As Dean is driving me home, it suddenly hits me that I’m about to have a lot of explaining to do. Not only did I bail on Dad’s plans by convincing him I was sick, I also left the house and went to a party instead. Right now he’s probably already calling the cops to report me missing. And to make matters worse, I’m returning home in a dress that barely covers half my body.
“My dad is gonna kill me,” I murmur as I rest my head on the window. “I was supposed to be sick.”
Dean glances at me. “Did you make a miraculous recovery or something like that?”
“Something like that.” I sit up and reach for my phone—it’s second nature—but I discover I have no pockets and no phone. I left it at Tiffani’s. “Crap.”
“What’s up?”
“Nothing.” I heave a frustrated sigh and scour the dashboard for the time. It’s almost eleven. I stuck around at the party for barely an hour. If I’d stayed any longer, I would have only found more reasons to despise Tyler and even more reasons to question my sanity. “Are you heading back there?”
“Yeah,” Dean says as he pulls onto Deidre Avenue. “I’m kind of Jake’s designated driver.” He chuckles. “Gotta make sure the guy gets home.”
“What about Tyler?” I ask, and then I mentally curse myself out for even caring.
Dean smiles a little. “Tyler doesn’t really go home.”
“What does he do? Does he just pass out in the street or something?” I fold my arms, contemptuous but also slightly curious. “Spend the night in a jail cell?”
“Not exactly,” Dean says. “He normally just goes back to Tiffani’s place with her.”
“Oh.” Gross. “I can’t believe he does drugs.” Even grosser. “Did you know?”
There’s a long silence. “Everyone knows.”
Jake’s earlier expression and Meghan’s hesitant glances suddenly make sense now. They both knew what Tyler was up to.
“Why don’t any of you stop him then?” I find it insane that these people are supposedly his friends, yet despite being aware that he’s doing coke ten feet away from them, they aren’t doing anything to help or stop him. “I mean, does his mom even know?”
“Trust me, I’ve tried,” Dean says. He pulls up outside Dad’s house and cuts the engine. “But getting through to Tyler is like getting through a brick wall. It’s literally impossible. The guy just doesn’t listen. We all just gotta ignore it. I think his mom knows about the weed, but definitely not the coke.”
“He’s disgusting.” Shaking my head in disbelief, I reach for the handle and push the car door open. With my other hand, I quickly open up the small clutch purse I borrowed from Tiffani and rummage through until I grab the first bill I find. It’s five dollars, and it’s crinkled to the point of being void, but it’s enough to cover the cost of the journey. I hand it to Dean. “Thanks for the ride.”
“What’s this?” He stares down at the wrecked bill with a perplexed frown before glancing back at me.
“It’s to cover the gas.” I urge the money into his hands, but he refuses to accept it, so I sigh. “Take it.”
“Eden, don’t sweat it, honestly,” he says with a laugh. “Just tell Ella I said hey and we’re good.”
I narrow my eyes at him, skeptical. Back in Portland it’s the social norm to hand over a couple bucks to contribute to the cost of the gas if someone gives you a ride. If you step out of the car without offering a cent, you’re pretty much blacklisted from the circle and you’ll be lucky if you’re ever offered a ride again. Maybe they give each other free rides down here, or maybe Dean’s just too nice for his own good. Either way, I toss the bill onto the dashboard and jump out of the car before he can give it back to me.
“Keep it!” I call, twirling around and slamming the door shut behind me as I rush toward the house.
That’s when I notice that the lights are all on inside. Dad will either be extremely understanding or absolutely livid. Most likely the latter. Maybe I can slip in through the back without Dad and Ella even noticing. Run up to my room, pull on some PJs, and then convince them that I’ve been there the entire time. Or just break down into tears and beg for forgiveness.
Bracing myself, I pull Tiffani’s dress as far down my thighs as it’s willing to go and stretch it a little to cover a few more inches of my body. Every little bit helps. I pull off the irritating fake eyelashes too and toss them onto the lawn. I carry with me the noticeable waft of liquor and there’s nothing I can do to get rid of it. I just have to face the fact that I lied and deserve to be cast into the pits of hell.
The door is unlocked when I reach it, so I slip inside as quietly as possible and creep across the hall. But I’m not as discreet as I think I am, because Dad calls my name from the living room.
I bite down on my lip and step toward the door, peering around the frame only slightly. I keep my body well hidden. “Hey.”
“Hey?” Dad repeats, blinking as he stares at me in a flabbergasted sort of way. “Is that what you’re going to come in here and say? Hey?”