Two days in which I haven’t seen nor spoken to Tyler, two days in which Ella has spent every waking hour moping around the house, two days in which everything feels out of place. Sometimes I hear Ella ask Dad where he thinks Tyler’s at right at the moment. Dad always says he’s not sure. Sometimes she even says that kicking him out of the house was the worst thing to do, because now she can’t keep an eye on him. He has more reasons to get high now, she believes. I like to think she’s wrong about this. I have enough trust in Tyler to hope that he’s viewing all of this as the wake-up call he needed. A chance to maybe figure out his life. Jamie and Chase, however, aren’t so understanding. Last night, Jamie argued with his mom. Yelled at her for kicking Tyler out, called her unfair and too strict. This morning, Chase said he didn’t like the house being so boring. Said he wanted Tyler to take him out for a ride in the Audi, something they do once in a while. Chase is into cars. But today his brother isn’t here to take him for a ride around the neighborhood while over-revving his engine.
Thinking of Tyler’s car, it’s odd not seeing it parked diagonally on the sidewalk. I imagine it parked outside Dean’s house, in that same I’m-a-terrible-parker manner, and it makes me think, in that split second, about heading over there to visit. Just because Tyler has been kicked out of the house doesn’t mean I can’t see him. He’s only five minutes away. Maybe I’ll ask Rachael if we can drop by.
Shaking my head as I run across the lawn and over the street, I make my way to the red Bug that’s waiting for me on Rachael’s driveway, its engine purring. Rachael is adjusting her hair when I slide into the passenger seat.
“You’re officially the worst person ever when it comes to time management,” she throws at me, but she’s smiling. She pushes shut the mirror in her sun visor and pulls on her seat belt.
“I’m sorry,” I say as I press a hand to my chest in mock horror, “I’m so, so sorry. I shouldn’t be three minutes late. Feel free to burn me at the stake, oh holy one.”
Rachael laughs and whacks my arm, rolling her eyes straight to the back of her head in the same way that Amelia often does. I feel homesick in that second. “So,” she says, “what’s the gossip from Saturday?”
As she drives, I stare at her. Worry consumes every inch of my being, combined with the fear that Tiffani has probably already begun to spread our secret like wildfire. Rachael knows, I think. And Meghan, and Jake, and Dean. They all know.
She glances out the corner of her eye, a playful grin on her lips. “C’mon,” she says, “you have to tell me! Did you go home with Jake?”
Maybe she doesn’t know, or maybe she does and is just trying to catch me, so she can stop the car and yell, “LIAR!”
It’s the first time I’ve seen Rachael since Saturday. After her three-day hangover subsided, she called up the house and demanded that we go for coffee to have a catch-up, because she hasn’t seen me in “two years.” Now I’m wishing I’d faked an illness.
Eventually I answer her question with a quick “No” and turn away from her. I prop my elbow against the window and pretend to find the neighborhood interesting and beautiful, but after living here for a while, it just looks familiar and normal and boring to me now. “What about you?” I throw her a quick glance, looking at her from beneath my eyelashes.
She grows flustered under my stare and leans forward, gripping onto the steering wheel and biting back a smile. “I stayed at Trevor’s.”
“Just stayed over?” My eyebrows arch.
“Well, that and some other unmentionable events.” A laugh escapes her lips, but it quickly falters into a sigh. She shrugs. “I just want him to ask me out on a proper date already.”
I feel bad for her. Trevor is all I’ve heard her speak about the entire summer, and although he may only be her “party fling,” according to Tiffani, it’s obvious Rachael is seeking something more from their encounters.
“Guys are assholes,” I tell her, because I’m starting to believe it.
Take Trevor, for example. Sure, he may be sweet when he’s drunk, but deep down he’s probably nothing but a horndog. Example two: Jake. The player. I admit to falling into the trap at the beginning of the summer, when I thought he actually cared about getting to know me, but in the end, all he was really after was a new name to add to his list. Final example: Tyler. He’s an asshole for the way he treats people and he’s an asshole for getting Tiffani pregnant.
This fact has gradually angered me more and more over the past couple days. I didn’t take him as someone who’d be so careless, who could make such a big mistake. The reality of it all is beginning to sink in, and it hurts. Tyler’s going to be a dad. He’s too young and too irresponsible, and I know that there is absolutely no way he’ll be able to handle it.
Rachael bitches about Trevor all the way to Santa Monica Boulevard. He’s hot, but he’s a prick. He can be really loving, but he’s a prick. His parents like her, but he’s a prick. By the time we park the car and reach the Refinery, I feel like I know enough about him I could steal his identity.
“I’m so freaking mad,” Rachael huffs, finally giving up on her ranting. But she perks up when she orders her cappuccino, and I my latte, and then we set ourselves down by the wooden table against the windows facing out onto the boulevard. “Oh, I totally forgot!” She pulls her purse up onto the table and rummages around inside before pulling out not only twenty bucks, but also my phone. “You must have left it at my place before we went to Dean’s. I found it under my bed just as I was leaving to pick you up.”
I stare at her. “Are you kidding me? I thought I was mugged on the beach! I cried!”