Caitlin must have sniffed angrily, because Sibyl put down her knife. “Honey. If you think we’re mad at you for the Josh and Jeremy thing, we’re not.”
“We’re just trying to understand,” Mary Ann broke in. “Whoever you like, it’s fine. But the two boys are just so . . . different. We’re not sure what you have in common with Jeremy is all.”
Caitlin looked up, her eyes flashing. “I have nothing in common with Josh.”
Her moms looked puzzled. “But you two have soccer. And you like doing the same things. And you have so much history.”
Caitlin scoffed. “Like that’s everything?” She shoved her half-sliced pepper away. “You know, if you actually got to know me a little better, you’d understand why Josh and I have nothing to say to each other anymore. But you just want me to be the same, predictable Caitlin as ever.” She started out of the room.
“Honey!” Mary Ann called after her. “Don’t be like that!”
“We support you!” Sibyl cried.
“Whatever,” Caitlin called over her shoulder. She wanted it to be true—hell, as a same-sex couple with an adopted South Korean daughter, acceptance should be their thing, right? But they sounded like they were trying to say the right lines without actually meaning them.
“Come back!” Mary Ann shouted plaintively. “We haven’t even talked about Mr. Granger!”
“I didn’t do it,” Caitlin said as she started up to her room. “That’s all you need to know.”
She glanced down for a split second. Her moms were standing at the foot of the stairs, looking so sad and confused and helpless. Caitlin knew she was putting a wall up. It was probably the same wall Taylor had put up, too. And yet, well—she just couldn’t explain herself. Not about Jeremy, because they wouldn’t get it.
And not about Granger . . . because they couldn’t know.
CHAPTER FOUR
SOMETHING SHARP SCRATCHED PARKER DUVALL’S cheek. She swatted at it, but it just bounced back and jabbed at her again. She opened her eyes and saw the world sideways, but before she could figure out why she was lying down—and why she was in what looked to be a field—her head began to spin wildly.
She clamped her eyes shut to stop the woozy motion and suddenly felt the urge to puke. Aha. I’ve been drinking. Just a little clue to the puzzle.
Slowly, carefully, she tried to open her eyes again. This time she was able to keep the spins at bay and take in her surroundings. It was light out, the sun halfway up the sky. Dry, spiky stalks of half-dead grass jutted out of the ground as far as she could see. Off in the distance, a massive building loomed. Where the hell was she?
Finally, Parker managed to prop herself up on one elbow. Moving as slowly as she could, she eased herself to a sitting position. Stale cigarette smoke wafted off her hoodie. So, I’ve been drinking and smoking. Must have been a crazy night.
She hadn’t been hungover in forever. But back when she was Beacon Heights’s golden girl, when her arrival at any party meant the event was a true hit, she’d been a pro. Downing booze with the rest of them. Matching the boys shot for shot. Waking up the next morning feeling like shit, but laughing it off, knowing she’d had an awesome time.
It was easy to reminisce about the golden days: She’d been blond and beautiful, with a gaggle of friends and an even bigger bevy of hangers-on. She’d aced all her classes without even having to try. She had Nolan Hotchkiss’s seal of approval—they were tight, one of those platonic friendships that was even closer and cooler than any couple’s. And she had a wonderful best friend in Julie Redding, their bond strong and meaningful in a sea of superficial relationships.
Her life was perfect, right? Except, oh yeah, her family. A mom that hated her. And a dad that beat the crap out of her. But whatever. Maybe that’s what made her so good at being the life of the party—because at home, she was better off dead. She would have kept up that life, too, if it hadn’t been for Nolan . . . and her father’s wrath. And now, everything had changed. Her father was locked up for life. She didn’t have a home to go to anymore. And she’d become a different girl—a harder, edgier, angrier girl, a Bizarro Parker. No one invited her to any parties anymore. Well, screw them all.
Parker shivered, suddenly realizing how cold she was. The air had a distinct morning chill, and it felt like it was going to start raining any minute. Gradually, the building in the distance came into focus—a low, wide, cheap stucco structure in dirty beige with evenly spaced brown metal doors. A teenage boy in a bright orange uniform and wearing an apron and a paper hat stepped out of one of the doors with a giant garbage bag. He tossed it into a Dumpster and headed back inside. So a strip mall, maybe? Someplace with a bunch of crappy little take-out places? But how had she gotten here?