Life After Theft

  She smiled up at me, but her smile was tight. “It’s a Harrison Hill tradition now. Someone gets to be the butt of everyone’s drunk humor. It’s . . . not pretty. And I’ve never found out who it was going to be early enough to help. I’m glad I did tonight,” she said, looking up at the sky.

  My stomach felt sour again. No wonder she had suddenly paid attention when I said Langdon had invited me.

  I had wanted her to think I was cool. She’d known better all along.

  She turned toward me and the moon illuminated her pale skin. She had freckles that she probably hated—seems like all girls do—but I liked them. “I’m glad you’re all right. I’m glad Khail was there.”

  “So am I,” she said quietly.

  The moment felt serious and I considered going in for a kiss, but it seemed too soon after—well, puking up my pride along with the beer and Jell-O. I rubbed my hands through my hair instead, feeling some of the crisply gelled spikes give way to the kind of fuzzy disarray I was used to.

  Sera looked up and me and grinned. “You missed a spot,” she said softly. Then she reached up and rubbed my hair, loosening more of the crispy strands. “There,” she said after a few moments. “Much better.”

  “Better like this?” I asked.

  She nodded and laughed as she plucked at my jean jacket. “And don’t even get me started on your outfit.”

  “You don’t like it?” Cue sound effect of my remaining confidence shattering into about seventy billion pieces.

  “It’s okay,” she said with a shrug, “I just don’t think it’s you. I mean, when I first saw you, you looked . . . relaxed. Nobody in Santa Monica is relaxed. You were wearing Converse and you looked about as comfortable as you can get in our stupid uniforms. Then something happened—maybe the preppies at Whitestone got to you—but you totally changed. The funky hair, the metro getup.”

  “Wait,” I said, and my mind was trying to make a connection I was still just a little too drunk to get at easily. “You noticed me my first day? Like, before I did this to my hair,” I added, pointing at my “ruined” hair.

  Sera looked down at her lap, and even in the darkness I saw her cheeks flush. “I’m a front-office TA,” she said evasively. “I notice all the new students.”

  Sure she did. “Okay, no more weird,” I said with a smile. “That I can do.”

  She ran her fingers across my chin. “This I like, though.”

  The stubble. Score!

  “It makes you seem more . . .”

  “Virile?” I suggested.

  “I was thinking more along the lines of laid-back,” Sera said, laughing.

  I hesitated, but figured I had nothing to lose by being honest. “I just wanted to impress you tonight.”

  She raised an eyebrow.

  “No really, I saw you that first time and—”

  “The day you thought I was Khail’s girlfriend?” she teased.

  I sighed. “I figured you were a popular cheerleader and you’d be into this kind of guy,” I said, gesturing to my outfit.

  Sera laughed again and shook her head. “I’m not exactly your typical cheerleader. I don’t even like the actual cheering that much. But it gives me a chance to perform and compete with gymnastics.”

  “Can’t you just do that in . . . uh . . . gymnastics?”

  She looked away. “It’s kind of complicated. I . . . I was in gymnastics. I was training to be a national competitor, but I took a couple years off right when training is the most crucial. So, basically I got left behind. Catching up isn’t easy; trust me. I have a private coach now, but I don’t compete or anything.” She shrugged and smiled sadly. “Someday I might be good enough to be on a college team, but right now I’m not that great, and it feels weird competing against thirteen-year-olds. So I cheer instead.”

  “How come you took that time off if it’s so important?”

  Sera waved the question away. “I just did.” We were quiet for a few minutes before I leaned over and bumped her shoulder with mine.

  “So you’re really not into the whole trendy-guy thing?” I said.

  She shook her head. “Nope.”

  I mussed up my hair a little more. “That’s a relief.”

  She grinned and looked up at me. “What would you have worn tonight if you hadn’t been trying to impress me?”

  “My Luckys. One of my vintage tees. A hoodie. It’s what I usually wear.”

  “That’s exactly how I pictured you.”

