A Midsummer's Nightmare

CHAPTER 6

The next day I woke to the sound of Bobby Brown singing “My Prerogative.” I sighed and rolled over, groping blindly for my phone on the nightstand and knocking over the bottle of tequila by accident.

“Shit,” I muttered. Thank God the bottle was closed, or that would have been a bitch to explain.

A second later, I found my cell and flipped it open. “Hello?”

“Hey, sis. Saw you called. Sorry I couldn’t talk last night. We had to take Marie to the doctor.”

“Huh? Oh, Marie… Is she okay?”

“Fine. Emily just got freaked out about a little fever. But you sound awful. You hungover?”

“A little.”

“God, Whitley.”

“Did you know Dad is getting married?” I asked.

“What? No.”

“Yep. Her name is Sylvia. She’s a widow with two kids. She and Dad met last September.”

“Well,” he said. “I guess that’s nice. If they wait a few months to get married, maybe I can fly out for the wedding with Emily and Marie.”

“Is that all you have to say?” I asked.

“What else do you expect me to say?”

I sighed. “I don’t know. I hate it, Trace. I don’t like how different he is with them. He’s not the same Dad we grew up with.”

“That might not be a bad thing,” Trace grumbled.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Whitley, you were pretty young during those last few years Mom and Dad were together. There was a lot you didn’t—” I could hear Marie starting to scream in the background. “Shit, Emily’s at the drugstore and I’ve got Marie—she just woke up.” I could hear him shift the phone away from his mouth. “Shh, shh, it’s okay.” I’d been through this before, and I knew the conversation was as good as over. Sure enough, he came back a second later. “I’ve got to go. I’ll talk to you tomorrow, Whitley. Good luck with Dad. Love you. Bye.”

Click.

“Hurry up, Whit! We’re waiting on you.”

“Then get the hell out of here and leave me alone,” I growled to myself as I slipped a navy blue tank over my head and turned to examine myself in the bathroom mirror. I wondered if Sylvia would be offended by the way my black bra straps showed. I really hoped so.

I applied a little bit of black eyeliner and a dab of lip gloss.

Honestly, I didn’t expect to have any fun at this “wholesome” club, but I did hope to meet someone who could tell me where the real party was. Towns this small still had parties, right? I figured if I was going to be stuck here all summer, I needed to find out where to have a decent time. That bottle of Margaritaville Gold wasn’t going to last me long.

I’d never had to go looking for a good time during the summer before. Hanging out with Dad, watching movies and talking over dinner and listening to music at the condo… That had been enough.

This summer was different, though. Dad was different. He didn’t care about me this year. And I wasn’t going to let myself go insane in this house for three months.

“Whit!” Nathan yelled again.

“Give me a second! Shit.”

I really did need to hurry up, though. It was already seven, and Bailey had been completely made up, wearing her pink cocktail dress and strappy white sandals, since five.

The sad part was that I knew she’d leave the Nest disappointed. Sure, Bailey was all excited to go to this little teen club, but it wasn’t as if she’d make friends. She probably wouldn’t even talk to anyone. She’d cling to Nathan or me the whole night and come home feeling like crap. That’s how it always went. I know it sounds cynical or bitchy to say, but it’s true.

I put on my flip-flops and started walking downstairs. They were waiting by the door, Bailey fidgeting with her dress. She looked like she was ready for a Homecoming dance, not a nightclub. On the other hand, Nathan was totally casual. Ripped blue jeans, faded band T-shirt, sloppy hair. He looked like a mess next to his sister.

I was surprised Perfect Sylvia let one of her Perfect Offspring dress with such imperfection.

“Ready?” Nathan asked, pulling car keys from his pocket.

“You kids have fun,” Dad said from the sofa, turning a page in the novel he was reading. “Get to know each other. You’re family now.”

Yeah, I thought. Family who’ve banged each other.

“Be careful,” Sylvia said. She was standing in the doorway between the living room and kitchen, her arms crossed over her chest. She looked a little on edge. One minute this chick was bubbly as could be, and the next she looked all uptight and anxious. “I’ll expect you home by ten thirty.”

