“Fine. I’m going to go call and see when she’ll get here. And let her know that girl left.” Maya flounces out of the room, but not without giving me one last angry look.
“Her cell phone battery can’t last much longer, right?” Jeff jokes. “Come on, let’s get you a drink.”
He gets one for each of us, and we sit on barstools in his kitchen. He’s telling a story about Maya or baseball. Or maybe about Maya at one of his games. He punches my arm lightly to get my attention. “You know, watching the door isn’t going to make her appear any faster—or slower.”
“Yeah.” I pry my eyes off it and face him. “Do you think she’ll be okay? She won’t go wandering off and end up on Brunswick Street or anything, right?”
“Brighton?” He blinks and looks confused. “From the way she handled you, my guess is she’ll be just fine. I’d start worrying about Carly.”
But he doesn’t know Brighton. And she doesn’t know Hamilton. I should never have let her leave by herself.
“And here she is,” says Jeff, and I whip around, ready to talk about green nail polish or the library thing or whatever—as long as she’s in one piece and willing to forgive me. But it’s Carly whose voice carries into the room.
Maya’s back is the first thing to emerge from the front hall—she’s walking backward and gushing sympathy at Carly. Next is Sasha’s white-blond hair hanging straight down around her angry face.
Carly’s last to enter, stepping from behind the other two. I can see the evidence of how her night’s gone. Though her makeup’s been fixed and her hair’s styled into some complicated braid thing, her eyes are puffy and there are telltale she’s-been-sobbing blotches outside the lines of her cherry lip gloss.
She’s pissed: her posture, the straight line of her eyebrows, and her smashed-together lips make this clear. But she’s shaken too. Her hands are more hugging herself than crossed.
Carly steps forward. “How could you?”
She doesn’t wait for an answer, marches past me and grabs either side of Felix’s face. Kisses him. An exaggerated kiss where she rakes her hands through his hair and breaks apart with a sucking sound.
“How did that make you feel?” she demands and I wonder if I look half as shocked as Felix does. To him she says, “Thanks.”
He manages a dizzy-looking leer and says, “Anytime.”
“Well?” she asks, shaking her hands in my direction. She makes a sound of disgust and storms out of the kitchen. Maya stays to glare at me, but Sasha follows her and then a door slams upstairs.
I look at my full cup, tempted to gulp it down. Instead I slide it toward Jeff and Maya. I stand. He gives me a punch in the shoulder. “Good luck.”
26
Brighton
11:32 P.M.
13 HOURS, 28 MINUTES LEFT
“Hey, Brighton. Jonah thought you left.” The couple from earlier comes down the stairs and heads straight for Digg and me. It was Jeff who spoke—he’s actually smiling, but his girlfriend isn’t.
Digg clearly doesn’t appreciate his brother butting in, because before I can answer, he’s already asking, “What do you want?”
They both ignore him, so I do too, playing with the tab on my untouched soda as I answer, “I’m waiting to hear back from a ride. Tell him not to worry, I’ll be gone soon.”
“You can’t leave already. It’s early,” says Digg. He puts a hand on my arm, like he expects me to bolt out the door this very moment. His touch makes me want to. I pull away.
“Stay,” agrees Jeff. “Jonah will be glad you did.”
“Where is he, anyway?” I ask, ignoring the blatant lie.
“He’s with Carly,” says Maya. “Knowing those two, it’s probably going to be a while. I’m sure they’re getting back together. He looked so sad.”
I keep my face perfectly still, frozen in a socially acceptable bland expression.
Jeff shrugs. “I think they’re done. So tell me about Cross Pointe. What’s our boy doing if he’s not playing baseball?”
“Was he any good?” I ask.
Digg chokes on his beer, and Maya almost drops her cup. Even Jeff is looking at me like I’m crazy. “Yeah. He was an All-State pitcher sophomore and junior year.”
“Oh.” My cheeks go hot, but really, why should I be embarrassed? It’s not like Jonah voluntarily shares information about himself with me, or anyone at Cross Pointe. I do know the CP team roster, though, so I can say with a 100 percent certainty: “He doesn’t play anymore.”
“We know. So what’s he up to? What’d you mean by ‘no one knows him’?” Jeff asks, sitting on the arm of the couch next to me. Maya fits herself against him, and the two of them look at me expectantly.
“Um …” The blush has spread from my cheeks to my neck. I can’t think of a single thing to tell them, and they’re starting to exchange looks as my silence drags on. Do they think I’m hiding something or that I’m the type of girl who apparently goes to a party with complete strangers? I wish I could spin the question around: ask them about him. Or the version of Jonah that lived in Hamilton, because he seems completely different from the guy I pass in Cross Pointe’s halls.