“So, how’s Veronica Mars doing?” Evan asks as he lightly chucks the pink bag back into the trunk.
“She’s doing great.” I hold my finger and thumb an inch apart. “I’m this close to figuring you out. I even found your photo in the yearbook. You were pretty photogenic, if I do say so myself.”
“That’s funny because I’m pretty sure I was purposefully absent every year during picture day.” He folds his lean arm across his chest and stares me down, doing that freaky, unblinking thing again. “And I wasn’t photogenic at all. Never have been.”
“Yeah, right. Have you seen yourself?” I pause, realizing what I said aloud, and then quickly add, “Okay, okay. I looked in one yearbook and couldn’t find a photo of you. I thought I’d go out on a limb, though, because I didn’t think you’d be MIA in all of them.”
“Well, I was, and for a very good reason.” He chews on his bottom lip, looking lost in deep thought, and it just might be the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. Then he shakes his head, as if clearing his thoughts, and slams the back of the vehicle shut. “Keep tryin’, Lex. I’m sure you’ll figure it out eventually, or maybe you can just ask my brother since the two of you seem so close.”
“We aren’t close.” Although, if I had my way, we’d be dirty texting each other already.
“Really? That’s weird since I spent all last night listening to him talk about how much he likes you and how he really wants to ask you out, but he’s too worried you’ll say no.”
“Really?”
“Yep, right after we painted each other’s toenails and braided each other’s hair.” He shakes his head before heading to the side of the SUV.
“Not all girls do that!” I yell after him, but he merely chuckles and slips into the driver’s seat.
Grr. Damn him. Why won’t he just tell me? It’s so frustrating, yet at the same time, I find his desire to torture me very sexy.
“What’s got your panties in a bunch?” Emersyn stops by my side, giving me a quizzical look. “You look sexually frustrated, like you’re about to dry hump the car.” She steps back. “Should I give you two a minute or what?”
I tear my gaze off the SUV. “Your brother’s got me frustrated. I can’t figure out who he is. It’s driving me bananas.”
She crosses her arms and cocks a brow. “You still haven’t figured that out?”
“He told you about that, huh?” I ask and she nods. I grimace. “I feel bad about it, but it’s not like I was Miss Popular in high school. I probably wouldn’t recognize a lot of people.” Lie. I’ve remembered everyone I’ve run into so far, but I’m not about to admit that and make myself look more like an ass.
“Yeah, I remember, kangaroo shirt girl.” The hardness in her expression softens as I cringe. “Okay, I’m going to do you a favor as one ex-dork to another. When you’re trying to remember Evan, picture him as your mother’s worst nightmare. He was so Emo back then. I’m serious, like, really mopey, and he used to lock himself in his bedroom and spend hours writing depressing poetry.” She rolls her eyes. “He had really badly dyed black hair, wore eyeliner, spiky collars, bracelets, chains, and had a ton of piercings.”
It clicks. Well, sort of.
“I know the guy you’re talking about, but that guy’s name wasn’t Evan.” And I know I’m thinking of the right person because there was a total of one Emo kid in Fairville. “His name was Silver.”
“Yeah, Silver is Evan’s middle name. But he went by it in high school because he thought it fit his”—she makes air quotes— “ ‘tortured, misunderstood soul.’ ”
I process what she just told me. Silver—or Evan—and I used to talk a lot during chemistry class. Or, well, I did a lot of talking while he worked on our assignment and nodded his head a lot. I was never quite sure if he was listening or if he just had some weird, constant muscle spasm in his neck.
“All right, ladies, who’s ready to party like it’s 1999!” Carrie Lynn cheers as she and her four friends walk out of the house. They’re wearing the same pants as Carrie Lynn, only the butts of theirs say ‘Bridesmaid Bitches Posse.’ And they’re all sporting tiaras. “You girls remember Lexi Ashford, right?” Carrie Lynn says to them when the five of them reach me. “She went to school with us. She’s the one who wore that shirt with a horse on it all the time.”
There’s a chorus of “Oh, yeah,” and one snide, “Oh, you mean the girl who had really short arms. Didn’t we make up a nickname for her, like Lexi T-Rexi or something?” The wind’s blowing, and she’s clutching on to her tiara like her life depends on it. I make a mental note to steal her tiara when I get a chance and make her watch me break it in half before I throw it off a roof.
Emersyn gives me a sympathetic look before hopping into the passenger seat of the car.
As the four of them pile into the back and middle seat of the SUV, Carrie plops a tiara down on my head. When I start to protest, she holds up her hand. “Everyone at the party has to wear one, Lexi, so be a trooper.”
“But Emersyn isn’t wearing one.” I sulk with my arms folded.
“That’s because she’s allergic to cubic zirconium,” Carrie Lynn says, dead serious.
Sure she is. Dammit! Why couldn’t I come up with an excuse like that?
Emersyn catches my eye through the window and puts her finger to her lips, begging me not to say anything.
Carrie Lynn puts her foot on the sidestep, hoists herself into the middle seat, and then pats the spot beside her. “Now, come on. I promise you that, by the end of the car ride, you’ll be wearing that tiara proudly.”
Yeah, there’s a better chance of the sky raining tiny cupids onto my head then that ever happening. But I force a smile, knowing there’s no use going on this road trip being a Debbie downer, even if I’m being forced to wear a plastic princess crown that, for some reason, smells like cotton candy.
Chapter 10
Man, I never thought the drive to Vegas could be so long.
For the first couple of hours, Carrie Lynn and her friends are super energized and giggly. Then, about an hour away from the city, they hit this phase where their energy level goes way down. When they begin reminiscing about their weddings, I discover all four of them are married, and three of them have kids. Emersyn and Evan are the only ones not towing around a ball and chain, but Emersyn is four years younger than me, so she doesn’t count.
Then they start drilling me with questions, asking if I’m married, and when I say I’m not, they gape at me like I sprouted a unicorn horn out of my forehead. Can you say awkward?
I feel like a loser for being so far behind in life, and it makes me want to change even more. I silently vow to myself that, from tomorrow on, I’m going to be Miss Responsible, Pay Her Bills Before They’re Due, Check Her Bank Account Frequently, Figure Out Who the Hell I Want to Be. Start moving forward. Get a real job and work super hard. Save some money. Establish a career. Buy my own furniture. Get out of Fairville. Live in a better part of the city. Hell, maybe if I’m lucky, in a year or two, I’ll be throwing my own bachelorette party and making everyone do arts and crafts.
The second we pull into the city, their energy soars through the roof again.
“Look at that man wearing a diaper.” Carrie Lynn points out the window, her eyes wide as she gapes in sheer awe at the vibrant, lively, sinfully strange city.
I giggle at the sight of the man handing out flyers while rocking a silver painted diaper and diamond feather wings. Hey, look at that. The sky must have heard me when I said there was a better chance of it raining tiny cupids onto my head than me ever proudly wearing a tiara.