Page 23 of The Party Plot

God, there was no privacy in this town. Laurel pinched the bridge of his nose, headache thudding dully against his skull. “Yeah, mom. He, uh.” Suddenly Laurel couldn’t think of a good reason why he’d be spending time with Casey.

“Laurel offered to give me a ride,” Casey said, his voice smooth as butter. “My car is in the shop. But I don’t think he’s going to develop an interest in floral arrangements anytime soon.”

Denise laughed, and Laurel shot Casey a look, not sure whether to be grateful or perturbed. He’d changed registers so easily, like shrugging on a new jacket.

“Casey, sweetheart!” Denise sounded delighted to hear his voice. Much more delighted than she was to speak to her own son. “Well, get me caught up. What have you figured out?”

“It’s going to be glorious, Denise. Don’t worry,” Casey said.“Old Hollywood glam meets haunted castle meets Art Nouveau. Dracula, but in the Jazz Age. Make it spooky, but make it classy. Black and white. Pops of color.”

“And you’ll have my pumpkins?” Denise sounded dubious. Laurel wanted to spit out whatever word salad Casey had just tried to feed them. Absurdly, he pictured Dracula doing Jazz hands, and felt a little ill.

“We will absolutely have your pumpkins,” said Casey, who had just told Alice that under no circumstances would pumpkins be allowed.

“And my flower wall.”

“A flower wall for the gods, Denise. I couldn’t let you pose for pictures in front of any old thing, now could I? But don’t worry, it won’t outshine your gorgeous self. As if anything could.”

Denise giggled. “I’m sure it’ll be wonderful, Casey. And how’s Laurel doing? Is he being good? Not giving you too much trouble, I hope.”

Casey looked at Laurel, eyes flat, a smile frozen on his face. “As good as he can be,” he said.

“Thanks for calling, mom.” Laurel stabbed the screen with his finger, hanging up.

*

The call disconnected, and the car was filled with a hot, uncomfortable silence as Laurel pulled onto the highway. His knuckles were white on the wheel. He fumbled at the radio for a moment, and a blast of music, startling and discordant, made Casey tense up in his seat. Laurel punched the knob again, turning it off. Something ticked in his jaw as he said, “You really are fake as fuck, aren’t you.”

“What?” Casey felt a heaviness in the back of his throat.

“Melody was right. All that talk about how you can’t stand to be at anyone’s beck and call, but you’re sucking up to my mom like she’s the greatest damn person in the world. A flower wall for the gods? Howfabulous. Yass, queen.” Laurel’s voice was a sarcastic sneer as he stared Casey down. One strand of hair had come loose, plastered across his damp forehead, and his eyes were dilated and a little wild.

“Watch the road, please,” Casey said primly. Unease was crawling through his gut. He thought involuntarily of his dad’s noisy old classic car lurching around country roads, the staticky buzz of the Country station or the drone of the prayer channel. His dad’s gray skin and gritted teeth as he tried to not nod off at the wheel.

“It’s creepy. Like you’re putting on a costume.”

“Me? Let’s talk about what costumes you’re wearing,Laurel.” Casey crossed his arms.

“You’re a hypocrite,” Laurel said, not looking away. He was going too fast, air roaring past the windows. “I’m sure you think you’re some kind of Robin Hood, stealing from the rich, but what about those nice people at the farm? You would have scammed them too.”

Casey bristled. Laurel didn’t get it. He’d never worked multiple minimum wage jobs, never come home with nothing but a pocket full of grubby tip money, aching feet, and a profound longing for death. He’d probably never even worked at all. Casey was only doing what he had to do to get ahead.

“Pull over,” Casey said. “You shouldn’t be driving.”

“Oh, right. Because you’re such a voice of reason.” Laurel swiped at his hair angrily, again not managing to push it back. “Lying to everyone, laughing behind their backs. You think you’re better than us, but you’re not, you know that? Being a liar doesn’t make you different or special, it just—”

“And what about you?” Casey asked. His hands were sweaty on the edge of his seat, and now he wasn’t watching the road either, because let’s be honest, if Laurel drove this fucking luxury vehicle that probably cost more than Casey’s entire existence into a ditch, he could just laugh it off and get a new one. There were no consequences for people like him, ever. “You’re some paradigm of honesty?”

“Paragon,” Laurel said, like he couldn’t help himself. “Paragon of honesty.”

“Fucking seriously?” Casey could feel a vein ticking in his temple. He wanted to stuffparagonand all of Laurel’s other five thousand damn SAT words back down his throat. “You’re not as smart as you think you are, you know. And you’ve been hiding big chunks of your life from your mom, pretending to be the perfect son when—”

“Don’t.” Laurel’s face drained of color. “Don’t you dare. You don’t understand.”

“I think I understand too well, Laurel. You’re just as fake as me.” Casey hit the button for the hazard lights, his palm tingling. He grabbed Laurel’s wrist. “Pull over, or I’ll make you. I’m going to drive.”

Laurel let out a groan of frustration and swerved onto the shoulder, hitting the brakes so hard that the car nearly skidded out. The windows rattled and Casey’s teeth clacked together as gravel sprayed up from the wheels, pinging against the Land Rover’s underbelly. His heart was fluttering in his chest like a moth in a jar, and his tendons, his veins, felt like live wires as he tried to pry the keys out of Laurel’s hand.

Laurel wouldn’t let go, and Casey was undoing his seatbelt and leaning across the center console. He had Laurel’s wrist pinned against the headrest, and his other hand had somehow landed on his thigh. Casey could feel Laurel’s muscle twitch beneath his palm like the flank of a trapped deer, and the hazard lights were clicking on and off in his head, and he didn’t really know who kissed who first, just that Laurel’s lips were suddenly on his.

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