Twelve Steps to Normal(76)

In the quiet, I hear a soft buzzing noise. My phone. I dig through my book bag and find it buried at the very bottom. And crap. Triple crap. There are fourteen missed calls from my dad. I check the screen: 9:43 p.m. I’m never home this late. He must be wondering where the hell I am.

Alex looks at me. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” I say, trying to keep my voice calm. I fire off a quick text to my dad to let him know I’m on my way and that I’ll explain when I get home. “I forgot to tell my dad I was going out. I should get back.”

“I can take you back to your car,” he insists.

“Actually,” I say, feeling brave. “Want to drive me home?”

I want this to feel like a first date—one that doesn’t end in me abruptly leaving. I can always get a ride to school in the morning.

“Sure,” Alex replies, nervously fumbling for his keys.

I spend the entire ride home wondering if Alex will kiss me goodnight, or if I should be the one to make the first move. But when he rounds the corner onto my street, I immediately realize my mistake. Because they’re there. All of them—my dad and Nonnie and Saylor—gathered in my front yard for the entire world to see.





THIRTY


“WHO ARE THOSE PEOPLE?” Alex asks.

I’m frozen in my seat. I blink once. Twice. But they’re all still standing there. Nonnie in her cat slippers and her zebra-print bathrobe and Saylor, barefoot, in his familiar black yoga tank and loose ponytail. My dad looks angrier than I’ve ever seen him. His arms are folded across his navy work polo, his eyebrows narrowed. He’s no doubt making assumptions as to why I’m not in my own car and why, exactly, I’m riding in a beat-up truck with a boy this late at night.

Who are those people? How do I even begin to answer that? I can’t. Not with anything that isn’t the truth, and if the truth comes out—

This is my fault. I promised myself I wouldn’t let anyone come close to finding out and the one time I’m not careful, everyone is right outside my house. I should have driven myself, should’ve told Alex I’d see him at school tomorrow. But I wanted to pretend nothing was out of the ordinary, that I was just a girl on a date with a boy she likes. Someone who has nothing to hide. Now it’s too late.

Nonnie steps back onto the porch and walks inside the house, but that doesn’t make anything better, because Alex sees her go. I can see him attempting to put the pieces together.

“Hey, are you okay? Do you need—?”

Heat burns through my cheeks. I have to get out of here.

I grab my bag from the ground and reach for the door handle. “I should—”

I don’t finish that sentence. As soon as I’m out the door, Wallis lunges for me. Saylor calls him off before he can pounce on me, which would have furthered my humiliation. I wish everyone would go back inside, but I realize it doesn’t matter now. The damage is already done.

“Where the hell were you?” my dad says as soon as I’m within earshot. Angry wrinkles appear between his brows. “I expected you home hours ago. You told me you’d be home after practice.”

From behind me, I hear Alex’s truck rumble as he drives away. I want to be relieved, but I’m not sure if what he witnessed could somehow get back to Margaret.

“I’m sorry.” My voice is small. “I lost track of time.”

“That’s not a valid reason. We expected you home for dinner and you didn’t come, and now there’s some guy dropping you off after dark. Do you know how worried we’ve all been? You didn’t call—”

“It was just Alex,” I murmur, but I know that’s not what he wants to hear. This is my fault—I should have called or texted or something—but I don’t need him giving me the third degree about it. “I’m sorry, okay?”

I head inside, hoping they follow. It’s bad enough Alex saw them. I don’t want his yelling to draw attention from our entire neighborhood.

My dad is at my heels. “Peach is driving around looking for you. We were all worried sick.”

Nonnie’s standing by the stairs with a concerned look in her eyes. I glance away. Maybe I don’t have a right to be annoyed, but I am. I didn’t ask for everyone to care about me. I was able to take care of myself all those months before my dad was admitted to Sober Living.

I stop in front of the dining room. “Well, tell her I’m fine.”

But my dad isn’t done. “You can’t just come and go as you please. It’s not acceptable, leaving without telling us.”

“Us?” Hot anger slides through my veins. I don’t owe anyone here an explanation except for him. “Last time I checked, you were my only parent in this house.”

“Do not use that tone with me,” my dad warns.

I’m trembling in quiet rage. This isn’t fair. How is he questioning his trust in me when he’s the one I couldn’t trust for so long?

“Why do you even care?” I throw up my hands. “For months you didn’t care. Then you left and made this—” I reach behind him and grab a ceramic dish from the cabinet, one of the ones he’d produced from the last rehab he’d gone to. “This stupid pottery and your stupid Small Successes and your stupid ranch equestrian training.”