“No problem,” Nathan said, giving the adults a casual wave before turning to his sister and me. “Let’s go, shall we?”

Bailey was already out the door, running down the steps, golden hair streaming behind her. She stopped abruptly in the middle of the sidewalk, glancing over her shoulder at us. Her face turned a little pink, as if she were embarrassed by her own excitement.

Nathan looked at me and shrugged. “Ladies first,” he said, holding the front door open.

I moved past him and headed for the car. Bailey smiled at me as she climbed into the backseat.

“I’ve never been to a club before,” she said once I’d gotten comfortable in the passenger’s seat. “I mean, like, I’ve been to my friends’ parties and stuff—obviously. But they were kind of boring. A club will be cooler, right?”

“Um… sure.”

Nathan climbed into the car and immediately turned on the air conditioner. The sun was still out, and despite it being mid-evening, the air was scorching hot and so humid I thought I’d drown. “Buckle up,” he said to me, hitting the button for the radio.

He waited until my seat belt had clicked before he even pulled out of the driveway. As if traveling those three extra feet without restraints might actually kill me or something. I didn’t expect someone who had one-night stands with strangers or threw crazy parties to have such a stick up his ass.

I didn’t say anything on the way to the Nest. Bailey jabbered away at us from the backseat, speculating on the kind of music they’d play, what the other girls there might be wearing, how crowded the place might be. After a while, Nathan cranked up the radio as a subtle hint that she should quiet down. A hint that she, eventually, took.

The silence didn’t last long, though. A minute later Nathan was singing along with the radio, tapping his fingers against the wheel to keep the beat. I couldn’t help watching, a moment from the party sliding into my memory. We’d been kissing in the armchair, amid the chaos of dancing and drinking, when Van Morrison’s “Brown Eyed Girl” started playing through the speakers.

Nathan had pulled back a little, giving me a second to come up for air. He grinned at me and started singing along with the song—off-key, but he was pretty drunk by then, so I guess that was to be expected. I reached up and clapped a hand over his mouth, laughing. “Stop. You can’t sing at all.”

Clumsily, he took hold of my wrist and eased it away from his lips. “I love this song, even if it is really old,” he slurred.

“Me, too.”

“Good, then it can be our song. You’re my brown-eyed girl.”

“But my eyes are blue,” I told him.

“I know. But there aren’t songs about blue eyes.”

I started laughing harder and almost fell off of Nathan’s lap. “Yes there are. ‘Blue Eyes Crying in the Rain,’ ‘Behind Blue Eyes,’ ‘The Bluest Eyes in Texas,’ and then there’s just ‘Blue Eyes’ by Elton John.”

“Yeah?” he said. “Well, those suck.”

“You suck.”

And then we were kissing again. It couldn’t have been long after that that we migrated to the bedroom.

Three days later, sitting in the car beside him, part of me wondered if it had really happened. He’d said that as far as he was concerned that night had never occurred, but could he really forget so easily? Probably not, but he acted like he could. He acted way better than I did.

He parked the car in front of the small brick building and cut the engine. “Behold,” he said. “The Nest.”

Honestly, the place looked kind of run-down, but the parking lot was packed with cars. Either it was actually a cool place (I kind of doubted it) or there was nothing better to do in this town.

When Nathan pushed open the front door for Bailey and me, I knew it was definitely the second theory.

First of all, the band blew. Though I admit I was impressed to see a band at all. The lead singer had zero talent, and the drummer had no rhythm whatsoever. It was just sickening, really. I knew people who had more musical ability than these guys when they were plastered. Myself included. And the sad excuse for a dance floor was half the size of the guest room at Dad’s new place. The walls were lined with booths, all packed with teenagers sipping on sodas or bobbing their heads to the music.

“Wow,” I heard Bailey murmur, and I could tell she was overwhelmed—whether by how pathetic the place was or by the number of people, I wasn’t sure.

“I’m thirsty,” Nathan said. “Let’s get drinks. What do you want, Whit?”

