A Midsummer's Nightmare

CHAPTER 12

Less than twenty minutes later, I emerged from the bedroom with my hair in a state of total disaster. And all for nothing. About ten seconds after getting my shirt off, Pug Face had passed out on top of me. Ew.

At least that had kept me from sleeping with him. I knew I was drunk, but I wasn’t sure if I was drunk enough to have let things go that far. Tequila always made me a little too agreeable, though. The thought made me giggle, but I wasn’t sure how funny it really was.

I’d barely taken two steps into the living room, already on my way to get another drink, when Harrison appeared beside me, grabbing my elbow and yanking me off in another direction.

“Whoa!”

“Guys,” Harrison said, dragging me along behind him. “Guys, okay, this is my new friend, Whitley.”

Since when was I his friend?

“She’s the one I told you about…. Greg Johnson’s daughter.”

I was being stared at by a mafia of skinny blonds. Well, okay, there was a redhead in the pack, but whatever. They all had on shiny lip gloss and nail polish, and each seemed to be carrying a different designer handbag.

“Did I just see you making out with Eric Higgins in the kitchen?” one of the girls asked.

“Was that his name?”

Even this drunk, I could see the way these girls looked at me. I stared down at their perfect little noses, eyes narrowed in disgust. I knew these girls. They were the same everywhere. The rich bitches. The snobs. The girls who, my freshman year of high school, had convinced everyone—including my best friend—that I was a whore. Even by graduation, after all the parties and the boys, I still hadn’t done half the things those girls claimed I had.

“Eric is kind of a weirdo,” the redhead said.

“He’s not a great kisser, either,” I told her. “Too much tongue.”

“Isn’t she adorable?” Harrison said, squeezing my shoulders.

“Ouch. Watch the sunburn.”

“Whoops. Sorry.” He turned back to the girls. “She looks like him, doesn’t she? Like her dad.”

A few of the bitches nodded. The redhead was the first to speak, though. For some ungodly reason—maybe because she was friends with Harrison, and he liked me—I half expected her to put aside the fact that I’d been making out with whatshisname, to give me a chance, to say, “Welcome to Hamilton. Where are you from?” I’d even have settled for, “Is your dad that tall in real life?”

Instead, she looked me up and down and said dryly, “Your shirt is on inside out.”

“Yeah.” I giggled, too giddy to be pissed. Plus, her lip gloss looked like clown makeup, and in that moment, it was the funniest thing ever. “I think it is.”

The Blond Mafia just stared at me.

I turned to face Harrison. “M’kay. Well, I have a date with that bottle in the kitchen, so I’ll see you—”

“Whitley!”

I paused, confused. Things were starting to get kind of hazy, and the fact that Harrison’s lips weren’t moving didn’t make sense. How could he say my name if his lips weren’t moving?

Then a very firm hand took hold of my upper arm, and I got it. Harrison hadn’t been the one talking. Nathan was standing next to me now, squeezing my arm kind of hard. I stared up at him. “Sunburn,” I whined, trying to jerk away. He loosened his grip but didn’t let go.

“Oh, Nathan,” Harrison said, smoothing his hair back with one hand. “Hi. Enjoying the party?”

“Not now, man,” Nathan said harshly. He was glaring at me. “We’re leaving, Whitley. Now.”

“What? Why?”

He didn’t answer. He just pulled me along after him as he began winding his way through the crowd. It wasn’t until then that I really looked at him and realized that he had something large and bright yellow draped over his left shoulder.

Bailey.

Shit.

Her long blond hair tumbled down his back, and I could tell by the way she was lying, limp as a rag doll, that she’d passed out.

I stumbled behind Nathan, my platforms slipping from beneath my feet, but he didn’t slow down. A few minutes later we were out in the humid night air. The rush of heat made me feel nauseous, but he just kept going.

“Wait, is she okay? Can we walk slower?” I complained as he pulled me down the sidewalk.

“I told you to watch her!”

He was yelling.

I laughed. Hearing him yell seemed so out of place. Cucumber-cool Nathan was yelling. It was hilarious. Like everything else about that night. Funny and hazy and strange.

“Damn it, Whitley, stop laughing,” he growled, releasing my arm and turning to face me. He was holding on to Bailey’s legs, her dress so short that I could see her pink underwear from where I stood. I wished he would change her position. That would embarrass the hell out of her if anyone saw. “You said you’d keep an eye on her,” Nathan said. “You promised me.”

“She’s fine, though, right?” I said. “She just had a little too much to drink. I told her to take it slow.”

“You shouldn’t have let her drink to begin with!” he shouted. “She’s thirteen, for God’s sake.”

“I had my first drink when I was fourteen,” I retorted. “Not much older than her.”

“Yeah, and look where it got you.”

I froze for a second, stunned.

It took a minute for the words to sink in. I stared up at Nathan, anger burning away the amusement I’d felt before. Scorching the insides of my stomach and chest.

“Hypocrite,” I spat. “I didn’t hear you complaining last time we were at a party. You got wasted, too. It’s not like I took advantage of you. You made the choice to sleep with me.”

“I know,” he said through clenched teeth. “And you were the biggest mistake I have ever made.”

I drew back, my hand flying to my chest, my fingers curling into my palm. His words hit me like a punch in the gut. I opened my mouth to say something. To yell at him. To deliver a good comeback that would sting him in the same way. But nothing came to me. My throat was closing in on itself.

Biggest mistake. I was his biggest mistake.

He wasn’t mine.

He didn’t even make the top ten. Maybe not my top one hundred. Because, despite all of the shit going on, that night with him had actually been nice. Great, even.

