Call It What You Want(46)

Maegan climbs into the front seat beside me, her eyes trained on the windshield, a soft blush on her cheeks, though I can’t tell if that’s makeup or reserve. Her brown hair is curled as well, her eyes lined with green and gold. I don’t know her well enough to know if she goes out like this usually, or if Samantha got to her, but she never looks like this at school. A lace maroon top clings to her curves, with a silver necklace dropping a green pendant right at the start of her cleavage.

Her hands rest on her thighs, picking at a flaw in the denim. She’s nervous.

I think of the way she brushed her fingers over mine and want to do the same thing.

“Hey,” she says shyly. Her eyes shift my way. “Thanks for driving.” A pause. “You could have backed out.”

You’re kind. And honest. And thoughtful. She’s all those things. Not me.

“He’s not backing out,” says Samantha. I cast my eyes at the rearview mirror. She’s applying lip gloss, using a little hand-held mirror.

“You can,” Maegan says, a little more firmly. “If you want.” She hesitates, and her voice softens. “You don’t have to put yourself through hell because Sam wants to get out of the house.”

My eyes flick down her form again, and the part of my brain that is very much not a gentleman wishes we were going somewhere more private—and leaving her sister here on the lawn.

“Don’t let her fool you,” says Samantha. “She’s trying to back out.”

That snaps my eyes back to Maegan’s face. “You don’t want to go?”

“No one wants me there,” she says. Her cheeks redden, and she looks away from me. “I know a lot of people think I’m some kind of rebel, but I’m not—I’m not a party person.”

“We don’t have to go. No one wants me there, either.”

“If we keep sitting here, Mom is going to get suspicious,” says Samantha.

I put the car into gear and roll away from the curb. I was jittery before, but now that’s doubled.

“It’s a party,” says Samantha. “Not a funeral. Listen to some music, drink some beer—I guarantee that after an hour no one will even care who you are.”

“More like thirty minutes,” I say under my breath.

“Really?” Maegan murmurs at my side.

I shrug and hit the turn signal as we roll to a stop at the end of her street. “Yeah.” The first hour, I’ll need to lay low if I don’t want to be fair game for Connor and the rest of his crowd. There’s no Mr. Kipple around to keep everyone in line at the Tunstall house. But after that first hour, everyone will be too drunk to care who shows up.

“So let’s go,” says Samantha.

I wait for Maegan to say a word of protest. I haven’t pulled away from the stop sign yet.

I hold her eyes. She holds mine.

She doesn’t say a word.

I sigh. Off we go.



Connor lives in a McMansion on the other side of Highland, a huge brick-front colonial with white pillars supporting the front roof. His yard is four acres of meticulous landscaping, complete with a long driveway, a four-car garage, and a swimming pool. Spotlights line the front of the house, tastefully aimed up at the brick, creating cones of light and darkness. Cars already line his driveway, but the last thing I want is to get trapped here, so we park on the road to walk up.

Everyone at this party probably has Lexi’s credit card number.

I doubt anyone needs it.

The instant I have the thought, I regret it. When Owen gave Sharona Fains the forty dollars, I judged him for not knowing why she needed it, and here I’m doing the same thing, just in reverse.

Samantha glances over her shoulder, because Maegan and I are ambling along like we’re heading to our execution. “Come on, guys. It’s freezing.”

“Go ahead,” Maegan calls. “We’re coming.”

Samantha turns and jogs across the lawn.

“I don’t know why she wanted to come so badly,” Maegan says. “She’s been throwing up all day.”

“I thought about doing the same thing.”

Maegan catches my hand and draws me to a stop. “Should we wait for her in the car?”

The words aren’t meant to be suggestive, but my brain hears it that way anyway. I have to force my gaze to stay north of her neck. “We can,” I say. “If you want.”

“What do you want?” she says, then bites a shiver through her teeth.

“I want to burn this house down.” I wish I had a coat to offer her.

She looks startled. “Do you really?”

“Why? Want to help?”

“Sure. Maybe I could one-up my reputation from cheating to arson.”

Her voice is self-deprecating, and I frown. “Can I ask you something?”

Her eyes meet mine. “Of course.”

“Why did you do it at all?”

Her eyes flare wide. “What are you talking about?”

“You’re in a bunch of AP classes. You were shocked when I suggested splitting up the homework the other day. It’s not like you needed to cheat on the SATs. I mean … I don’t get it.”

She swallows and looks away. “That’s the problem. I don’t know if I even get it.”