Page 55 of This I Know
But,I think, as I place my hand in finality on the shift knob and throw it into reverse,the only reason I’m doing this is because I want to see Avery again.It’s not because Julia convinced me to, or because I want to get out and have a good time. I want to be in Avery’s presence again, to once more force her to keep my gaze as the electricity so obviously passes between us, like the healthiest high in the world. That’s what I want from Avery. She doesn’t have to be my date – if she can just give me that, I’ll be okay. I’ll make it through this.
My thoughts are abruptly interrupted.
“What are you doing?” Julia yells. I think she might have pregamed without me. “You don’t need to put it in reverse.” She points a finger. “Just go forward. There’s enough room. Everybody does it.” She’s leaning forward, watching as I unnecessarily inch the truck close to her garage door. “That’s it. There you go.” She leans back. “Yep, and then just swing it around. Nice, isn’t it? How big it is?”
“How do your parents afford this place, anyway?” Since she’s not being shy about the fact that her house is so big, I’m not going to be shy about asking.
She sits back and fishes into her purse, finally pulling out some lip gloss. She applies it in my truck’s mirror. “My mom’s an interior designer and my dad’s an architect.” She puckers her lips together and flicks the mirror back up into position. “I guess that’s how.” She turns to me. “What do your parents do?”
Uh oh.I shift my weight. I rest my elbow on the top of the door, my hand to the side of my head, fingers nervously buried in my hair. “My mom’s a middle school teacher.”
“What about your dad?”
“He, ah– he’s got his own business. An on the side kind of thing.”
She nods. “That’s cool.”
“Not as cool as you’d think.”
We make it to the party not a moment too soon. The street is lined with cars, but out of nothing more than sheer luck, we manage to find a good spot directly across from James’ house.
The second I step out I can hear bass thumping through the street. And judging by the number of cars parked around us, there have to be at least fifty people in that box-like little house, with even more walking up the drive as I stand here and watch. This should be interesting.
I wait for Julia to get out of the truck.
She doesn’t.
She’s still inside, looking down at the purse on her lap, zipping it up. When she’s done, she just sits there and looks at me through the dirty glass of my windshield.
Okay. I get it. This time, based on the way she’s looking at me, there’s no getting out of opening her door. I just hope nobody sees, which is, funnily enough, exactly what I’m betting shedoeshope. I approach her side and pull open the passenger’s side door, which creaks under its own weight.
Julia carefully places each high-heeled foot where she thinks best. She reaches out and puts one hand on my shoulder, and she uses me for balance until she reaches the ground. She turns to me with a huge grin on her face.
“I’msoexcited for this,” she says. “Let’s go.”
As we make our way up to the house, I’m sure to keep my hands safely in my pockets; Julia’s not going to get any territorial touches or guidance from me, nothing that could be misconstrued as affectionate. I already seeing a few people I know – well, that I knowof,at least – and, luckily, so far none of them are Cole. But to be honest, at this point I almost wish he would show up so he can take over this whole Julia situation for me.
“Julia!” A girl is standing on the front porch, shaking her hands in Julia’s direction.
Julia hurries up the steps and hugs the girl.
Impressive. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her move that fast before, and I’m surprised to see her pull it off without falling face-first in those shoes of hers. She turns to me as I walk past. “I’ll catch up with you,” she says.
I nod and walk through the front door, which is propped open.
Once inside, the bass and the loud bustle of guests greet my ears, and with all the action going on, you’d think we were super late. But it’s only nine o’clock. There are kids everywhere, in every visible room, and even loitering in the hallway and sitting on the bottom step of the staircase. As I walk through, I continue to recognize familiar faces. No one’s old enough to be here when there’s alcohol involved, and this could turn out badly.
Then why am I here?
I know why. I’m here because I have nothing to lose.
I slide my way through the crowd of people, not one of which is Avery, and most of which are gathered into individual small groups, clustered and taking up space, making it difficult to pass. I’m trying to get to the kitchen to see if they’ve got annoying on hand that isn’t alcohol. If I can just grab myself a cup and a Sprite, I’ll be good to go. That whole faking it thing, since, you know … Sprite can pass for vodka. It’s not that I care about fitting in, or following the rules – I just don’t feel like drinking, and I don’t want to have to put up with the pressure.
The kitchen is surprisingly empty compared to the rest of the house. The music isn’t quite as loud here, and I only see two other people when I arrive. They’re two guys getting things they need; they’re pouring extra drinks, most likely for the girls they’re talking to, I’m guessing, while they laugh and elbow each other in the side. They finish and leave by the time I help myself to the fridge.
I’m in luck. There’s one Spite left. I grab it and close the fridge, then turn around, reaching for a cup and filling it with ice. I glance past the window hanging over the sink, and she’s there.
It’s Avery.
