One Small Thing(28)

“And you don’t think he should be...forgiven, that is,” I tack on at the end.

“No. He killed your sister,” Jeff says, his tone flat. Unstated is the message that he shouldn’t even have to remind me of this.

I slink down in the seat, guilt pressing heavy on my shoulders. Yes, Charlie ran his car into Rachel. Yes, he’s responsible for her death. If I’d known that Chase was Charlie, I would’ve run in the opposite direction. Instead, I threw myself at him and now we both regret it.

Worse, I don’t think I regret it more than him, which means I’m less worthy of forgiveness than Chase. I should hate Chase. The same amount of loathing that colors Jeff’s words when he speaks about Chase should be in mine. I should’ve thought of the nickname Manson and I should be the one throwing spitballs at his back. I should be in the principal’s office every day demanding that Charlie Donnelly be expelled from Darling High.

But I’m not doing any of that. I can’t stop thinking about the party and our connection and then the sex. In Health, you talk about venereal diseases and other physical dangers. There’s no discussion about the emotional danger. And I didn’t get any talk of that at home. Mom gave me an American Girl doll book on sex ed and Rachel said that I was too young to even think about it.

“Hey, we’re here,” Jeff announces, breaking into my sex-crazed train of thought. “Wow, this place looks shittier than I thought it would be.”

He reaches past me and opens his glove compartment. A black shiny thing glints menacingly in the dim light of the interior.

“Is that... Oh my God, do you have a gun?” I gape at him.

He slams the compartment shut. “It’s Darling, Beth. Everyone has a gun. Your dad sells them in his hardware store.”

“Yeah, but he doesn’t have one in his glove compartment,” I mutter as I get out of the car.

“Look at this rat hole.” He joins me on the curb. “I should be bringing my piece inside.”

The image of preppy Jeffrey Corsen walking around with a handgun tucked into the waistband of his three-hundred-dollar Citizens of Humanity jeans is so unintentionally hilarious I bite the inside of my cheek so I don’t burst out laughing. I can’t believe he called it a piece.

“I’m glad you aren’t,” I manage to say civilly.

He scowls and pushes me forward. “This place looks like it should be condemned. Are you sure you want to go in?”

“We drove all the way here—it’s dumb to leave without even checking it out. And I don’t think it’s so bad.” The house is small, but tidy. The lawn is perfectly kept and there are actually window boxes in the front.

“You’re too nice.” He bounds up the stairs and jabs the doorbell.

The door opens and a beautiful girl appears with amazing hair and deep, dark eyes. “Yes?” An imperious eyebrow rises.

Jeff’s starstruck. He stammers. “I... We’re... Us...” He jerks a thumb over his shoulder.

I peek around his arm and offer an assist. “We’re here for the party.”

“Oh, come on in. No drinking in the house. No drugs and you have to blow into that before you can drive home.” She nods toward a small black machine sitting on a side table.

“Are you sure this is a party? There are more rules here than at the Darling Country Club,” Jeff jokes. “If you want to have more fun, I could find us something. What’s your name?”

“Us as in your friend and you? You don’t need my name for that.” With the flip of her glossy hair, she walks off.

“Wow, what a bitch,” Jeff says loudly.

“Jeff.” I tug on his arm, embarrassed. Fortunately, I don’t think the gorgeous girl heard him.

“Seriously. I was being nice. They wouldn’t let her into Darling Country Club if she begged.”

He might be right, but not because the girl doesn’t belong. Because Darling Country Club is primarily a bunch of old white men who grew up thinking segregation was the key to a successful society, at least according to Scarlett’s mom, who knits pink Pussyhats in her spare time.

“Do you want to leave?” I ask, because I’m growing increasingly uncomfortable standing next to Jeff. He looks like he wants to declare war on the people who are throwing the party.

“We’ll see. Maybe it’s better away from her.” He takes my arm and pulls me toward the hall where the noise seems to be coming from. We pass a living room and spotless kitchen and end up in the back on a deck.

There are about thirty people here and it feels like every one of them turns to stare at us when we step out of the house. Several are either in or crowded around the hot tub in the corner of the small yard. About eight guys, half of them shirtless, are playing a game of flag football. The rest are sprawled on the wooden deck or on the lawn.

“Oh fuck, it’s Manson.” Jeff’s voice rises to an obnoxious level. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Manson?

I spin in the direction Jeff’s pointing to see Chase sitting in a lounge chair in the back corner, smoking a cigarette. Another pretty girl, her hair all in braids, sits at his feet. It’s dark where they’re located, so that’s probably why I missed them the first time around.

I can’t believe he’s here. One of the reasons I wanted to come to this party was for a distraction, so I’d stop obsessing over the guy. But he’s here. How does he even know any of these Lincoln kids—