Emmy & Oliver (19 page)

Caro pulled her phone out of her hoodie pocket, her finger hovering over the screen. “Which one should I call?” she muttered to herself.

“Grumpy, Happy, Dopey, whoever,” I told her, then leaned against the kitchen table. “Just pick one.”

She eventually called Jessica, her oldest sister, and the two of them had a quick conversation that seemed to focus on all the times Caro had covered for Jessica in the past. “You owe me,” Caro kept saying, and apparently she won the argument because she hung up and said, “Jess'll be here in five minutes.”

“Great,” I said. “Let's wait outside. I need fresh air.”

“M'fine,” she mumbled. “Sleepy. Home. Bed.
Heather
.” That last word sounded more like a threat and she frowned.

“Yeah, okay.” I pulled Caro back from Drew, who seemed more than happy to shove
her away and get back to more important things, like a boy who showed up at his house just to spend time with him.

Oliver and I got Caro around the corner and into the backseat of Jessica's car. “If you puke, you're dead to me, Caro,” Jessica said, but Caro just ignored her and said, “But I want to ride in the front.”

“Drunk people in the back,” I told her. “It's a cardinal rule.”

“I've never heard of that rule,” Oliver said with a grin.

“Yeah.” Caro was now trying to lie down, even as Oliver and I were climbing in next to her. “You made that up.”

“Shove over,” I told her. “Your shoes are taking up way too much room.”

“They have a big personality,” she slurred, and I saw Jessica giving us all the evil eye in the rearview mirror. I couldn't blame her, though. If I had a sister who woke me up in the middle of the night to pick up her and her drunk friends, I'd be pissed, too.

“Do you have enough room?” I asked Oliver once we left Drew's neighborhood, back down the hill toward our boring, everyday suburban sprawl, the mansions in the rearview mirror. Next to me, Caro's eyes were closed and she was propped up against the window.

“I'm fine,” he said. The window was open a little, making his hair dance across his forehead. “You can move closer if you want,” he added, gesturing to Caro's feet. “You could get hurt.”

I curled up next to him, my knees tucked into my chest and my head against his shoulder. “For safety's sake,” I said, and felt him smile against my hair as he wrapped his arm around me. The streets were empty and we watched as the buildings and houses flew past us.

I had Jessica pull up a few blocks away from our houses so she could let Oliver out. I was pretty sure my parents were asleep, but I didn't want to risk being seen. “Sorry,” I said again to him. “Curbside service next time.”

“Byyyyyye, Oliver,” Caro said from the backseat, where she had sat up and propped herself against the window. “Did you have a nice time? I hope you had a nice time.”

“Caro,” he said, “this was the best party I've ever been to in my life.”

It was the only party he'd ever been to in his life. And I was the only one who knew it. I looked away to hide my smile.

“Text me later?” he asked me.

“Okay,” I said. “Sleep well.”

“Yeah. You too.”

He didn't shut the door, though. “Bye,” he said.

“See you later.”

“Okay.” He slammed the door and I rolled down the window so I could lean out. I could hear Jessica's annoyed sigh, but I ignored her.

“Get home safely,” I told him.

“Yeah, sure.” He smiled back. “Hey, um, this might not be the best time to say this . . .”

My heart plummeted. “Okay?”

He tapped his fist against the car door a few times, then looked at me. “I'm glad you never moved.”

It was the nicest thing anyone had ever said to me.

“Well, I'm glad you finally came back,” I said, and when we finally drove away, he never moved from under the streetlight, his image growing smaller and smaller until I couldn't see him anymore.

But I knew he was still there.

Back at Caro's, her brother David was playing
Mortal Kombat
and didn't even acknowledge us as Caro and I came in through the front door and started up the stairs

“Sshh, my parents are sleeping,” she whispered, but we all knew that Caro's parents slept like the dead. (To be fair, they had six kids. They were probably exhausted.) My parents, on the other hand, slept like nervous birds. I once got up to use the bathroom and came out to find both of them in the hallway, my mom behind my dad, each of them clutching one of my mom's high heels.

“What are you doing?” I cried.

“We thought you were an intruder!” my mom yelled as my dad flipped on the light.

“An intruder who breaks into the house and then stops to use the
bathroom
?”

That was just one example of why sneaking into or out of my house was not an option. I don't want to get impaled with an Easy Spirit pump. I don't know how I plan on dying, but it's not going to be like that.

Caro and I took turns in the bathroom and she loaned me some clean pajamas. “You're like a paper doll,” she giggled as I came into the bedroom. Heather's side was still empty. Either that, or she was just asleep under the clothing explosion and it was impossible to see her through the debris.

“I'm like a what?” I said.

“You keep borrowing my clothes.”

“Well, yours are all nice and clean. Scoot over.”

Caro turned off the light as I climbed into her bed. Sleeping over at Caro's always meant a foot kicking me in the arm or a hand draped over my face. Back when Caro had her cat, Mr. Pickles, he used to sleep on top of my head, only he'd eventually slide down so that I'd wake up and find myself being smothered by a ten-year-old cat who had no interest in moving.

I don't really miss Mr. Pickles. Don't tell Caro.

She was asleep within minutes, but I lay awake, listening to the crickets. It's funny how, even though Caro doesn't live in my neighborhood, it still sounds the same outside, bugs and distant cars and a silence so loud that it can wake you up, or worse, keep you from falling asleep.

Caro rolled over next to me and slung her arm over my shoulders. Mr. Pickles 2.0. “Caro?” I whispered.

Nothing.

“Caro, get off.” I gave her a shove and she just snuggled down against my arm. I sighed. The things I do for our friendship. “Caro?” I whispered again. “Are you awake?”

