Page 62 of Life of the Party

“Even if they did suspect something, what would it be? Alcohol maybe. At the very worst weed. Cocaine is not a conclusion parents jump to.”

“Yeah?”

“You’ll be fine.” Grey kissed me again, and his lips hinted of our earlier passion, but it was over way too soon. He lifted me down from the counter. “We should go. Five minutes, remember.”

“Right.” I frowned and stuffed everything back into my purse. I’d missed thirteen calls while we were out riding. I looked at the phone with dread. I was in huge trouble.

“You don’t mind giving me a ride home?” I wondered as we put our shoes on.

“No. How are you supposed to get home in five minutes by walking?”

“I don’t think we’ll make it in five minutes riding either.”

Grey grinned. “I’ll take that bet.”

CHAPTER 26

It was exactly seven minutes later when Grey pulled up in front of my house. As I climbed off the bike he whistled lowly, studying our home in surprise. I followed his eyes and glanced up at the house, wondering what he was thinking, trying to imagine what it might look like through someone else’s eyes. A sprawling two-story covered in cultured stone and fancy lighting, with a fully landscaped yard and manicured hedges—yeah, I knew what it looked like. Rich. At least, small-town rich. I bit my lip. Maybe we were rich, but I didn’t really think of myself that way. My parents were, I guess. I wasn’t ashamed of their status or anything, but I didn’t want Grey to think of me any differently. I wanted us to be on the same page, on even keel.

“What does your dad do?” He wondered.

“It’s this new thing. He gets paid to annoy me. See? He’s pretty good at it.”

“I see,” Grey smirked. “So, you’re spoiled.”

“No.” I giggled. I could see the menacing shadow of my father in the window; glaring out at us as we spoke. I tried to ignore him.

“Thanks for coming to get me.” I wrapped my arms around Grey’s neck and smiled. “I had a really great time.”

He nodded and bent down to kiss me. I loved the taste of his lips, every time seemed new, delicious. I never wanted to stop.

“Good luck.” He whispered in my ear. I hated to leave him, but I knew I had to. I sighed, slowly backing away, holding onto his hand for as long as I could before hurrying across the quiet street. The motorbike rumbled to life behind me. I heard it rev up and then peel away, and I knew Grey was gone.

I was nervous, not just about getting in trouble, but about acting sober in front of my parents. I was totally ramped up; everything about me was accelerated. I hoped they wouldn’t notice. I hoped they’d see my twitchiness as anger or frustration.

Dad had the door open before my foot hit the last stair. He glowered out at me, a silhouette in the light streaming through from inside. I bit my lip and slowed my gait, warily brushing by him on my way through the door.

Mom sat in the easy chair beside the couch, her legs crossed formally like this was a business meeting. Dad didn’t sit at all. He followed me in, and stood there, his arms across his chest like he was a bouncer or something. His face was stern and grim.

“Mackenzie.” Mom started. I turned to face her, unconsciously chewing on my lower lip. My heart was hammering in my chest; how could they not hear it? I took a deep breath, trying to act as calm as they appeared.

“Do you remember me telling you to come home right after school?”

“Yeah, I remember,” I admitted.

“So why didn’t you?”

“I don’t know. My friend has a bike and he asked me to go for a ride, and I just…I couldn’t resist.”

“You couldn’t resist.” Mom repeated, shaking her head, her face furrowed with disbelief. “I don’t know what’s come over you lately. Are you doing weed?”

“Weed?” I looked at her like the very thought was insulting. “Mom.”

“Sorry.” She sighed and rubbed her hand across her forehead. I almost felt bad for her. Almost. “We just want to help. Can’t you talk to us, tell us what’s going on?”

“There’s nothing to talk about.” Not anymore, at least. There was a time I was open to talking to my parents, a time I wanted to talk to them. I could remember it clearly. They were always too busy. Dad had to catch a plane, Mom had to sleep so she could work all night. Marcy needed this; Marcy needed that. I’m sure they meant well, working hard to provide for us and everything, but really. How could they expect me to just open up now?

“Are you sure?” Mom prodded. “We’re not the enemy, you know.”

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