Across the couch, Meredith’s eyes widened. I forced myself to take a breath before I said, “My history?”
“Your brother,” she said, her voice flat. From the kitchen, the blender began whirring. “I mean, I get it. Maybe you think that if I drink, I’ll end up in jail, too? But I won’t. So just calm down, okay? Have your drink. Relax.”
I didn’t even know what to say to this. She was like a stranger, but with the familiar features and mannerisms I knew as well as my own. I lowered my voice, then said, “I can’t believe you just brought Peyton into this.”
She rolled her eyes. “Oh, calm down. It’s not like it’s some big secret. Margaret already knows.”
Margaret walked into the room, the blender pitcher in her hand. “Margaret knows what?”
“Nothing,” I said, giving Jenn a hard look. “Never mind.”
The next half hour was consumed by Margaret giving Jenn what she called “the express makeover,” which consisted of putting on a more low-cut shirt, adding some jewelry, and layering on several coats of mascara. Margaret changed as well, into a dress she’d packed in her overnight bag. Clearly, she’d been anticipating a wardrobe transition, unlike the rest of us. Meanwhile, they both continued downing drinks, getting more and more sloppy. On the upside, neither noticed that Meredith and I had switched to water. At nine thirty, about when the guys were expected, Meredith bailed.
“Party pooper!” Margaret called out from the kitchen, where she was “giving needed volume” to Jenn’s hair, a practice that apparently required clouds of hair spray.
“Buzzkill!” Jenn chimed in.
“I have a meet tomorrow afternoon,” Meredith said quietly to me, like I was the one who needed a reason. “And this . . . is weird.”
“Seconded,” I said, holding up my water.
She held hers against it, then smiled. “Are you staying the night?”
“I don’t really want to leave her here like this.”
Meredith glanced back at the kitchen, where Jenn, I noticed, was suddenly looking a little queasy. Uh-oh. “You’re a good friend, Sydney.”
“So are you.” I reached forward, giving her a hug. “Good luck tomorrow.”
“Thanks.”
She waved toward the kitchen, but only Margaret waved back. Once the door was shut behind her, I went to check on Jenn.
“You okay?” I asked her. “You don’t look so good.”
“She’s fine. She just needs to eat something,” Margaret said, although I saw Jenn wince, hearing this. “Let’s order pizza. What’s the number for that place you like, Jenn?”
“They don’t deliver,” Jenn mumbled, then got up off the bar stool, putting out a hand to steady herself. “I’m . . . I’m going to go to the bathroom.”
She made her way across the room, using the wall for support. Margaret watched her go, then took a sip of her drink. “She’ll be fine,” she told me. “A quick puke is like hitting the reset button.”
I watched as she picked up a compact, looking at her own face. Then I said, “She doesn’t drink, just so you know.”
“Her empty glass says otherwise,” she replied, scooping out a bit of gloss on her fingertip. She ran it across her lips, then looked at me. “Look, when I showed up with the rum, she wasn’t exactly protesting.”
“She probably just wanted to impress you.”
“You can read her mind now?”
“I’m her best friend. I’ve known her since we were in preschool.”
“Well, then you’re aware that she’s a girl who can make her own choices,” she said, shutting the compact with a click. “Go check on her, will you? I’m going to order some food so we have something here for the guys when they come.”
She then picked up her phone, indicating the conversation was over. I could feel my temper rising as I walked down the hallway to the powder room, inside which I could hear Jenn retching. I knocked lightly on the door, then pushed it open. “Hey. It’s me.”
Jenn was huddled over the toilet, resting her head on one arm. She looked awfully pale, and the room smelled strongly of coconut. Ugh. “I’m dying,” she moaned. “I’m going to die on my birthday. Which is really symmetrical, but unfortunate.”
I smiled. This was my Jenn. “You’re not dying. You’re just drunk.”
“I feel awful.” She turned to look at me. Damp strands of hair stuck to her forehead. So much for the added volume. “Do you hate me?”
