She Drives Me Crazy(53)
Tally breathes deep. There’s an eyelash on her cheek and I don’t stop myself from brushing it away. Maybe this is okay. Maybe this is what I need.
“There’s a party tonight,” Tally says. “For New Year’s Eve. Will you come with me?”
My body tenses, trying to tell me no, but my brain says It’s okay. Maybe this is the chance for resolution.
What else can I say but yes?
15
The party is at some hip, boxy monster of a house with floor-to-ceiling windows and decor straight out of Mad Men. It’s the epitome of Candlehawk taste. I can just imagine what my friends and sisters would say if they walked in here. Danielle would give me that side-eye look she learned from her mom. Thora would wrinkle her nose like she was smelling a fart. And Irene would—
“Welcome,” says a tall, brooding guy with a craft beer in his hand. I recognize him instantly. His chambray button-down looks intentionally wrinkled and his hair is deliberately windswept, held in place with some brand of fuckboy mousse. “I don’t know you. I’m Prescott. This is my house.”
He doesn’t shake my hand, almost like our introduction hinges on what I can offer in return. I know you don’t know me. I’m Scottie. This is my ex-girlfriend.
“Scottie,” I say, giving him a nod.
“You go to Candlehawk?”
“No. Grandma Earl.”
He laughs. Flat out laughs. Tally glances at me, puts her hand on my arm like I might say something—
“Aren’t you dating a Grandma Earl girl?” I ask pointedly. “Or do you just block that part out when you’re sucking face?”
“Scottie,” Tally hisses.
Prescott regards me like a funny pet that just pissed on his rug. His eyes are bleary; he’s already had a lot to drink. But then he starts to laugh again, tipping his beer in my direction.
“You’re saucy,” he says. “You can stay.”
I have no idea what to say to that, but Tally drags me away before it matters.
In the center of the house, next to a fireplace that belongs in a fancy ski lodge, Candlehawk kids are waiting in line. I can’t figure out why until I see a wall of vines with tiny candles and cacti dotting the shelves. It’s a selfie backdrop. They’re waiting in line to take pictures.
“So cool,” Tally says. “It’s, like, the perfect aesthetic.”
A group of friends hand off their phones and gather in front of the selfie wall. One of the guys musses his hair, keeping his hand there like he’s mid-movement. The girl next to him opens her mouth to laugh, but she doesn’t actually laugh. She just holds the pose like she might. I feel like I’m in the twilight zone.
“We can get a picture later,” Tally says, oblivious to my bafflement. “Drinks first.”
She grabs my hand and I let her. We migrate to the kitchen, where several people do an obvious once-over of our outfits. Tally pretends not to notice, but she smooths her shirt beneath her leather jacket. She leads me to a counter full of liquor bottles and White Claws.
“Here,” she says, pressing a can into my hands. It’s not a suggestion. I think of Irene attending these Candlehawk parties with Charlotte last year, and I can understand why she wanted to get drunk during them. But I also know where that led.
“I’m okay, actually,” I tell Tally. “Um. My throat’s been kinda sore. I’ll just get some water.”
Tally looks surprised, but she doesn’t push me on it. She makes herself a mixed drink and takes a big gulp.
I’m pouring water from the sink when none other than Charlotte Pascal slithers up beside me. I feel her eyes on me like a laser beam.
“We have Pellegrino, you know,” she drawls.
I take a pointed sip from my tap water. “I’m fine with this, thanks.”
She narrows her eyes. “Why are you here?”
“Wanted to see how the other half lives.”
She stares at me, unamused. “I can’t imagine your girlfriend is happy to know you’re here with Tally Gibson.”
It suddenly occurs to me how dangerous it is for Charlotte to see me here with Tally. She could spin this any way she wants. How did I think I could justify this?
“Irene knows I’m here,” I lie. “I agreed to be Tally’s designated driver.”
Charlotte snorts. “That girl needs more than a designated driver.”
“Who are you to judge?” I say pointedly, alluding to the DUI she and Prescott nearly got last year.
Charlotte’s cheeks tinge with color. Her nostrils flare. “Why are you really here?”
“I just told you.”
“Oh, don’t be cute, Scottie,” she hisses. She throws a contemptuous glance in Tally’s direction. “You’re here with the biggest wannabe I’ve ever seen, and you’re telling me the queen bee doesn’t care? Tell me, why are you ‘dating’ her anyway, especially after she pulled that shit with the tow truck last year? Or are you also so desperate for a ride to the top that you’ve blocked it out?”
My cheeks burn. I can’t think of anything to say.
Charlotte gives me a haughty smirk. She dumps my water in the sink and slinks away.
* * *
Tally is drinking hard in a way that suggests she does this regularly. She’s chatting with some girls I recognize from her team, but their eyes don’t shine on her the way they used to. They seem to be looking for a way out of the conversation. When one of them changes the subject to her ski vacation, Tally goes quiet and steps closer to me.