“Don’t.” Her small green fingernails tug on my sleeve. “I want to go. Now.”
“Good,” jeers Digg. “Go. Get the hell out of my house. Prentiss, living in Cross Pointe is making you a pansy.”
I don’t respond to Digg. Don’t acknowledge the group of spectators who have abandoned the Ping-Pong table and video games. I nod at Brighton, putting her in front of me as we retrace my steps back toward the front door. I want to smash my foot through each stair rung or put my fist through the wall. I slam open the door at the top of the stairs, nearly hitting someone on the other side, but I don’t stop to apologize. If I stop, I’ll go back downstairs and punch Digg.
I ask Brighton if she has everything—because Carly has me well trained and we are not coming back for forgotten purses or phones or whatever. She doesn’t answer, just takes fast, careful steps down the stairs and across the grass.
I’m opening my mouth to warn her I don’t want to have an “OMG! That party!” rehashing in the car, when she spins around.
“Don’t talk to me. Just. Don’t.”
That’s fine with me, except—“You’re going the wrong way.”
She continues her march away from my car. Across Jeff’s lawn and his neighbor’s too. I jog to catch up and then plant myself in her path so she has to acknowledge me.
“Wrong way? Like you care where I go or where I end up or what happens to me. You are a jerk.”
“So I’ve heard. Multiple times tonight.” Yet it sounds wrong coming out of her mouth.
“Yeah, well, I don’t care. It’s true. Jonah, you’re vile. I’m disgusted I ever wanted your approval. Don’t you dare show up at the library on Sunday. I don’t ever want to see your face again.”
“Fine. I won’t,” I snap. But being uninvited to something I never planned on going to stings worse than her name-calling.
“I deserved to know about your breakup.”
“Deserved? Entitled much? It’s none of your business.”
“You set me up as a pawn in your twisted little jealousy game. Say whatever you want about Cross Pointe, no one I know would have brought you to a party like this and abandoned you to fend for yourself.”
“I thought you left.”
“I was going to. I am going to. As soon as possible.”
“I’m not stopping you.” I step to the side and throw out my hands. “Go. Do you have any idea where you’re going? Not all of Hamilton is safe at night.”
She pauses. Looks around like perverts and drug dealers are going to materialize on this half-dead lawn. And I feel like a jerk, again, for scaring her. Again.
“How are you even going to get home?” I ask.
“Amelia,” she says. “Or Peter. I’m just waiting for someone to call back. Where’s a safe place I can wait?”
“Just come with me. I’ll take you home.” I reach out a hand toward her, but she takes a step backward.
“I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you. This is me leaving you alone. Just like you asked. And you know what else? I don’t care what you think of me. I’ve spent so much time trying to be nice to you and trying to figure out why you’re so mean to me, but I’m over it.”
“Dammit, Brighton! Did you not notice I had your back in there? That I left with you? Give me some credit.”
She looks me dead in the eye. “First you have to deserve it.”
30
Brighton
11:55 P.M.
13 HOURS, 5 MINUTES LEFT
I’m starting to falter. I feel like a paper doll that’s been crumpled up and tossed aside. All the adrenaline, or whatever it is that’s kept me moving and yelling, is starting to drain out of my system.
I pause and lean against a tree. Bite the inside of my cheek to keep tears out of my eyes.
“Hey, are you okay?” Jonah’s voice sounds like a whisper now that he’s not yelling. “What the hell happened with Digg, anyway?”
“Nothing. Nothing happened with Digg, all right? He spent half the time trying to paw me, the other half trying to get me to drink. And then, when I said no to both, he went ahead and spiked my soda. But, no, nothing happened. So you can stop pretending to care.”
Saying the words aloud makes me feel like vomiting. Nothing happened, but something could have.
“Jesus, Bright, of all the guys in the party, you end up with Digg?”
“I really don’t want to hear it.” My stomach is burning, less nauseous now, more like it’s full of something hot and uncontainable.
I turn and continue to walk across lawn after lawn, fumbling in my purse for my cell phone. I’m not spending another second with this guy. I’ll call Evy, I don’t care if she makes me listen to a lifetime of teasing.
“Bright.” Jonah’s jogging to catch up. He puts a hand on my arm, but I shake him off.
“I asked you not to call me that. My name’s only two syllables, it’s not hard to remember.” I keep walking—ignoring the pain in my toes as I push myself to go faster.
“Brighton, wait. I’m sorry”
I’ve cut diagonally across a driveway and reached the street. Now I need to decide which direction to go. With Jonah’s words about unsafe sections of town in my head, both look equally menacing.