None of the Above(23)

I blinked at the unexpected tears in my eyes.

“Hey.” Vee reached over to grab my shoulder. “We’ll get through this, just like we’ve gotten through the rest of it.”

I took a deep breath and nodded, suddenly so, so weary. “I think I’ve got to just sleep everything off. Night.” I fumbled to open the door. “Drive safe?”

“Like I have a choice. I’m more sober than a nun in outer space.”

“Wish I could say the same.” I stumbled into my house and sat on the couch, planning to pull off my knee-high boots before heading up to my room.

Then I made the mistake of closing my eyes, and before I knew it, I drifted off to sleep.





CHAPTER 12


I dreamed that I was eight, and an evil witch had transformed me into a beast that was part girl, part bear. When I left in the morning to catch the school bus, a mob of angry neighbors and PTA members threw batteries and cans of tomato sauce that exploded on the ground next to me, spattering me with crimson. But I was lucky: it was all just a nightmare within a dream, and when I woke up sweaty and trapped in my sheets my mother was already in my room, brought in by my screams. I hugged her and burrowed my head into her neck. I could smell the Pond’s cold cream lingering on her skin as she stroked the back of my flannel pajamas and whispered into my ear.

“Nothing to be afraid of, my love. It was just a dream.”

“But the witch turned me into a bear!”

“Even if you were a bear, you would still be my baby. You’d still be my Kristin Louise Lattimer.”

Then my mom’s voice rose, and sharpened to a needle point that sent shards of pain through my head. “Kristin Louise Lattimer!”

My eyes opened and I felt a hand shaking my shoulder. Aunt Carla’s hand, to be exact.

Back to the real nightmare.

I opened my left eye. My right eye was mashed into one of the velour throw pillows on our living room couch. A pillow that happened to reek of chlorine and vomit.

I craned my neck to face Aunt Carla and got blindsided by a headache the size of Texas.

I turned and stifled another groan at the pain that caused. My dad sat on his La-Z-Boy, slapping the TV remote in his hands over and over again. “Krissy, I know it’s been a tough time,” he said in a voice strung tight between anger and compassion. He paused, and I could tell he was trying hard to give me the benefit of the doubt. “I’m glad that you went out with your friends, but this . . . you know there’s no place for this. Not in our house.” He waved at the puke stains. “You’re grounded for the next week.”

“I’m so sorry, Daddy,” I moaned. “It won’t happen again. I’ll go clean up.” I reached down to grab my purse and jacket.

“That’s not all. Cell phone,” my dad said flatly, holding his palm out. “You’ll get it back on Monday morning.”

Seriously? “Dad, I know that what I did was wrong. You don’t have to treat me like a baby.”

My dad shook his head. Looking at him, I was struck for the first time by how heavy his eyelids were, how sad, like a stray dachshund. “You know the deal, Krissy. Actions have consequences. Especially actions that involve alcohol.”

My guilt swallowed up my indignation. I handed over my cell phone. My dad handed me a Tylenol.

Dragging myself to my bathroom, I did the best I could to shower off the smell of hot tub and booze and sex. When I came out and tried to check my email, though, I couldn’t connect to the wireless.

“Dad, the internet’s down!”

“No, it isn’t. I turned it off. You’re grounded, remember?”

“Dad!”

“Consequences, Krissy. I’m taking your car keys, too.”

“What about running?”

My dad thought for a second. “You can take a half-hour run today and tomorrow.”


That would be just enough time to run to Vee’s or Faith’s house. But not to Sam’s. It’d have to do. Not until later on in the day, though, when I’d stopped feeling queasy if I moved too quickly, or if I thought about what I’d told Vee.

Just like my mom would’ve wanted me to, I sat in my room and thought about what I’d done, and the thinking was ten times worse than losing my cell phone, a hundred times worse than not being able to check Facebook. Because when the Tylenol kicked in and the throbbing in my head faded, a simmering fear replaced it. Not a boiling-over fear, not quite yet, because the back-and-forth in my hungover brain sounded something like this:

OMG, she’s going to spill everything.

No, she isn’t. Remember how she kept the secret about Faith’s crush on Danny Evans for a year and a half?

She told Bruce that Jill Sorrento was cheating on his brother.

That’s different. It was, like, the ethical thing to do.

What if she lets it slip?

No one would believe her anyway.

When Aunt Carla called me down to prep for dinner, I was grateful for her chatter. I fixed the green beans, taking care to snap the ends perfectly so the fibrous seam peeled off like a piece of green dental floss. Then I mixed the ingredients for a loaf of whole wheat bread, wiping the layer of dust that had accumulated on our bread maker. After starting the mixing cycle, I washed my hands and cleaned up the counter as best I could.