Disorderly Conduct (The Academy #1)

“That’s the spirit, Mother.”

She collects my glass, traipsing off to the kitchen, and I know that’s my signal to leave, but I can’t help but smile at her retreating back. I don’t feel so alone anymore, heading out into the sea of faces, pulses and personalities. Dating. I expected to come to visit my mother this afternoon and be jolted into a renewed determination by her loneliness. But it’s more than that. For the first time, I can see my future self in my mother, and I want to be the brave person she believes me to be. Maybe the trick is to start believing it myself.

On the walk to the train, I hit speed dial on Nina’s number. “Hey, you.” She grumbles at me on the other end of the line. “If you’re still sleeping and it’s past noon, this girl’s night is even more vital than I thought.”

“Girl’s night?”

“Yeah.” I smile and pick up the pace, refusing—refusing—to think of Charlie. Or miss him. Not even a smidgen. “You have seven hours to get ready. Think you can manage it?”

I can almost see her chewing on her lip. “It’s a Tuesday night. Is there even anything going on?”

“Did you forget your zip code?” I see the steps up ahead and move into a trot, noticing passengers disembarking, meaning a train in the station. “I’ll be home within the hour. Shower up. We’ll go get pedicures and do pregame drinks at Lorelei.”

“What’s gotten into you?” Nina asks with a smile in her voice.

“I don’t know.” I swallow the lump that’s been living in my throat since Charlie walked out of the apartment, taking a picture of me along with him. “Hope.”

“I can’t even handle you this corny.”

My laugh echoes down the train station stairwell. “Shut up and get your ass in the shower.”



There is a stride I hit around eleven o’clock on a night out. Not dissimilar to the one glass of wine high. Or the post-tequila shot euphoria. Once eleven o’clock comes and goes, I can taste the following day—it’s only an hour away—and there’s no turning back. Might as well stay out all damn night.

My quest for the ultimate night is particularly rewarding this time around because Nina is on the same page. We’re right on one another’s level, finishing each other’s sentences, ordering rounds of vodka tonics without confirming if the other wants more. It’s a given. It’s one of those nights.

Our outfits are freaking amazing, too. In fact, the more we drink, the better we look. Nina is wearing a fringed and beaded vest she found at a local consignment shop, paired with leather leggings. When she walked out of her bedroom earlier, we had to take a moment, she looked so dope. I’ve gone more of a traditionally trashy route in red pumps, red lipstick and a black shift dress that hits me midthigh. Okay, high-thigh. The more I drink, the higher the hem seems to look.

This is a great night. The greatest.

Where are we?

Oh. Some DJ Nina swears is world-famous tweeted he was doing a surprise set at Webster Hall, so we’re half jogging, half stumbling arm in arm in that direction. We’re one block away, and it appears we’re not the only ones who fielded the tweet. Oh no. There’s police trying to corral everyone onto the sidewalk as Nina and I hop into line. It’s already moving and we high five, miss and connect on the second try.

“Is my makeup smeared?”

Nina squints at me through one eye. “Yeah, a little, but it looks on purpose.”

“Nice.” A policeman approaches, ordering us to move closer to the building. He looks thrilled beyond words to be herding a throng of twenty-somethings on short notice on a Tuesday night. “Hello, Officer.” In my current state of loving the world in general, I smile and give him a thumbs-up. “You’re doing a great job.”

“Thanks,” comes his dry response. “My night is complete.”

“I used to date a cop.” These moments come part and parcel with post-eleven o’clock nights out, especially when you’ve been pregaming since seven. I’m rambling, I know I’m being that drunk girl, but the words won’t stay inside. I was the happiest I’ve ever been one minute ago, now one little reminder of Charlie and I’m swallowing rocks. “Only we weren’t really dating. And he isn’t a cop yet. So I guess none of the things I said are true.” Nina is a good friend, so she’s pulling on my arm, begging me to shut up. “His name is Charlie Burns. Good old Charlie freaking Burns.”

The cop is very interested in us all of a sudden. “No shit?” He looks like a cat who caught the canary. “Yo, Burns!”

I go very still, my pulse jackhammering in my skull. “Charlie is here?”

“Next best thing,” Canary Catcher answers, shrugging, just as another cop approaches. And holy hell. It’s like looking right at Charlie. If he aged half a decade, grew a lot more hostile and hated everything in sight. My gaze dips to his badge. Burns. This is Charlie’s brother. I don’t even know his first name. I should. I should know the name of the brother of the man I miss like crazy. Right? “This girl here says she dated Charlie.” Canary Catcher again. “Only they didn’t really date. It’s a long story, I’m guessing. Aren’t you glad you came down to help us grunts out tonight?” He claps Charlie’s brother on the back and walks away. “Have fun.”

Elder Burns tries to burn a hole through me with his laser-like focus. “You dated my brother?”

The way he asks, you would think I was being questioned about stolen jewels. “Should I call a lawyer?”

He doesn’t like my sarcasm. “When did you date my brother?”

“We didn’t technically date.” I look to Nina for help, but she’s staring ahead at something in line, leaving me out to dry. “But the last time I saw him was a few days ago.” I swallow hard. “Is he . . . doing all right?”

A long pause. “Why wouldn’t he be?”

“I-I don’t know.” I sound so pathetically sad. My buzz is flatlining. I need to get away from Elder Burns and circle back to the drawing board of getting over Charlie. Running into his brother has set me back a good hundred years. Or that’s how it feels right now with vodka humming in my blood. “If you see him, just . . . tell him I’ve been using the notecard tree he gave me. It’s really handy.”

If I ever form a band, I’m going to name it Drunk Masochist.

“This is my brother, Charlie Burns, we’re talking about.” Was that a question? I have no idea. “You dated, but not really, up until a few days ago. He gave you a gift. And now you’re not seeing him anymore.”

“You’re making it sound like I’m at fault here.”

He gives this annoying neck tweak. “Are you?” When my mouth drops open, he holds up a hand. “Not involved. I’m not getting involved.” His cheek ticks. “It’s just the timing . . .”

Nina grabs my hand and pulls me forward, along with the line, which is moving again and growing rowdier by the second. Elder Burns frowns at me as I walk away. I assume the conversation is over, but he curses and breaks into a stride to catch up.