“Nothing.” I was already walking away from them. “I’ll get it myself.”

I’d decided early on that if I was going to track down some fun—i.e., boys and booze—I needed to ditch Nathan and Bailey. I couldn’t afford to have them cockblocking me tonight.

After scanning the room once, I came to the conclusion that the selection of guys here sucked. I mean, they were average, I guess, but none of them were hot. Because of this, I was feeling a little disappointed when I made my second turn around the dance floor.

Then I saw the sexy tanned boy sitting at the bar.

He wasn’t tall, but he had the dark and the handsome parts down. His hair was a sleek, shiny black, and his eyes were huge emerald spotlights in the dim lighting of the club. Smoldering hot, and well dressed, too. He had on a nice, neat button-up shirt and black jeans.

Target acquired.

I approached the bar, tossing back my long hair and giving him my best seductive smile. I eased up right next to him. “Hey,” I said, winking. “What’s up?”

He grinned. Rows of straight, glittering white teeth. “Do I know you?”

“Nope, but you want to.” I slid onto the barstool next to his.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Yours first.”

“Harrison Carlyle,” he said, sounding a little amused. “Now do I get your name?”

“Whitley Johnson.”

Harrison’s eyes widened and he sat up a little straighter as he looked me over. My moves must have been working—he was already interested. Awesome, I thought. Even if he didn’t know where I could find a party, I wouldn’t mind fooling around with him. That was one thing I loved about boys—if I wanted a quick, meaningless hookup just for fun, they were never very hard to convince.

I was wondering how much chitchat we’d have to make before I could get Harrison to take me somewhere private… and then he started talking.

“Oh my God!” he said excitedly. “Are you—You have to be! You’re totally related to Greg Johnson, aren’t you? The news guy. Are you his daughter? You are, right?”

“Um… yeah. He’s my dad.”

“That is so cool,” he cried. “I still can’t believe he moved here. No one famous lives in this place. I know he’s not a movie star or anything, but still. He’s on TV, which is a big deal around here. We love him.”

“Thanks.” Great. I was the one with boobs, but the boy had a thing for my dad. What the hell? Okay. It was time for a subject change.

“So,” I said, crossing my legs. I was wearing a short white skirt, showing off plenty of skin. Too bad it wasn’t quite tanned yet. “What all is there to do around here?”

“Absolutely nothing,” he answered, shrugging his broad shoulders. “We live in the lamest town ever. You just kind of get used to it.”

“Well…” I swiveled in my seat a little, turning so I could press my leg right up against his. My signature move. Worked every time. “We could make it exciting, if you want. I’m a pretty exciting girl.”

Then he started laughing at me.

Not the reaction I was going for.

“Oh, honey.” He reached out suddenly and took my hand in both of his. “You’re cute. You really, really are, but I’m not interested.”

“Why not?” I asked point-blank. No use wondering about it for weeks or letting my self-image plummet because of this loser. Might as well cut to the chase.

Harrison sighed and took one of his hands away from mine. “See that guy over there, with the blond?” he asked, pointing.

My eyes followed in the direction he indicated. Across the room, sitting at a booth by themselves, were Nathan and Bailey. Even from here, I could tell Bailey looked disappointed. Nathan was chatting with her, moving his arms in big, over-the-top gestures. He must have been trying to cheer her up.

“I see him,” I said, nodding. “That’s my… future stepbrother.” I choked on the last two words.

“For real?” Harrison asked.

“Yeah.”

“That sucks for you. I could just eat him up.”

I gawked at him. “What?”

“That’s why I’m not interested,” he explained calmly, like I was an irrational five-year-old. “Your stepbrother over there, he’s more my type… if you know what I mean.”

And, of course, I knew what he meant.

It figured. The one boy in this place I was interested in was not interested in me. After all the shit I’d dealt with over the last two days, getting shot down was just the icing on the cake. But I tried to soothe my ego with the fact that it wasn’t me he wasn’t interested in, it was all girls. Still, not what I needed tonight.

“Shit,” I muttered, slumping back against the bar with my arms folded over my chest.