  My head was still spinning, and though I suspected it wasn’t just from the company, I said it anyway—I might never get another chance. “Honestly? I probably wouldn’t have gone to the party at all if you hadn’t agreed to show up.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Th-there’s just something about you; something different,” I stuttered. “I’ve wanted to get to know you since the first time I saw you in the hall.”

  I lifted a hand and let my finger trace down her face. I don’t know how I mustered up the courage, but my hand slipped behind her neck and I let my head drop forward until our foreheads touched.

  “Um,” Sera said hesitantly, “are you seriously trying to make a move on me after you puked in the garbage can fifteen minutes ago?”

  I froze. “No?”

  She grinned now. “Yeah, I believe that.” She reached out and squeezed my arm even as she pulled her head away from mine. “Maybe another time,” she said softly.

  Close enough.

  We watched the six or seven stars that struggled to shine through the smog and the Santa Monica lights, and laughed when one of the “stars’’ flew away. We chatted idly about nothing until Sera groaned and pulled her hand out of her pocket. A soft blue glow from her Rolex brought us back down to earth. “It’s almost one. That’s my curfew on weekends.” She looked over at me. “I don’t think you’re quite ready to get behind the wheel yet. I’ll drive you home and have Khail come get me.”

  I shook my head ruefully. “I would have been fine if it weren’t for all those Jell-O shots.”

  “How many did you have?”

  I grinned at her self-consciously. “After a couple it’s so hard to remember.”

  She laughed and poked my stomach. “You really are a lightweight.”

  “And you’re not?” I retorted, elbowing her ribs gently.

  She rolled her eyes. I stood and reached down to help her up. “Thank you,” I said. “For . . . for everything.”

  She hesitated. “Jeff?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Next time there’s a big party, will you come hang with me instead?”

  “Really?”

  She shrugged one shoulder. “You’re nice. Different,” she said, looking sidelong at me, “but nice.”

  “Of course I will,” I promised. “This was way better than any party could have been.”

  And with a smile like hers, I didn’t need beer to feel drunk.

  Twelve

  “WHERE THE HELL WERE YOU?”

  The voice reverberated painfully in my skull as I attempted to open my eyes. The instant they met the glaring, early morning light I screwed them shut again.

  “Well?”

  This was definitely not the way my mom usually talked to me—even when I was in trouble. I held my hands up to my eyes and squinted through my fingers. Yep, Kimberlee. “What do you care?” I mumbled and squished my face into my pillow.

  “I got bored and went to the party—I wasn’t following you; I went to see other people. And you were gone! I had no clue what might have happened to you. Dead on the highway, taken off and gang-raped by the chess club—I don’t know!”

  I raised my head for a few seconds, not even having the energy to get mad at her for breaking her promise. “Aww, you care. That’s sweet. Would you shut up now?” I flopped back onto my pillow. My head was throbbing and every word she said echoed through it like a racquetball.

  She kept pacing and yelling, but I didn’t hear much after that. I pulled my pillow over my hea
d and in the relative quiet managed to slip back off to sleep.

  When I woke up again, she was gone.

  Thank goodness.

  My stomach rumbled and I glanced at the clock: one p.m. Damn.

  I staggered out of bed, stumbled down the stairs, and tunnel-visioned in on the coffeepot—which luckily still had a few cups in it. That was exactly what I needed this morning. Afternoon. Whatever.

  As my hand touched the pot handle my mom said, “Nuh-uh, Jeff. Coffee’ll only dehydrate you.”

  I spun around and about dropped my mug as the kitchen lights made streaks across my vision.

  My mom’s tinkling laugh went through my ears like a sledgehammer through a window. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.” She gestured to the chair across from her. “Sit.”

  I did as commanded and laid my cheek against the cool tabletop. I was halfway back to sleep when my mom patted my shoulder.

  “Trust me, this will be better.”

  I raised my head and looked down at a large cup of tomato juice, a bagel with strawberry cream cheese, a smaller glass of orange juice, and two white pills. I pointed at the pills and muttered, “Huh?”

