Has Trevor been talking about me? That would be totally amazing.

Her copper highlights shimmer as she laughs. “Because that’s where he picks up all his little conquests.”

I choke on a glob of bean dip. “What? I’m not one of his conquests. Look, I think Trevor really gets a bum rap. People just don’t understand him sometimes, you know?”

“Yeah, people like you.”

I focus on my phone like I’ve just gotten a text. “It’s been nice talking to you—”

“Monica. I’m Monica Blake.”

Why does that name sound familiar?

“As in Chelsea Blake’s sister.”

Oh, well, I see the lack-of-personality disorder runs in the family. “I’m Katie.”

“I know. And my friendly advice to you is to stay away from Trevor if you’re smart.” She breaks off a piece of another chip and sticks it in her mouth.

“Doesn’t sound very friendly to me.” Leaving my plate there, I go in search of friendlier territory.

I swirl my beer around as I peruse the crowd. What’s stopping me from drinking it? This is a party. And I should be partying.

I lift up my cup and sip.

Nope. I can’t do it.

I swallow it down but pour the rest out in a nearby ficus tree. Where’s a trash can?

Probably in the kitchen. Wherever that is. Has to be close. I wish Trevor would come back and talk to me. I don’t know any of these people. This is so not cool.

I push through a crowd of people flocked around guys playing a video game.

“Kill him! Bullet in the head! Yeah!”

Ugh. Why can’t they play some nice games? Like Monopoly or Jenga? You know, the kind that don’t involve giant body counts.