“I’m sorry,” he said, squeezing my shoulder. “It’s nothing personal. You’re a hottie, but boobs just aren’t my thing.”

“Whatever.”

He smiled. “I still can’t believe you’re Greg Johnson’s daughter. That’s so awesome.”

“It isn’t that glamorous…. Actually, it sucks ass at the moment.”

“How is that possible?” Harrison asked. “He is so hot.”

“My dad? Christ, that’s gross.”

“He is.”

“Ew.”

He reached forward and put a hand on my knee. It was the least sexy knee-rub in the history of knee-rubs. “You get your looks from him, if it helps.”

“Thanks. But that is still gross.”

He laughed and grabbed his glass of soda. “What a pout you’ve got on you,” he said, lifting the drink to his lips.

What a jerk. My misery was not funny. Or cute.

“Here,” he said, putting his glass back down on the rickety bar. “Let me buy you a drink. What do you want?”

No matter how frustrated I felt, a free drink just wasn’t something I could turn down.

“Something strong,” I groaned.

“Coca-Cola strong enough?”

“Hardly.”

He shook his head and looked down the bar. “Joe!” he called. “Hey, honey, can you get the pretty girl a Coke?”

“Only if you stop calling me honey,” the bartender, a bearded man in his thirties, replied. “We’ve had this discussion before, Harrison.”

“Aw, Joe. It’s so cute that you think I listen.”

The bartender poured some Coke into a glass and slid it toward me. Harrison winked and handed the cash to Joe, who rolled his eyes before walking back to the other end of the bar, where more customers waited.

“He hates it when I flirt with him,” Harrison whispered to me. “Which just makes it funnier.”

I laughed and reached for my Coke. “Thanks,” I said, taking a big gulp. I tried to pretend it was tequila—or even just beer—but my body knew better. Goddamn it, I couldn’t even trick myself out of sobriety. Like those cases you hear about sometimes, when people have convinced themselves they were drunk through the power of persuasion. I wanted to persuade myself that I was wasted.

Apparently, I’m not very gullible.

I took another drink, wishing I’d thought to smuggle my bottle of cheap tequila in with me.

“So, how long are you in Hamilton for?”

“Just the summer,” I said. “Then it’s off to University of Kentucky.”

“Nice. What major?”

“No fucking idea.” I sighed. “Kind of hoping Dad will help me figure it out this summer. He went to UK, too. What about you?”

“I graduated a year ago, but I took a year off to figure out all the ‘rest of my life’ stuff, so I know how you feel. But I’m off to UCLA this fall. I’m majoring in fashion design. Maybe not the smartest choice, but it’s what I love.”

“California,” I mused. “I bet you’ll be happy to get out of this shithole.”

He shrugged. “I guess. You know, the place is lame, but it’s home. And it’s not that bad if you know where to go. You just have to have friends.”

“Then I’m screwed.”

He chuckled. “Tell you what. I’ll be your friend, okay?”

“I don’t really do friends,” I told him.

“Good,” he said. “I don’t want you to ‘do’ me. We’ve established the flaws in that plan already. But we can hang out. Oh, or shop. Your outfit is super cute…. Though I’m not a fan of the flip-flops. They look cheap.”

“Thanks, Tim Gunn. Anything else you’d like to critique?”

“I’m just being honest. You’re a fashion slut.”

“Excuse me?”

“You have good taste, but you’re stepping into too many styles,” he said. “Those flip-flops might be all the rage this season, but they don’t fit you. The rest of your look doesn’t scream ‘beach babe.’ Nope. You need to stick with one style. For you, I’d say that style is sexy-casual. Oh, some nice wedge sandals would be perfect for you.”

“You don’t even know me,” I reminded him. “What gives you the right to analyze my style?”

“You’re right,” he agreed. “I don’t know you, but I do know fashion. I’m gay, remember? Do you really want to argue wardrobe choices with me?”

“Just because you’re gay doesn’t mean you get to bandy about that horrible stereotype. I’ve partied with tons of gay guys who sucked with clothes,” I pointed out.