  “For your headache.”

  Man, I was in so much trouble.

  The bagel looked at least edible. I nibbled on one side to avoid thinking about the enormous tomato juice.

  “Be sure you drink both glasses—you need fluids and electrolytes.”

  I nodded as though we were discussing the weather instead of my very underage night of binge drinking. Or, uh, Jell-O shootering. I picked up the huge glass of tomato juice and forced down two swallows.

  By the time I’d finished the bagel and both glasses of juice, I didn’t feel like I was standing at death’s door anymore . . . more like waiting at the end of the driveway. Mom schmeared me another bagel and brought a glass of water with it. “So,” she began, “you want to tell me about last night?”

  I groaned and let my head sink into my hands. “I don’t even want to think about last night. It was awful.”

  “How much did you drink?”

  “About half as much as I puked.”

  She laughed.

  I cringed.

  “Sorry.”

  “My own fault.” Fun fact: I have gotten out of more trouble with these three words than you can possibly imagine.

  “Yes, it is.”

  “How did you know?”

  “I went in to grab your laundry while you were sleeping and it reeked of smoke and beer; that was my first clue. But mostly it was because I tried to poke you awake and you didn’t even move.” She looked amused. “There was a lot of snoring and drool, though.”

  There wasn’t much I could say to that.

  She put on her Mom face. The Jeff’s-in-trouble face. “How did you get home? Your car is here; I hope you weren’t driving drunk. There are serious consequences for that. And I don’t mean with the law.”

  “A friend drove me home.”

  “In your car?”

  I laid my cheek down on the cool table again. “Uh-huh.”

  “Was this friend drunk at the time?”

  “No, she doesn’t drink.”

  Mom leaned forward on her elbows. “She? A girl?”

  I’m never going to hear the end of this. I nodded.

  “A special girl?”

  “Maybe.”

  Mom nodded slowly. “Okay. You’re off the hook for drunk driving. So what did you think of getting drunk?”

  “It sucked.”

  “How much?”

  “A lot. But not as bad as the hangover. I’m dying, Mom.”

  “I’d say that’s a pretty good consequence right there, wouldn’t you?”

  I nodded.

  “You’re not off the hook,” Mom warned. “There are still consequences in your future after I talk to your father, but for now I think you’re punishing yourself pretty well.”

  “Thanks,” I mumbled.

  “Don’t thank me yet. Part of your punishment is definitely going to be telling me more about this girl who took pity on you.”

  I sighed in defeat and threw my hands over my eyes.

  “I hope you had a good time last night,” Kimberlee said from across the room as I was attempting to pull on my socks.

  I fell off the bed in surprise.

  I hate hangovers.

  More than ties. More than name tags. Maybe even more than mean, kleptomanic ghosts.

  “So?”

  “So what?”

  “How was it?”

  “The party sucked ass and I don’t know what anyone sees in beer.”

  Kimberlee scoffed. “Sera shut you down, didn’t she?”

  I grinned. “Nope. She saved me from the beer.”

  My cell phone rang and I desperately rummaged through my jeans for it. I wanted nothing more than for the ear-splitting noise to stop. I finally found it and jabbed the talk button.

  “Hello?”

  “Jeff?”

  Sera! My hangover seemed to melt away. Well, half of it anyway. Maybe a quarter. “Hey, how’s it going?”

  “Good,” Sera responded. “I just wanted to check that you were okay.”

  “Better now.”

  Kimberlee pointed her finger down her throat and walked into my closet. Through the door, of course.

  “How’d you get my cell number?”

  “Told you—I’m a front-office TA.”

  I laughed. “You stole it?”

  “I am a master thief.” I wished Sera could have guessed at even a fraction of the irony in those words.

  It took me a few seconds to realize that since there was no school today, she must have gotten my number before the party. Nice.

  I was sure there had to be a great, snappy comeback to that, but all I could come up with was, “Yeah.” Idiot.