“Of course not.” I picked up the hand towel from next to the sink, then soaked it in cold water. “Why would I?”
“Because I brought up Peyton. And made you drink.”
“You didn’t make me do anything.” I handed her the towel. “Put this on your face. It’ll help.”
She did, and I slid down to sit against the door, my knees to my chest.
“You don’t like Margaret,” she said finally. It wasn’t a question.
“I don’t know her,” I replied, sidestepping it anyway.
“She’s really nice, Syd, I swear! And so funny! And, you know, not from here. She doesn’t see me the way everyone else does. She thinks I could date Chris McMichaels. And drink piña coladas. And . . . be different. You know?”
I nodded. I did understand, in my own way. Not the boy or drinking part, but the clean slate that came with a new friend. “I miss you,” I said, feeling bad about even thinking this while I was with her.
“I miss you, too.” She looked at me again. “Will you stay tonight? I know you weren’t planning to.”
“Sure,” I said. “Let me just make sure it’s okay.”
My mom answered on the second ring, and she sounded upset. At first, I thought this might be because I was calling so close to curfew and she assumed I was angling for an extension. But I found out soon enough that, once again, it had nothing to do with me.
“You may as well,” she said, once I asked if I could stay. “Since we’re not going to Lincoln tomorrow.”
I blinked, surprised. “We’re not?”
Silence. Then, “Your brother apparently has had his visiting privileges rescinded. Of course, I can’t find out why, despite multiple efforts to contact the director of the prison.”
She said this like prison was high school and contacting the office could fix anything. Not for the first time, I wondered if my mother really understood where Peyton was.
“I’m sorry, Mom,” I said. “I know you were looking forward to that.”
“I was.” She sounded so defeated. I hadn’t thought anything could be worse than her being sad. This whole experience: it just kept teaching. After a moment, she rallied, saying, “Tell Jenn happy birthday, and I’ll see you in the morning. Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
Back in the bathroom, Jenn was looking slightly better, with a little color creeping into her cheeks. She still wasn’t ready to be too far from the toilet, however, so I went to fill Margaret in on what was going on. I was almost to the kitchen when I heard voices and realized the guys had arrived. They were gathered around the island, and Margaret, as she poured them drinks. She’d taken off her shoes and added bright red lipstick since I’d seen her last. When she saw me, she smiled like we were best friends.
“Sydney,” she called out, and the guys all looked at me. I knew them, of course, as we’d all been in school together since kindergarten. Besides Chris McMichaels, who had a sister in Peyton’s grade, there was Charlie Jernigan, who also lived in the Arbors, and Huck Webster, captain of the Perkins Day soccer team. “How’s the birthday girl?”
“Fine,” I answered, walking up to them. Chris was already drinking from his glass, while Charlie and Huck were still sniffing theirs. “She’ll be out in a sec.”
“I poured you a fresh one.” Margaret held out a glass to me. “You’ve got some catching up to do.”
I took the dr
ink without comment, then had a sip. In truth, it smelled too much like the bathroom I’d just left, but I wasn’t going to give her anything to comment on. “Thanks.”
“How’s the new school, Sydney?” Charlie asked me. “You liking it?”
I nodded. “It’s good. Different.”
“I hear you switched to Jackson High,” Margaret said. “Why?”
“I was ready for a change,” I replied.
“That’s more a revolution than a change.” She adjusted her dress. “I hear there are fights there every day. And that’s with the girls. My friend who used to go there? She wouldn’t even go in the bathroom.”
“Not true,” I told her.
“Anyway, Sydney’s tough,” Chris said, smiling at me. “No one’s gonna mess with her.”
“Exactly,” I said. “They’re all scared of me already.”
The guys laughed. Margaret twisted a ring around her finger, then sighed. “I’m bored,” she said. “Let’s play a drinking game. Who’s got a quarter?”
With this, she led them over to the kitchen table, bringing the pitcher with her. I went back to check on Jenn, only to find her asleep on the bathroom floor. So much for the birthday girl.
“Hey,” I said, kneeling down beside her and shaking her arm. “Jenn. Wake up.”