Nathan’s eyes softened, and he reached for me with his free hand. “Whit, I—”

“Don’t touch me!” I screeched, slapping at his hand. “Get the hell away from me, Nathan.”

“I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry.”

But I was already walking away from him.

“Whit, where are you going? Whitley?”

“I’m walking back.”

“What? You’re wasted. There is no way you can make it home on your own.”

“Watch me.”

And, as if to punctuate this statement, the back of my shoe slipped out from under me, sending me stumbling forward on the pavement. I caught myself by grabbing hold of a lamppost, but it took a second for me to regain my balance. By then, Nathan was standing beside me again.

“Come on, Whit.”

“Don’t touch me,” I murmured. Tears were sticking to my eyelashes, and I was disgusted with myself. It wasn’t just about Nathan; I knew that. I hadn’t cried since arriving in Hamilton. I’d held back all the anger, all the hurt, everything I’d felt toward Mom and Dad and Sylvia. But being rejected by Wesley and kissing another boy I barely knew and wasn’t even attracted to and the way the bitchy girls had looked at me and what Nathan had just said… It all piled on top of the hell I’d been through that week, and I couldn’t keep it in any longer. But I hated myself for crying, especially in front of him.

Nothing was funny anymore.

“Come on,” Nathan repeated. He didn’t reach for me again, but his eyes never wavered from my face. “Let’s go home, okay?”

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly, blinking back the tears. Then I knelt down and slipped off my sandals. When I stood back up, I held them in my left hand, letting them dangle at my side. The concrete sidewalk was dirty, but it felt cool and solid beneath my feet.

“Okay,” I said, already walking toward the car. “Let’s go.”

Not home. It wasn’t my home. But it would have to do for a while.

We didn’t speak. Not a word. Nathan didn’t even turn on the radio or sing or anything. In fact, the only sound in the car was Bailey’s gentle breathing. She was asleep in the backseat of the Honda, letting out slow puffs of air through her nose.

My buzz was wearing off. I hadn’t had quite enough to pass out—I had a high tolerance after so many years of this shit—but the headache was already coming on. You’d think the silence would have been a relief, but it made my head pound worse. I wanted Nathan to say something. Anything. Even if he was going to yell again, at least I’d know he wasn’t ignoring me.

Anger was less painful than abandonment.

Anger, I could deal with.

I was so tied up in my own thoughts, trying to find a way to break the silence, that I didn’t even realize we were pulling into a parking lot until the car came to a complete stop. I stared out the windshield at the darkened building. The sign on the door read FIFTH STREET FILMS—a movie rental shop. But it was closed for the night.

“What are we doing here?” I asked without thinking. Well, at least it wasn’t silent anymore.

“They aren’t asleep yet,” Nathan mumbled.

“What?”

“Mom and Greg aren’t asleep yet.” He cut the engine, letting the headlights fade away. A single lamppost, twenty yards away, was the only light in the area, and it bathed us in a dim orangey glow. “It’s only eleven. Mom is still up watching the news. It’s not safe to sneak in until at least midnight. She thinks we’re bowling, and the lanes close at twelve. So if we wait an hour, the coast should be clear.”

“How do you—?”

“I’ve done this before,” he said. “Remember?”

“Oh, right. I guess I just don’t think about it. My mom would never notice if I came in drunk or something.” I snorted. “And even if she did, she’d say it was Dad’s fault, so I’d be in the clear.”

There was a long pause, then Nathan said, “Um, you should fix your shirt before we go.”

“What?” I looked down at my tank top. “Oh, right. Inside out.”

“Yeah. Kind of a dead giveaway.”

I reached down and pulled the hem of the shirt over my head. Once it was off, I glanced over at Nathan. He was facing the window, a hand clamped over his eyes. Even in the bad lighting, I could tell he was blushing. Christ. I had on a bra, and it wasn’t like it was something he’d never seen before.

I slipped the shirt on the right way and said, “Okay. You can look now.”

“Do you have any sense of modesty?” he asked, turning to face me. Maybe it was wishful thinking, but I thought I saw a small smile curling on his lips.

“Not after a few shots of tequila.”

He didn’t laugh as much as I hoped he would. It was really just an awkward half chuckle, but, hey, that was better than nothing.

He glanced into the backseat, and I followed his gaze. Bailey was curled into a ball, her knees pulled up beside her and her hair spread across the leather seat. To anyone else, it might have looked like she was sleeping peacefully, but to me it just didn’t seem right.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I should have watched her.”

“Yeah, you should have,” he agreed. After a pause, he added, “I don’t want her going to parties with you anymore, Whitley.”

“Seriously, Nathan, you’re overreacting.”

“No, I’m not. You aren’t the one who found her. You didn’t see…” He took a deep breath, shaking his head slowly.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“No, tell me.”

“Just drop it, Whitley. It’s nothing. But she’s not going to parties with you anymore.” He took a breath and let some of the tension leave his body. “Look, you go to parties to escape—I get it. But if you’re going to be this messed up, that means you can’t look after her, too, so you’re on your own from now on. Okay?”

I sighed, rolling my eyes. I wasn’t that messed up. Not yet. “Yeah. Whatever.” I twisted around to face forward again. According to the clock on the dashboard, it was only 11:21. We still had more than half an hour to sit here, waiting to go back to Dad and Sylvia’s house.

My headache was getting worse again. I leaned my temple against the window, closing my eyes. Since I could remember, I’d always been a night person. My burst of energy came right around the time the sun set. I lived in the darkness. Loved the darkness. My world came alive when the stars came out.

But for the first time in my life, I wanted the night to end.