She wasn't, of course, which made it easier to confide her. “He kissed me,” I murmured. “Outside at the party.”

Caro just snuffled.

“Well, congrats for you,” came a sleepy voice in the direction of Heather's bed. “Now will you shut up, please?”

“
Sweet dreams
, Heather,” I said, hoping that my sarcasm was able to reach her through her dirty sheets and probably bedbug-ridden pillows.

“Whatever.”

I rolled over, away from Caro so that I was on the very edge of the bed, my arm pressed against the mattress seam. “But he did,” I whispered, this time to myself, and it was there, dangling on the precipice between awake and asleep, that I finally tumbled over the edge.

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

..................................................................

“G
uess who's invited us over for dinner next week!” my mom said the second I walked in through the back door on Saturday. It was lunchtime, at least I thought it was. We had all—me, Caro, Heather, Heather's bedbugs—slept late the next morning, then Caro's oldest brother, Michael, made blueberry pancakes, which we ate while watching cartoons. The fact that we were hungover went unsaid, but the pancakes and coffee had helped.

A little.

“Who?” I said, wincing at her too-perky tone. “The queen? Do I get to wear a tiara?”

“You're always so cranky after you sleep over at Caro's,” my mom replied. “What time did you go to bed last night?”

I shrugged. “Dunno. Two?”

“That is WAY too late,” she said. “Caro's parents are okay with that?”

I shrugged again as my dad strolled into the room. “What's too late?” he asked.

“She stays up way too late when she goes over to Caroline's house,” my mom informed him.

“All we did was watch movies,” I said. “It's like sleeping with your eyes open. And it's rude to talk about someone like they're not there.” I reached for a banana out of the fruit bowl. “Manners matter.”

Both of my parents gave me a Look. “What, exactly, are you learning at school?” my dad said, shaking his head. “My tax dollars at work, I swear.”

“
Our
tax dollars,” my mom corrected him. “Promise me you'll take a nap later today, okay?”

“Twist my arm,” I replied, not bothering to mention that taking a nap was already on my Short List of Priorities that day.

And so was talking to Oliver.

I had checked my phone the minute I woke up, waiting to see a text or missed call or something from him, but I just had junk emails from SAT prep programs and a few “Don't you want to apply HERE?” colleges. (Those colleges were like clingy boyfriends or girlfriends. No one wants to go to school there when they're so desperate to get people to do just that. They needed to start playing hard to get, I thought, or no one was going to ask them to prom.)

I had deleted everything, but Heather caught me checking my phone three separate
times at breakfast. “No word from Lover Boy?” she asked around a mouthful of syrup and blueberries, which was exactly as attractive as it sounds.

Caro, however, dropped her fork.
“Who?”
she asked me. “Who's she talking about?”

Michael flipped another pancake at the stove, the sudden sizzling sound reminding me of an old torture technique. “Can we, um . . . ?” I nodded my head in the direction of Caro's siblings.

Caro didn't need to be told twice. She grabbed our plates, napkins, and silverware. “Get the syrup!” she called to me as she ran upstairs, and since I happen to love both syrup and Caro, I obeyed.

“Are we seriously going to eat in your room?” I asked as I ran up the stairs after her.

“What? No! Are you insane?” She beckoned me into the bathroom, then shut the door behind us.

I looked around. “You want me to eat breakfast in the bathroom?”

“I don't care if you eat breakfast in here or not. I just want you to talk and this is the most private place in the house. What am I hearing? You told Heather something important, but not me?” She punched me twice in the shoulder. “Slugbug Betrayal!”

“I don't think that's how the game works,” I said, reaching for my pancakes. “And I thought I was telling
you
, but you were already asleep. Heather happened to be awake and I didn't even know she was in the room at first.”

“Ugh, she's the worst. So, anyway. Lover Boy.” Caro narrowed her eyes at me and managed to look intimidating even with a drop of syrup on her chin and pancake batter in her hair. “Did you . . . kiss Oliver?”

I nodded, no longer interested in eating. “Outside. Last night, when we were sitting in the gazebo.”

“You kissed him in the gazebo? Oh my God, what kind of weirdo romantic are you?” But Caro was grinning from ear to ear. “Was it good? Is he a good kisser?”

I guess my hesitation and smile told Caro everything. “Get OUT!” she cried. “Do you think he remembers it? How drunk were you?”

“He better remember it!” I said. “We were just talking and then . . .” I brought my hands together. “It just happened. It wasn't like we were planning it.”

“Yeah, you just lured him into a gazebo at a mansion.” Caro wiggled her eyebrows at me. “Well played, Emmy, well played.”

I pretended to curtsey, which is hard to do when you're holding a plate full of pancakes and your borrowed pajama pants are too big. “Thank you, thank you,” I said. “But I haven't heard from him yet.”

“Well, it's not like you live next door to each other or anything—OH, WAIT.”

I checked my phone again. “What if he
doesn't
remember it?”

Caro shrugged. “Then Drew and I will burn his house down.”

“You're very loyal.”

“Make sure to say nice things about me when they arraign me for arson.”

“Emmy.” My mom's voice cut through my thoughts. “Are you listening?”

Nope.

“Yeah, totally,” I said, then hopped up on the island countertop. “Down,” my mom said, pointing at the floor, and I hopped back off. I had forgotten that I wasn't at Caro's anymore. “So who's dinner with?”

My mom raised an eyebrow that told me that's what I just missed. “Maureen invited us over for next Monday night,” she said. “You and me and Dad and then her and Rick and the girls and Oliver. Isn't that nice?”