“It’s not time to get up yet,” she mumbled, rolling over and pressing her cheek into the tiles.
There was a sharp knock at the door. Instinctively, I knew it was one of the boys. They even announced themselves differently. “Just a minute,” I called out.
“Uh . . . okay.” Then footsteps retreating. From the kitchen, I could hear Margaret laughing.
“Jenn,” I said, shaking her shoulder again. She squeezed her eyes shut tightly into slits, as if this might actually make me go away. “You have to get up. You don’t want Chris to see you like this, right?”
She groaned, clearly annoyed, but allowed me to get her into a seated position. Then her eyes flew open. “Chris is here? Are you serious?”
“He’s in the kitchen. With Margaret.”
Her head fell forward, hitting her chest. “Oh, God. This is awful. It’s not like I had a chance, but if he sees me all pukey like this—”
“He won’t,” I told her. “Just focus on standing up. I’ll get you out of here.”
She moaned again, but leaned back onto her hands, pushing herself to her feet while I eased the door open and peered down the hallway. The quarters game was still going on in the kitchen, with Margaret at the head of the table, Chris opposite her, and Charlie and Huck on either side. As I watched, Chris bounced a coin into a cup, then pointed at Margaret. She grinned, picking up her glass.
I looked back at Jenn, who was holding on to the sink for support. “Come on. It’s now or never.”
She stepped forward, and I slid my arm over her shoulder, then flipped off the bathroom light before stepping into the dark hallway. It was only about four feet to the living room, through which I planned to access the stairs to get her to her bedroom. After a few steps, though, there was a sharp, desperate squeeze of my hand. I stopped walking.
“Might puke,” she whispered. I waited, holding my own breath. Then she exhaled. “Okay, let’s keep going.”
We continued like this past the sofa and coffee table, then the piano, stopping twice more. Just as we passed the front door, the bell sounded.
“Oh, God,” Jenn moaned, squeezing my hand again. “I might—”
This time, I had a feeling she meant it. Without thinking, totally desperate, I threw the door open and pushed her out onto the front steps, where she grabbed the wrought-iron railing, leaned over it, and heaved into the bushes. On the steps beside her, holding a pizza box and wearing a SEASIDE PIZZA T-shirt, was Mac Chatham.
At first, this fact just did not compute. It was like I’d dreamed or conjured him, except for the throwing-up part. Gingerly, he stepped aside as Jenn puked again, then looked at me, raising his eyebrows.
“Hi,” I managed to say over Jenn’s retching. “What’s up?”
He gave me a flat look. “You ordered pizza?”
“I didn’t,” I said. Now he looked confused. “I mean, they did. Or this girl here did. I didn’t realize . . .”
“Sydney,” Jenn moaned, then slid down into a heap on the steps by his feet. “Help.”
“Excuse me,” I said to Mac, shooting him an apologetic look as I shut the door behind me, then came out and crouched down next to Jenn. I ran a hand over her matted hair, then explained, “It’s her birthday.”
“Oh.” He cleared his throat. “Um, happy birthday.”
At this, she slumped into me. Before I knew what was happening, her head was in my lap, legs curled up against the railing. I just sat there, not sure what to do. A moment later, she was snoring.
I looked up at Mac. “I’ll . . . I’ve got money in my pocket. What do I owe you for the pizza?”
I figured he’d be more than relieved to tell me, get paid, and be on his way, as I could not imagine a more unpleasant scenario to stumble into. Instead, setting what I did not yet realize would be a precedent, Mac surprised me.
“Let’s get her inside first,” he said. “The last thing you want is neighbors seeing this.”
He had a point. The houses on Jenn’s street were close together, and all the ones across the way still had lights on. “You don’t have to help me,” I told him. “Really.”
To this he said nothing, instead just holding out the pizza warmer to me. I took it, not sure what was happening until he bent down, scooping Jenn up in his arms. Her head flopped against his shoulder, and she stirred slightly, but then she was out again. “Lead the way,” he said.
