A Midsummer's Nightmare(28)

I slipped the shirt on the right way and said, “Okay. You can look now.”

“Do you have any sense of modesty?” he asked, turning to face me. Maybe it was wishful thinking, but I thought I saw a small smile curling on his lips.

“Not after a few shots of tequila.”

He didn’t laugh as much as I hoped he would. It was really just an awkward half chuckle, but, hey, that was better than nothing.

He glanced into the backseat, and I followed his gaze. Bailey was curled into a ball, her knees pulled up beside her and her hair spread across the leather seat. To anyone else, it might have looked like she was sleeping peacefully, but to me it just didn’t seem right.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I should have watched her.”

“Yeah, you should have,” he agreed. After a pause, he added, “I don’t want her going to parties with you anymore, Whitley.”

“Seriously, Nathan, you’re overreacting.”

“No, I’m not. You aren’t the one who found her. You didn’t see…” He took a deep breath, shaking his head slowly.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“No, tell me.”

“Just drop it, Whitley. It’s nothing. But she’s not going to parties with you anymore.” He took a breath and let some of the tension leave his body. “Look, you go to parties to escape—I get it. But if you’re going to be this messed up, that means you can’t look after her, too, so you’re on your own from now on. Okay?”

I sighed, rolling my eyes. I wasn’t that messed up. Not yet. “Yeah. Whatever.” I twisted around to face forward again. According to the clock on the dashboard, it was only 11:21. We still had more than half an hour to sit here, waiting to go back to Dad and Sylvia’s house.

My headache was getting worse again. I leaned my temple against the window, closing my eyes. Since I could remember, I’d always been a night person. My burst of energy came right around the time the sun set. I lived in the darkness. Loved the darkness. My world came alive when the stars came out.

But for the first time in my life, I wanted the night to end.





13


I woke up the next morning to the sound of Bailey retching in the bathroom next door. That hangover was going to be hell.

I stayed in bed for a while, thinking about the night before. Poor Bailey. The first hangover was always the worst. I felt a little guilty for not giving her a better warning, for not keeping an eye on how much she’d had. At ninety pounds, it probably didn’t take a lot to get the kid smashed. I hadn’t even thought to tell her that.

Probably because no one had warned me about limits the first time I ever drank.

I hadn’t been awake long when Sylvia found Bailey in the bathroom. I listened to their muffled voices, unable to make out the words. I heard them leave the bathroom and walk down the hallway, Sylvia’s heels clacking past my room, the door to Bailey’s room shutting a moment later.

I wondered if Sylvia would be able to tell Bailey had a hangover, or if she’d think the kid was just sick. If she knew it was a hangover, how much trouble would Bailey be in? How did someone like Sylvia punish her kids for drinking?

The truth was that I’d never actually been in trouble before. Not once.

Back when my parents were married, Mom had been the authoritarian. It was hard to imagine now, but she’d been tough on Trace and me as kids. Not that I needed any sort of discipline. Before the divorce, I’d been the good kid. Straight A’s. Middle school student council. Perfect, perfect, perfect.

Obviously, that had changed.

But by the time I became a “bad kid” or whatever, Mom was too busy being angry at Dad or depressed about everything to care what I was doing. So I’d never been punished for the drinking or the parties or staying out too late.

Whatever happened between Sylvia and Bailey, it didn’t involve yelling. The house was nearly silent for almost half an hour. Then I heard Bailey’s door open and shut again, and Sylvia walked back up the hallway. Three light taps on the door across the hall. She’d moved on to Nathan.

I sighed and climbed out of bed, grabbing a pair of shorts and a T-shirt from my duffel. My own hangover was pretty minimal, since I’d stopped drinking around ten thirty. Most of the time, I didn’t hit my stride until midnight or later. So I wasn’t feeling half bad when I reached for the doorknob, intent on grabbing some breakfast downstairs.

At least I wasn’t until Sylvia spotted me.

“Whitley,” she said as soon as I walked out of my bedroom. She was sitting on Nathan’s bed, staring at me through the open door. I could see Nathan on the other side of her, still in a T-shirt and pajama pants. He was facing the wall, so I couldn’t see the expression on his face.

“Um, yeah?”

“Would you mind going back to your room and waiting for me?” she asked. “I need to have a talk with you.”

Shit.

“Uh, sure. But will it take long? I’m really hungry and want to grab breakfast.”

“It’ll only take a second.”

I nodded and slouched back into my room. This could not be good.

I sat down on the bed, twisting my hands together. Why was this worrying me? What the hell could Sylvia do? Nothing. She had no proof that I’d done anything wrong. That’s what I told myself when she walked into the guest room five minutes later, anyway.