Midnight Sun(19)

“It’ll be fine,” Charlie assures them. “Let’s do it.”

His hand reaches for mine. I take it and we start heading up the stairs to the front door. We all stand on the porch as Charlie takes the heavy brass door knocker with a giant lion’s head carved into it and gives the door a few loud raps. With my hand in Charlie’s, I feel safe and cared for, like nothing bad can happen. Even if we were actually approaching the gates of hell, I think I’d go there with him.





9

When Zoe appears at the door, memories of all the times she gave me crap hit me hard, and I have to bite my lip to keep from gasping out loud. She looks just like I remember, only, of course, age progressed and even more beautiful.

Her eyes scan past me like I don’t exist, lighting up when she sees Charlie. An odd pang of jealousy hits me, which is dumb, because it’s not like I have any claim on him. This is our first date—for all I know, it could also be our last.

“I was wondering where you were!” she exclaims in a sweet voice that’s probably not the one she uses on a regular basis. She’s clinging to Charlie’s arm like they’re on the Titanic and it’s sinking.

“Hey,” he replies, carefully removing his arm from hers. “Yeah, sorry I’m late. We were pregaming at Garver’s.”

Zoe wrinkles her nose as she assesses who Charlie just admitted to hanging out with rather than her: me, some chick she most likely thinks she’s never seen in her life; Morgan, who glares back at her, ready to rip her eyeballs out if she makes the slightest rude comment; and three boys she’d never give a second look. “Sorry, who are these people?”

“My friends,” Charlie says with a shrug. Zoe hovers in the doorway, her face registering something close to disgust. She looks like she’s ready to slam the door shut in our faces when Charlie adds, “We brought a keg.”

Garver goes to lift it up as proof; it barely moves. Then he and his friends try together and finally get the thing as far as waist high.

Zoe scowls but finally steps aside to let us in. I exhale a long, slow breath. Crisis averted, at least for now. She seems to have zero idea I’m actually the Vampire Girl she tortured all those years ago.

Garver and his buddies somehow manage to get the keg into the kitchen, and I hear a loud cheer. The geek brigade are now beer heroes, welcome to stay as long as they can keep the party going.

I follow Charlie into the living room. Kids are packed into every corner, drinking from red plastic cups, laughing, flirting, screaming to one another over the music, spilling drinks all over what I’m sure are expensive couches and carpets.

It’s like a scene from one of those John Hughes movies from the ’80s that I’ve watched over and over with my dad. For once, I’m actually doing what everyone else my age is doing. It’s awesomely cheesy and cliché and wonderful.

Charlie is high-fiving people as we make our way into the thick of things. Everyone seems to know and love him. And if they’re wondering who the mystery girl is trailing behind, no one says anything about it.

Excitement fades into anxiety once we’re in the middle of the party. My thoughts start to race. I am so clueless about how I’m supposed to navigate these people and their inevitable questions about where I’ve been hiding all these years.

Charlie seems to sense how uncomfortable I suddenly am and puts a gentle hand on the small of my back. I relax and my brain stops its crazy whirring. Morgan, who misses absolutely nothing, ever, sees what’s happening.

“I’m gonna… go do a lap. Or something. Away from you two,” she says. Then she leans in, gives me a hug, and whispers in my ear, “I’m proud of you for being so brave—it took gigantic cojones to come to this party. And to reiterate what I told you yesterday: He really likes you. But just remember, if you need anything, flicker the lights and I’ll burn this place down.”

Morgan walks away, grabbing a red cup from a random guy and taking a swig as she goes. I wonder if there’s any other option than beer here, which just the smell of makes me gag, and if I should push my luck by having some. The one and only time I drank before was at Morgan’s house. Her parents went out, and we decided to do shots of crème de menthe, which is this weird mint-flavored liqueur. I ended up barfing, and I haven’t been able to eat her mother’s formerly awesome grasshopper pie since then. Apparently crème de menthe is the secret ingredient that makes it taste so good. Make that used to taste so good.

I stare up at Charlie. He stares back at me. We walk toward a table set up as a bar. Shyness washes over me like a tsunami.

“Morgan’s hilarious,” Charlie’s saying over his shoulder. “How long have you guys been friends?”

“God, for as long as I can remember,” I reply. “I mean, that’s not true. I remember some things from before. Like fuzzy memories of being a toddler and eating an entire pad of paper while telling my doll it was a very, very bad thing to do. Ended up in the ER for that one. Also the time I was zoning out to The Powerpuff Girls while my mom was cooking dinner for me and I got a high-heeled Barbie doll shoe stuck up my nose. That was my second ER trip. Aaaaaaand I’m babbling again. Sorry. I babble when I’m nervous.”

“So I’ve noticed.” Charlie grins and hands me something pink and fruity-looking in a cup. I take a sip. It tastes a jillion times better than crème de menthe.