“She wasn’t . . . was she?”
It’s easy enough to fill in her blank. “Not wasted, not high. Just Norah.”
“Well,” she says. “At least there’s that.”
But it’s humiliating that she had to ask. There’s a beep on the other line. Max. “I have to go.” I switch calls with dread. A vision of my boyfriend at brunch with Norah flashes through my head. This is bound to put an even bigger strain on his relationship with my family. What will he think of her? Will it change his opinion about me? And what if . . . what if he finds something of myself in Norah?
“I missed you,” he says. “You coming to the show tonight?”
I’d forgotten about it. I’ve been so fixated on last night’s show that I didn’t remember he’d be back here for another one tonight. “Um, I don’t think so.” The tears are already building. No, no, no. Don’t cry. I’m sick of crying today.
I practically hear him sitting up. “What’s going on?”
“Norah is here. She’s staying with us.”
Silence. And then, “Fuuuuck.” He says it like an exhale. “I’m sorry.”
“Thanks. Me, too,” I add.
He gives a small, understanding snort of laughter, and then I’m surprised by how angry he gets when I tell him the full story. “So she expects you guys to bail her out of this?”
I roll onto my side, still on my bed. “Like we always do.”
“It’s messed up your dads are letting her take advantage of them again.”
The thought has occurred to me many times over the years, but I still don’t know if it’s true. Are they—Nathan, especially—enabling her? Or would she be even more lost without them? “I don’t know,” I say. “She doesn’t have anyone else to turn to.”
“Listen to yourself. You’re defending them. If I were you, I’d be pissed. I’m not you, and I’m still pissed.”
His anger refuels my own. It’s getting easier to talk about it, to talk about everything. We go for another hour until he needs to pack the van for his show. “Do you want me to pick you up?” he asks.
I tell him yes.
I get dressed with a fury I haven’t felt in years. I find a gauzy black dress that I’ve never liked in the back of my closet, and I rip the hem shorter. Orange-and-yellow makeup. Red wig. Boots that lace to my knees.
Tonight, I’m fire.
I storm downstairs. My parents are talking quietly in the kitchen. I have no idea where Norah is, and I don’t care. I throw open the front door, and there’s a loud, “HEY!” but I’m already blazing down to the sidewalk. Where’s Max? Where is he?
“Dolores Nolan, get your ass back in here,” Nathan says from the doorway.
Andy is behind him. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“I’m going to Max’s show!” I yell back.
“You aren’t going anywhere in that mood OR dressed like that,” Nathan says. A familiar white van turns the corner and speeds up our hill. Andy swears, and my parents push out the door but block each other in the process. The van jerks to a halt. Johnny Ocampo slides the door open.
“Do not get in that van,” Nathan shouts.
I give Johnny my hand. He pulls me inside and slams the door. I crash into a folded cymbal stand as the van lurches forward, and I shriek in pain. Max lets out a rapid string of profanity at the sight of blood running down my arm. The van jerks to another stop as he leans back to make sure I’m okay.
“I’m fine, I’m fine! Go!”
I look out the window to see my parents on the sidewalk, frozen in disbelief. And behind them, sitting on the steps of the lavender Victorian—as if they’ve been there for a long, long time—are Cricket and Calliope Bell.
The van roars away.
chapter fifteen
I shouldn’t have come here.
It takes the band forever to set up, and I’m left alone the entire time. I didn’t bring my phone, so I can’t call Lindsey. The club is cold and unfriendly. I cleaned the blood off my arm in the bathroom, but it was only a scratch. I’m restless. And I feel stupid. My parents will be enraged, Norah will still be in my house, and the twins were witness to another foolish act. The memory of their expressions is almost too much to bear: the scorn of Calliope, the hurt of Cricket, the shock of my parents.
I’m in so much trouble.
As always, my mind returns again and again to Cricket Bell. Muir Woods seems like a lifetime ago. I remember what I felt, but I can no longer remember how.
“Lola?”
WHAT’S THAT? WHO’S HERE? Who did my parents send? I’m almost surprised they haven’t showed up themselves— “We thought it was you.” It’s Anna.
“Hard to tell sometimes .” And St. Clair.
They’re holding hands and smiling, and I’m so relieved that I fall back against the club’s brick wall. “Ohthankgod, it’s you.”
“Are you drunk?” she asks.
I straighten and hold up my chin. “NO. What are you doing here?”
“We’re here to see Max’s band,” St. Clair says slowly.