Harrison shrugged. “They weren’t me.”

Reluctantly, I looked down at my flip-flops. I hated to admit it, but he was right. Now that I thought about it, they really didn’t go with the rest of the outfit. They looked kind of tacky with the little plastic flowers along the straps. It just didn’t work for me. Less sexy, more little-girl cutesy.

“So, are you going to argue?” he asked again, clearly watching as I examined the footwear faux pas.

“No,” I mumbled. “I’m not going to argue with you.”

“Good call.”

It didn’t seem like any time had passed when I saw Nathan approaching us, jingling car keys in his right hand. Somehow, Harrison had managed to pull me into a conversation about the best and worst name-brand fashion designers, so I didn’t even see him coming until Harrison’s emerald eyes lit up like lightbulbs and a Cheshire Cat smirk began to spread across his face.

“Hey,” Nathan said, stopping next to my stool. “Ready to get out of here?”

“This soon?”

Nathan looked over at Harrison, then turned back to me. “Sorry,” he said. “But Bailey’s ready to go. She says she doesn’t feel well.”

Classic cop-out, I thought. Is that the best excuse the kid could come up with?

“Hello there.” Harrison winked at me as he extended his hand toward Nathan. “I’m Harrison Carlyle. You must be Whitley’s stepbrother.”

“Not yet,” Nathan said. “Our parents don’t get married until sometime in September. I’m Nathan, by the way. I’m sure Whit told you that.”

“Whit-ley,” I snarled. “With two syllables.”

“She is so lucky to see your handsome face every morning,” Harrison told Nathan. “Many people would kill to be in her position.”

“Ha. I doubt that, but thanks.” Nathan laughed. “I’ll meet you in the car, Whit. Bailey’s already outside.”

“Fine.”

Nathan nodded to Harrison once before turning and walking out the front door of the club.

Harrison practically swooned. “Now that is beauty. I mean, that body? Tall and lean… You can’t tell me there aren’t a few dirty things you’d like to do to him.”

“Not really,” I said, mentally adding, I’ve already done them. Slowly, I stood up. “I should go.”

“Okay,” he said. “But I really liked talking to you. We should do this again.”

“Yeah, we’ll see.”

The truth was, as cool as Harrison had seemed, what I’d told him was true. I didn’t really do the whole “friends” thing. Not since middle school, anyway. In my experience, friends turned on you, abandoned you, lied about you. The best kind of “friends” were the ones you played beer pong with at a party and never saw again. I just wasn’t looking to make friends.

I was already moving away when he caught my elbow.

“Actually,” he said, spinning me to face him again. The guy was pretty strong, I’ll give him that. “My best friend is having a party at his house. You should come.”

I wasn’t looking for friends, but I was looking for a party.

“Will it be as lame as this place?” I asked, gesturing to the stage, where the shitty band attempted to fix their malfunctioning sound equipment.

“Oh, God, no,” Harrison assured me. “This party will be killer. He lives in a freaking mansion. You should come and hang out. I’ll introduce you to everyone. It’ll be fun.”

“Will there be drinks?”

“Yes.”

“Besides Coke. I mean, like, beer or—”

“Yes,” Harrison insisted. “There will be.”

“Then I’ll be there.”

“Fabulous. Don’t wear those flip-flops, for God’s sake.”

“I won’t,” I told him, handing over my cell so he could program his number into my phone book. I’d call and get the address later. “I promise.”

“Great.”

He handed back my phone and I started to walk away again, but Harrison yelled after me, managing to raise his voice over the loud feedback from the ancient speakers. I turned to look at him one more time.

“It’s this Saturday night,” he said. “Do you think you could get Nathan to come?” There was that hope again. That same bright sparkle I saw in Bailey’s eyes. But this one… this one I had to crush. For Harrison’s own good.

“He’s straight,” I said.

“How straight?”

“He sleeps with girls, so I’d say pretty straight.”

Harrison’s face fell, but only for a second. “Oh, well. He should still come. The party will be a blast. I’ll see you there.”

I nodded and, finally, managed to walk all the way out the door.