Hearing this, I suddenly remembered that I was also supposed to be somewhere at a certain time. I looked at my watch: it was just after nine. “I should go, too, actually.”
“Let me guess,” Layla said. “You’re addicted to Status: Mystery, too, and do not trust entirely reliable technology to function properly in your absence.”
Rosie snorted. I said, “Um, not exactly. Usually I can stay out later, but there’s been some stuff going on. My mom kind of wants me to stick close. So I told her I’d be home early tonight.”
It wasn’t until I finished this monologue that I realized how long and unnecessary it was. I had no idea why I’d felt the need to explain myself quite so much to people I had only just met, and by the way they stood there looking at me when I concluded, they didn’t, either. Whoops.
“Well, you go, then,” said Mrs. Chatham finally, saving me. “But don’t be a stranger, okay? Come by the house anytime.”
I nodded, then got to my feet. “Thanks.”
“We’ll walk you out,” Layla said, nodding at Mac. “This parking lot can be a little sketchy. Back in a sec, Mom.”
Mrs. Chatham waved, and I followed Layla through the increased crowd toward the door, Mac behind me. Sandwiched between them, I could see people appraising us as we made our way outside, and I was sure I looked like the mismatched piece, the part that did not belong. But that was not a new feeling. And at least here, with them, it made sense.
“Where’d you park?” Layla asked once we were in the lot. I pointed. As we walked over, passing a few people grouped around their own vehicles, she said, “Wow. Nice ride. Is that a sport package?”
I looked at my car, which was a BMW that had been my mom’s before she decided she wanted a hybrid SUV. “Maybe,” I said, feeling wholly ignorant. “I’m not—”
“It’s an ’07,” Mac said, glancing inside. “Automatic. So I’m betting not.”
“Looks like it does have some upgrade, though. See the wheels?” Layla let out a low whistle. “Those are sweet.”
I must have looked as clueless as I felt, because a second later, Mac looked at me and said, “Oh. Sorry. Our dad’s just really into cars.”
“In our house, you get a mandatory education on the topic, like it or not,” Layla added. “And once you know all that stuff, you can’t not notice. Believe me. I’ve tried.”
“Hey, dude!” I heard someone yell. We all turned to see Eric at the club’s entrance, looking annoyed. “If you’re not too busy, I could use my drummer?”
“He’s not yours,” Layla hollered back. “A band is a collaboration, last I checked.”
“Whatever.” Eric threw up his hands, then turned to go inside. “We’re on in five. If he feels like joining us.”
Layla laughed, and Mac shot her a look. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. It’s just so easy to set him off. And you have to admit, he is pretty insufferable when he gets in his diva mode.”
“True,” Mac replied. “But you’re not exactly helping.”
It was nine fifteen now. I really had to go. I unlocked my car, the lights flashing, then stepped forward to open my door. “Thanks for the invite,” I said to Layla. “It was really fun.”
“Good,” she said. “And Mom’s right. You should come out to the house sometime. I’ll teach you about your car. Even if you don’t want to learn.”
I smiled. “Sounds good.”
“See you at school, Sydney.”
She waggled her fingers at me, then took a few quick steps to fall in beside Mac, who was already heading toward the club. The lot was much fuller than when I’d gotten there, with more cars still arriving. For some people, the night hadn’t even really started yet. Hard to believe, when it had already been my most eventful in, well, ages. I watched the Chathams walk across the lot, keeping my eyes on them until they folded into the crowd by the doors. Then I raced home, praying for green lights, pulling into the garage at 9:35. I went inside with my apologies ready, only to find the downstairs empty. My mom was already in bed, my dad shut away in his office on a call. I’d done the right thing. I always did. It just would have been nice if someone had noticed.
CHAPTER
5
THE FLYER was sitting on the table when I came down for breakfast Monday morning. I saw it as soon as I walked in the kitchen, but it wasn’t until I got up close that I could read what it said.
FAMILY DAY: SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 20TH,
1–5PM. INFO EXT. 2002 OR
[email protected].
“What’s this?” I said to my mom, who was at the stove, pushing some bacon around in a pan.
She glanced over her shoulder. “It’s coming up at Lincoln in a few weeks.”
“But Peyton doesn’t want me there,” I said. “Right?”