I did. Through the front door, where I put down the warmer on a side table, and then up the stairs and down the hall to Jenn’s dark room. As I flicked on the light, stepping inside, it occurred to me that of all the ways I’d thought this night might end, me in a bedroom with Mac Chatham was the very last one of them.
He, however, seemed pretty much at ease, as if he dumped unconscious strange girls into their beds on a regular basis. Which I could only hope he did not. Once Jenn hit the mattress, she groaned and curled into a ball, pressing her face into her pillow. I went over and took off her shoes.
“You’ll probably want to get her a glass of water,” he told me. “And a trash can, if there is one around.”
There was, and I got it, along with the water and a damp towel, which I put on her forehead. When all this was done, I stepped back beside Mac, who was just inside the doorway. “She never drinks,” I told him. “I don’t know what she was thinking.”
“She probably wasn’t,” he replied. “It happens. Especially on birthdays.”
“She’ll be okay, right?”
“Just needs to sleep it off.” I bit my lip, still worried. “Sydney. She’s fine.”
There was something in the way he said this, my name so familiar, the sentiment so confident and reassuring, that was more touching, actually, than anything else he’d done so far.
“Thank you,” I said to him. “Seriously. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t shown up.”
“All pizza guys have this kind of training. It’s required.”
I felt myself smile, right at him, before realizing this was the first time I’d talked to him alone since the day we’d first met. And I was talking to him, not blushing or stammering, at least so far. Who knew a night could end so far from where it started, even when you stayed in?
“I should let you go,” I said. “I’m sure they need you back for more deliveries, right?”
“This is the last one of the night, actually.” He reached up, scratching his temple. “But I do need to get home. I’m supposed to bring burgers and fries from Webster’s to Layla and my mom, and they’re serious when it comes to their food.
”
“So I’m learning,” I said.
We stepped out into the hallway and I turned off Jenn’s light, easing the door shut behind us. Halfway down the stairs, we bumped into Margaret and Chris.
“Sydney?” she said, her eyes widening as she glimpsed Mac behind me. “What are you doing?”
Considering she was alone with the guy Jenn had clearly stated she was crushing on, in Jenn’s house, on her way to where there were only bedrooms, I wanted to ask her the same thing. Instead I said, “This is Mac. He’s a friend of mine from school.”
“A friend,” she repeated, drawing the word out. She looked at Chris. “And what were you two doing upstairs?”
“Checking on Jenn,” I told her, narrowing my eyes at her. “Just like you are. Right?”
“Right,” she said, not missing a beat. “Of course.”
I stepped around her, brushing past as I went down the stairs with Mac behind me. As he passed her, she noticed his T-shirt.
“Wait,” she said, turning around to look down at us. “Is this . . . Are you the pizza guy?”
She said this with a half laugh, her voice rising at the end. I’d already decided I disliked her, but it was only then that I felt a full-on bolt of rage. I was about to tell her where she could stick her pizza, in detail, but then Mac spoke first.
“Seventeen forty-two is your total,” he told her. “Small bills appreciated.”
Margaret just looked at him, her expression icy. He stared back, clearly unfazed. Finally, she turned to me. “Money’s on the counter in an envelope. Don’t overtip.”
With this, she turned and began to climb the stairs again. Chris stayed where he was, his expression hesitant. “Hey,” he said to me, his voice low. “I—”
“Come on,” Margaret barked from the landing. There was a beat, and then he, too, turned and disappeared upstairs.
My face was hot as I walked down the hallway to the kitchen, embarrassed and pissed off all at once. “She’s nice,” Mac said. “Friend of yours?”
“No,” I said flatly.
In the kitchen, we found Huck and Charlie still at the table, now taking plain shots and throwing cocktail peanuts into each other’s mouths. They were drunk enough to not really notice us, but I saw Mac take them in as I found the envelope Jenn’s mom had left, the words For your birthday dinner! in a flowery script on the front. If only she knew. I took out twenty-five, sliding it over to him. He handed the five back.