  “You’re really feeling okay?”

  “Better than I was an hour ago.”

  “Good enough to do something tonight?”

  “Depends what you had in mind,” I teased, knowing full well that I was game for anything other than maybe poking our eyes out with red-hot needles.

  And even then, if there was making out involved, I’d probably think about it.

  “I didn’t really have anything planned, but there are a couple of good movies showing. And I’m one of those girls who actually eats, so when I say I’ll buy the popcorn if you buy the tickets, it’s an even split.”

  Split? I was so not letting this girl pay for anything. “Yeah, that would be cool,” I said. My head started spinning so I sprawled onto my comforter with the sad realization that I wasn’t going anywhere in the immediate future. I glanced at the clock. 1:48. “How about at like seven?”

  “So what exactly happened last night?” Kimberlee asked, reappearing the instant I hung up. “You said the party sucked and now you’re traipsing off on a date with the girl who is known for not attending the parties. Did you even go?” She asked in the kind of tone my mother would ask about skipping out on dinner with my grandparents. “Because if you got an invite from Neil and skipped you are never getting an invite again. I worked really hard to get you ready and you—as usual—were totally ungrateful and I should have known you’d blow the whole thing off for this stupid girl like the—”

  “Stop!” I finally managed to say, ending her barrage of words. “I went to the party, okay?”

  “Then what happened?”

  I let myself fall back onto my bed, closing my eyes again. “I went, Langdon got me drunk, Sera rescued me.”

  “Langdon? What about Neil? I told you to stay away from Langdon.”

  “Neil didn’t invite me—Langdon did,” I replied, still not opening my eyes.

  “You lied to me?”

  I didn’t even have the energy to dignify that question with a response.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” she demanded, her voice getting shriller.

  “Two words,” I said, groping blindly for the edge of my blanket to p
ull it over my head. “Special. Guest.”

  That got her. Well, for a few seconds. “Langdon invited you as his special guest?” she said quietly.

  “Yep,” I said from underneath the comforter. “Thanks for the warning.”

  She was silent for a good thirty seconds. I wasn’t convinced I had ever been in her presence for a silent thirty seconds. I hoped she was feeling bad.

  “I’m stuck with the loser who got brought out to Harrison Hill to be Langdon’s special guest. I am in hell!”

  My eyes popped open and I peeked out at her. “Seriously?” I croaked. “I almost got burned at the social stake and you’re concerned about your reputation? Which, by the way, doesn’t matter because you’re dead?” Maybe we were both in hell.

  “Oh sure,” Kimberlee said. “Play the dead card. That’s fair.”

  “I’m not trying to play cards. All I’m saying is that you could have warned me that Langdon’s an asshat and told me to stay away from him always, not just when he’s drunk.”

  “Hey, Langdon’s a nice guy.”

  “No, Kimberlee, he’s not! He’s a sociopath. Anyone who would purposely get someone drunk just to make fun of them is a worthless jerk. Period. End of story.”

  Kimberlee snapped her mouth shut and clenched her jaw. For one terrifying moment I thought she was going to start yelling again. Then, for some reason, she burst into tears and left.

  I will never understand girls.

  Thirteen

  WHEN I ARRIVED AT SERA’S, all I could do was sit in my car and stare. This was not a house. It was like a cross between a mansion and a castle. A mastle. Even Kimberlee’s house wasn’t this big.

  At the top of a winding walkway I was almost surprised to find double wooden doors instead of a drawbridge. I tried to decide if it was more appropriate to knock or ring the bell and briefly wondered if there would be a butler.

  Finally I decided that unless there was a butler standing within about three feet of the door, no one was ever going to hear me knock. I sucked in a breath and touched the glowing white button to the right of the door. Honestly, I expected to hear something like a big gong from inside, but what I actually heard was nothing. I was just starting to wonder if the bell was broken, or if I hadn’t pushed it hard enough, when the doorknob turned.