“Nathan, come on,” she said. “I’ll drive you to the gym on my way.”
“Okay. Give me a second to grab my stuff.”
She nodded and walked back into the living room.
“Why is she driving you?” I asked as Nathan crumpled his Pop-Tart wrapper.
“I lost car privileges for two weeks,” he said. “I can’t go anywhere unless she or Greg drives me. So, basically, I’m grounded.”
It didn’t seem fair that Nathan was being punished for two weeks when I only got one. Not that I felt sorry for him, but he really hadn’t done anything wrong. Sure, he’d made up the lie, but he’d stayed sober and taken care of Bailey when I hadn’t. I decided to keep my mouth shut, though. I should be grateful I got off easy by comparison.
“Why is she letting you go to the gym, then?” I asked.
“I have to stay in shape for basketball,” he said, taking his trash and empty glass of milk into the kitchen. “The season doesn’t start for a while, but it’ll be easier to get back into the swing of things if I keep working out.”
“I didn’t know you played basketball,” I said, nibbling on my bagel.
“You never came to a single game in high school?”
“If I did, I was usually hanging out under the bleachers.”
Nathan sighed and walked back into the dining room. “Well, then, yes. I do play basketball. I got a scholarship to UK and everything.”
I stopped chewing for a moment and stared at him. “UK?” I repeated. “You mean the University of Kentucky.”
“Uh-huh.”
As if this summer with Nathan weren’t awkward enough, we would be going to the same college come late August. I tried to tell myself that UK was huge and the chances of us running into each other were probably slim, but I knew, I just knew, that wouldn’t be the case. With my shitty luck, I’d probably have every class with him, or we’d live on the same floor.
“All right. I’m getting out of here.”
I nodded, swallowing a piece of bagel. “Fine. Um, do you care if I use your computer? I’m kind of bored and wanted to surf the Web.”
“No,” Nathan said quickly. “I mean, yes, I do mind.” He snapped the laptop shut and tucked it under his arm. “It’s defragging, so it’ll be a while before anyone can use it.”
“Ooo-kay,” I said. “Whatever.”
It was so obvious he was lying. Maybe he did have porn on there.
“Right. Well, I’ll see you later, Whit.” He carried his laptop out of the dining room, leaving me sitting alone at the table.
After Sylvia and Nathan had gone and I finished eating, I went upstairs. I’d barely been in my room five seconds when my cell phone started to ring.
“Hey, Boozy!” Harrison said as soon as I picked up. “You hanging out with the toilet today?”
“Hardly. That was nothing last night,” I said.
“Oh, really? God, I’d be afraid to see something, then. So what’s up today, babe? Bonding with the stepbrother?”
“No,” I said. “He went to the gym.”
There was a long silence, and I heard Harrison let out a low sigh. I knew he must be imagining Nathan all sweaty and shirtless on the treadmill… or the exercise bike… with those lean, muscled arms and…
Christ, now I was thinking about it, too. Not a good idea.
“So,” I said, clearing my throat. “What’s up?”
“Not much. Just wondering if you had plans today.”
“Nope.”
“Want to hang out?”
“I can’t,” I said. “Grounded for the week. I’m not allowed to leave the house.”
“That blows.”
“I know.”
“Hmm.” He paused, then said, “Well, are you allowed to have people over to visit?”
“I’m not sure,” I said. “I wasn’t told not to. So…”
“Fabulous. I’ll be at your place in twenty.”
CHAPTER 14
Sometime between Wesley’s party and the Father’s Day cookout Sylvia planned, Harrison Carlyle and I became friends. At least, that’s what he claimed we were. I wasn’t sure how I felt about it.
Don’t get me wrong. Harrison was fun to be around. He’d come over almost every day during the week I was grounded (just as I’d predicted, Dad hadn’t altered Sylvia’s punishment). We watched movies and swam and talked about college plans. I had to give him credit; he kept me entertained, and Sylvia never said a word about me having guests over. If it weren’t for Harrison, I might have gone crazy.
Still, once my sentence was over and Harrison and I began venturing out of the house, I wasn’t totally comfortable with the way he introduced me as “My friend Whitley” or the way he’d laugh when we were talking and say things like, “I’ve never had a friend quite like you.” I wasn’t really sure how to contradict him, though, since I did like having him around—which is more than I can say about most people.
We spent time together almost every day, and when I told him about Sylvia’s big cookout plans, he offered to crash the party to keep me from stabbing myself in the eye with a shish kebab rod. A party devoted to celebrating a father I’d barely spoken to in weeks, thrown by the people who’d taken him away? Since getting hammered wasn’t an option, I knew I’d need Harrison’s support.
We sat at the dining room table playing Crazy Eights—possibly the lamest card game in the world—while everyone else milled around the backyard with their hot dogs and red cups full of lemonade. Sylvia had invited all of her coworkers and their families, plus the other anchors from Channel 34. The turnout was pretty decent, I guess, but I couldn’t help thinking that I should be spending Father’s Day with my father, not with everyone he and his fiancée knew, and not with Harrison.
“You guys should come outside,” Sylvia said, poking her head into the dining room. “It’s a beautiful day, and everyone would love to meet you.”
“We’re fine,” I said, slapping the eight of spades down on the pile and watching Harrison groan. “It’s too hot out there, anyway.”
“All right.” She sighed. “But I hope you change your mind.”
A minute later I heard her slip through the screen door in the kitchen, back to where her guests waited.
“I don’t know why she won’t leave me alone,” I mumbled. “She’s always breathing down my neck. Checking on me, asking if I need anything, wanting to know if I’m okay. I feel like I barely get a second to breathe.”
“She’s being nice.” Harrison laughed, drawing from the deck of cards. “It’s cute.”
“It’s annoying.”
“At least she cares.”
I remembered what Sylvia had said to Sherri at the bridal shop about being a better stepmom than the one she’d had growing up. “Yeah,” I said. “I guess.”
“Oh, you know what I just thought of?” he said. “You should stay over at my house soon. We could totally have a slumber party.”
“Don’t you think your mother would have a problem with a girl spending the night?” I asked.
“My mom knows I’m gay,” he said. “She’s fine with girls. Especially when I make new friends. She tries to fit in and be cool. It’s kind of sad. So, will you stay over? We could watch movies and talk about boys and do all that fun stuff.”
Was that stuff still fun? I didn’t remember. I hadn’t been to a slumber party since seventh grade.
“I don’t know, Harrison.”
“Please.”
I frowned and tossed an ace of diamonds onto the pile. “Fine,” I said. “Let’s make a deaclass="underline" You throw a party, let me get wasted, and I’ll stay at your house that night.”