Midnight Sun(16)

I step out to show Morgan, wincing. “I feel so stupid. Like I’m a little kid who raided my mommy’s closet.”

Morgan cocks her head and gives me a long stare. “It’s absolutely perfect.”

“How can you say that?” I protest. “It’s just plain old me with fancy wrapping on.”

“Psshhhhh. Finding the right outfit is just the first part of getting ready,” she says. “We still have to do your hair and makeup. By the time I’m finished, you won’t even recognize yourself.”

It’s funny, because like I said, Morgan is the consummate tomboy tough girl in the way she dresses and acts, but who knew she had such a handle on contouring and winged eyeliner and BB cream and lip kits and whatever? (I do a lot of late-night online shopping. Can’t imagine I’m the only one…) She applies it all to my face like she’s a professional makeup artist.

One minute, I look like some weird zoo animal with different colored stripes on my cheeks and forehead; the next, everything’s blended and I look insanely natural but also so much more polished than when I roll out of bed in the morning.

I stare some more at the expert makeup job. It’s truly impressive. “I don’t get how you did that.”



Morgan bounds down the stairs first, with me following close on her heels this time. My father is standing in the foyer staring up at us. His mouth falls open. I hope that means You look pretty, not March back up to your room and scrub that makeup off, young lady.

“May I present Katherine Price of Washington,” Morgan announces like we’re making our society debut at some fancy ball.

My dad still says nothing.

“Does this look silly?” I ask. “’Cause I can go change.”

My dad clears his throat. “You look amazing, Peanut,” he finally says, a little catch in his voice. “You’re a beauty. Just like your mom.”

I smile. It’s the exact right thing to say to me. The exact thing I needed to hear in this moment. He watches us as we run out of the house. I turn back around and give him a huge smile. I’m gonna be fine.

I truly know it. From the look on his face, I think even my dad believes it this time. I grab Morgan’s hand and hustle us out of sight before he can change his mind.





8

Garver’s house isn’t far from mine. Even walking slowly, plotting out with Morgan how I should play things with Charlie tonight, we get there in ten minutes. The old Victorian has a wraparound front porch complete with a swing that looks perfect for soaking up sunny days while watching the world go by. I’d love to enjoy that kind of simple pleasure. It makes me kind of mad to think that people who can often don’t.

Garver appears at the door without us even having to knock. He’s of average height and weight, and has longish dark curly hair, a cute little-boy face, and zero zits. There’s no major geekiness to him that I can detect, other than maybe his WHY AM I HERE T-shirt. He’s certainly not anywhere near as dorky as Morgan always claims.

Garver’s eyes light up when he sees her. “You came!” he yelps.

“Don’t sound so excited,” she says. “Or I might change my mind.”

I press my foot down on top of her toes. Be nice. She wriggles her shoe out from under mine without acknowledging my silent message.

“Any chance you or your hot friend knows how to get beer out of a keg?”

Morgan pushes past Garver, dragging me behind her. She stops short in the kitchen. Two of Garver’s friends—one with a bowl cut and wearing a bow tie, the other with Mr. Spock eyebrows and mustard-colored flood pants—are trying to pry the thing open with a dinner knife.

Morgan stares at Garver incredulously. “You didn’t get a tap?”

He shrugs, palms up. “I didn’t know they were separate things! Why would they sell me a barrel of beer I couldn’t access?”

Morgan spins around the kitchen, then peeks into the living room. Her face falls and she mouths Sorry at me. She’s horrified, and she’s not even trying to hide it.

“Garver, what the hell?! This really is a tame, safe, parent-friendly party!”

Garver points over to the kitchen table. On it are a few gallons of ice cream, a can of whipped cream, some sprinkles, and a squirt bottle of Magic Shell. “Do tame parties have sundae bars?”

Morgan smacks him. I watch his friends—who from the looks of them probably are going to be actual rocket scientists someday—have zero luck liberating the beer from the barrel. Like, they’ll probably figure out how to populate Mars, but they cannot get beer out of a keg. The thought makes me laugh out loud.

“This is so cool!” I whoop.

“Don’t listen to her,” Morgan tells Garver as she grabs my arm and starts dragging me away. “She’s never been to a party before, so she doesn’t realize how dire this situation is. We’re outta here.”

Garver runs ahead of us and cuts Morgan off before she can get out the front door. “You’re leaving?! But I made a huge thing of chili.”

Morgan rolls her eyes at him. “Chili is not a party food!”

There’s a knock at the door. Relief is written all over Garver’s face. “You see? Party’s just kicking off.” He checks out who it is through the peephole. “Wait. Whoa. What is Charlie Reed doing here?”