Dad broke our eye contact and shifted uncomfortably. He turned and walked toward the sink, washing the plate he’d just eaten spaghetti off of. I wanted to walk over there and take the plate—his pathetic excuse to distract himself—and throw it on the ground. I wanted to tell him how stupid this whole thing was with Mom. I wanted him to realize what a waste of time these dumb depressions and fights were and just admit things weren’t working out.
But, of course, I couldn’t. All I could say was, “Dad…”
He faced me, shaking his head, a wet dishrag dangling from his hand. “Go out and have fun,” he said. “Seriously, I want you to. You’re only a kid once.”
There was no arguing. That was his subtle way of telling me he wanted to be alone.
“Okay,” I said. “If you’re sure… I’ll go call Casey.”
I walked upstairs and into my bedroom. I picked my cell phone up off the dresser and dialed Casey’s number. Two rings in, she answered.
“Hey, Casey. I changed my mind about the Nest… and, um, do you think it would be okay if I stayed over tonight? I’ll tell you about it later, but I… I just don’t want to stay at home.”
I refolded the clean clothes on the floor at the foot of my bed before I left, but it didn’t help as much as it usually did.
3
“Pour me another one, Joe.” I slid the empty glass toward the bartender, who caught it easily.
“I’m cutting you off, Bianca.”
I rolled my eyes. “It’s Cherry Coke.”
“Which can be just as dangerous as whiskey.” He put the glass on a counter behind the bar. “No more. You’ll thank me later. Caffeine headaches are a bitch, and I know how you girls are. When you gain five pounds, you’ll blame me.”
“Whatever.” So what if I gained weight? I was already the Duff, and the one guy I wanted to impress had a serious girlfriend. I could gain seventy pounds and be no worse off.
“Sorry, Bianca.” Joe moved to the other end of the bar, where Angela and her best friend, Vikki, waited to order drinks.
I drummed my fingers on the wooden surface of the bar, my mind far away from the music and strobe lights. Why hadn’t I insisted on staying home with Dad? Why hadn’t I just made him talk to me? I kept imagining him, wallowing in his misery… alone.
But that’s how we Pipers handled stress.
Alone.
Why was that? Why couldn’t either of us open up? Why couldn’t Dad admit that he and Mom were having issues? Why couldn’t I confront him about it?
“Hello, Duffy.”
Why did that jackass have to sit next to me?
“Go away, Wesley,” I growled, staring down at my restless fingers.
“I can’t,” he said. “You see, Duffy, I’m not one to give up easily. I am determined to hook up with one of your friends—preferably the one with the fantastic rack.”
“Then go talk to her,” I suggested.
“I would, but Wesley Rush doesn’t chase girls. They chase him.” He grinned at me. “It’s all right. She’ll be over here begging me to sleep with her soon. Talking to you will just speed up the process. Until then, you get the honor of my company. Lucky for me, it doesn’t look like you’re armed with a beverage tonight.” He laughed but stopped suddenly. I could feel his eyes on me, but I didn’t look up. “Are you all right? You don’t seem as aggressive as usual.”
“Leave me alone, Wesley. I’m serious.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Go away.”
The anxiety inside me needed to escape, to be released in some way. I couldn’t wait until Casey and I got back to her house to vent. I needed to let it out right then. But I didn’t want to cry, not in front of half the school, and there was no way I was going to talk about it with Joe or the douche bag next to me, and punching someone would just get me in trouble. I couldn’t see any other options, but I felt like I’d explode if I didn’t let it out soon.
Mom was in California.
Dad was drowning.
I was too much of a coward to do a damn thing about it.
“There has to be something bothering you,” Wesley persisted. “You look like you might cry.” He put a hand on my shoulder, forcing me to turn and face him. “Bianca?”
Then I did a really fucked-up thing. My only excuse is that I was under an unbelievable amount of stress, and I spotted an outlet. I needed something to distract me—anything far away from my parents’ drama—just for a second. And when I saw my chance I didn’t stop to think about how much I’d regret it later. An opportunity sat on the bar stool beside me, and I lunged at it. Literally.
I kissed Wesley Rush.
One second his hand lay on my shoulder, and his gray eyes rested, for once, on my face, and the next my mouth was on his. My lips were fierce with bottled emotion, and he seemed to tense, his body frozen in shock. That didn’t last very long. An instant later, he returned the aggression, his hands flying to my sides and pulling me toward him. It felt like a battle between our mouths. My hands clawed into his curly hair, tugging it way harder than necessary, and his fingertips dug into my waist.
It worked better than punching someone would have. Not only did it help me release the agonizing pressure, but it definitely distracted me. I mean, it’s hard to think about your dad when you’re making out with somebody.
And as disturbing as it sounds, Wesley was a really good kisser. He leaned into me, and I tugged at him so hard that he nearly fell off his bar stool. In that moment, we just couldn’t get close enough to each other. Our separate seats seemed like they were miles apart.
All of my thoughts vanished, and I became a sort of physical being. Emotions disappeared. Nothing existed but our bodies, and our warring lips were at the center of everything. It was bliss! It was amazing not to think.
Nothing! Nothing… until he screwed it up.
His hand slid up from my waist, trailing along my torso, and came to a stop right on my boob.
Everything flooded back, and I suddenly remembered exactly who I was kissing. I tore my hands out of his hair and shoved him away from me as hard as I could. Anger—fresh, hot anger—surged through me, completely replacing the anxious worry I’d been feeling a minute before. His hands dropped, one landing on my knee, as he pulled away. He looked surprised but distinctly pleased.
“Wow, Duffy, that was—”
And I slapped him. I slapped him so hard, my palm stung with the contact.
The hand on my knee flew to his cheek. “What the hell?” he demanded. “Why did you do that?”
“Asshole!” I yelled. I jumped off my stool and stormed onto the dance floor. I didn’t want to admit it, but I was madder at myself than at him.
4
Casey’s queen-size bed was incredibly warm. The pillows were soft, and I felt like I could sink into the fluffy mattress and live there forever. But I couldn’t sleep. I tossed and turned on my side of the bed, trying not to wake Casey up. I counted sheep. I did that thing where you relax every part of your body from the big toe up. I even imagined one of Mr. Chaucer’s rambling lectures on public policy.
Still wide awake.
I was bottling again, but it had nothing to do with Dad this time. I’d gotten that off my chest after Casey and I had dropped Jessica off earlier that night.