The Queen of Bright and Shiny Things(43)

“Bye!” I call, feeling guilty that she trusts me and here I let a boy spend the night.

She can never find out. She thinks you’re better, that you’re good.

I do a couple hours of homework while ignoring the ping of texts from Ryan. Once I finish, I check my phone, still in my bag from the night before. To my surprise, they’re not just from Ryan. I have messages from multiple people, including Lila and the sophomores.

Text from Ryan: did u have fun last night

Text from Lila: will pick u up at 7:15, ok?

I realize then that I haven’t asked my aunt if I can go to a party at the Barn. She thinks we’re making lasagna tonight. Crap. Having a social life is complicated. The other messages are confirming the time for lunch tomorrow. Quickly I send replies: yes, yes, and 2:30, see you then.

If I do some prep work, we can probably put together the pasta before I leave with Lila. So I head to the market to do the shopping, then I get to work in the kitchen.

Later, when Aunt Gabby calls, I say, “All we need to do is finish up when you get here.”

“This much ambition means you want something.”

She’s sharp, my aunt. “Y’know. I forgot to ask earlier, but … is it okay if I go with Lila to a party out at the Barn tonight? Transportation is covered.”

“No drinking to excess,” she says. “And be home by midnight.”

It’s cool that she doesn’t ask if there will be liquor or parental supervision. Since my aunt grew up here, she knows what goes on out at the Barn, and I’m sure she partied out there a time or two, back in the day. Instead she trusts me not to drink until I vomit or do anything ridiculous.

“Done,” I promise.

“And I expect to hear about Shane while we fix the lasagnas. Those are my terms.”

“I accept.”

Just then, I hear the bell jingle, which means she has an actual customer, not an order from the interwebs. “Gotta go. See you in a bit.”

I spend the rest of the day getting ready for the party. This is my first time, but I figure nobody dresses up, so I go with jeans and a sparkly cream sweater. In the dark, I doubt anybody will notice, but I think it’s pretty. Then I put on an apron in case I manage to get red sauce on me. I’ll do my hair and makeup after we finish.

When my aunt gets home, I have everything set out with military precision. She laughs at how prepared I am. “You really want to go, huh?”

“Yeah,” I admit. “I’d like to see what it’s all about.”

“I’m really glad to see you branching out, making new friends. I’m looking forward to meeting them all tomorrow.”

“Should be fun.”

“So … Shane,” she prompts, filling the bottom of the pan with lasagna noodles.

Aunt Gabby is a pro at putting all of this together, so I stand back. I’ve done my share by getting it all ready and I’ll handle the salad tomorrow, plus cleanup. Taking a seat at the table, I watch while she spoons in the veggie and soy filling, cottage cheese, mozzarella, then the next layer of pasta.

“He’s phenomenal.”

“Two words aren’t getting you to a party tonight.”

I grin … and recount how the date went. Pretty much the only things I leave out are the kissing and the fact that he spent the night in my bed. I tell her that he’s a gifted guitar player and that he applied at the P&K after she told me about the HELP WANTED sign and that he got the job to help out with family expenses. I don’t share that his dad is a long-haul trucker who doesn’t even live with him. Asshole.

“A musician, huh?” Her smile seems extra curvy. “I dated one in college. Just wait until he writes you a song. That’s a guaranteed panty-dropper.”

“You did not just say that. In fact, I’m pretty sure you’re not allowed to use that phrase.”

She shrugs as she puts the lasagna in the fridge. “You’re sixteen. Get over it.”

So Aunt Gabby only gets awkward and embarrassed when discussing her prospective sex life. Mine is apparently fair game. I mumble something about doing my hair and makeup and escape to my bedroom. As I’m getting ready, I wonder if there will be a bonfire out at the Barn—what it’ll be like exactly. This is what cool people do on weekends instead of seeing movies or hanging out in the square.

Just past seven thirty, Lila pulls up in the promised golf cart. I laugh when I see it because the thing is totally decked out with running lights. It looks like somebody featured it on an episode of Pimp My Ride. Aunt Gabby stares out the window, eyes wide.

“Are you two kidding me with this?”

“How did you think I was getting there?”

“Eh. I figured you probably caved on the car thing.”

I shake my fist, making a supervillain face. “Never!”

Then I shrug into my vintage faux-leather jacket. It has a nicely grungy look to it and a vaguely military air. Overall, I look pretty good, so I’m feeling confident as I peck my aunt on the cheek, grab my bag, and run out to join Lila before she reconsiders this idea.

“How many people honked at you on the way over here?” I ask, climbing in.

“Six.”

“Seriously?” I want to ask if it bothers her, but she’s grinning, so that would be a no.

“Yep. But this thing’s fun to drive. I kick it up to the highest setting and it gets pretty close to thirty miles an hour.” I have no idea if that’s fast, and I guess she can tell. “Normal ones do fifteen.”