She laughs. “Sure.” I can feel my face getting hot, but I don’t want to get into an argument. I can’t really explain my feelings anyway. Part of me is excited, but the other part is still suspicious, wondering what this is all about and why he’s being so nice all of a sudden.
When we arrive at Jared’s and Delaney parks the car, we both sit still, just staring at the house. “Holy crap,” I say. “It’s huge.” I’ve never been inside a house like this and I’m really curious, but I also have the urge to tell Delaney to drive us away, we don’t belong here. Even Delaney, who’s usually pretty brave, isn’t making a move to get out of the car. We’re both staring at the three-car garage, the huge cedar beams at the front, the circular driveway. I only see two other cars and recognize one of them from school. It belongs to Jared’s friend Brandon.
“It’s like Barbie’s dream house,” Delaney says, and we both start to laugh.
“Let’s do this,” I say.
Jared opens the front door with a smile and invites us inside. He seems happy to see me, and touches my arm when he introduces me to his friends, who are sitting on a big leather sectional in the living room watching a movie on an enormous flat-screen TV. There are only three guys and a couple of girls. I know that one of the girls is dating Brandon. Delaney settles on the couch beside Matthew, the guy she likes, and immediately starts talking to him.
“I thought you were having a party,” I say. Jared’s standing close enough that I can smell his skin and shampoo, something clean, like the ocean. I glance at his clothes: his black skinny jeans are designer label and I’m pretty sure his gray V-neck sweater is cashmere.
“It’s a small party,” he says with a grin. “Only special people allowed. Come on, let me show you around.” He takes me through the house and I lose track of all the rooms. He’s so casual, almost bored-sounding as he points things out, like the house doesn’t mean that much to him. It’s nice, lots of wood, big windows, fancy leather furniture, but it doesn’t feel very warm or friendly. There’s no personality. He glances at my face a couple of times and I wonder if he’s checking to see if I’m impressed. He’s probably used to girls flipping out when they get the tour.
We stop in the kitchen. “I’ll make you a drink,” he says. He’s moving around like a bartender, tossing ice cubes into a glass, pouring rum, then adding Coke. His thumb ring clunks against the side of the glass. His hair is combed straight back like he used gel or something, but the front part flops into his eyes and he keeps pushing it back or tucking it behind his ears.
“Your house is really big,” I say. “Where’s your room?”
“Wow. That was fast.”
My face burns. “That’s not what I meant.”
“I know.” He laughs. “You don’t like my house, do you?”
I think about how to answer. I could lie and say it’s awesome, but I get the feeling he doesn’t want me to like it, which is strange. “It’s nice. Seems like it could be lonely, though.”
Our eyes meet as he passes me the glass. “Yeah. Sometimes.”
I take a sip of the rum and Coke. It’s too strong, but I try not to make a face.
“Do you want to watch the movie? Or hang out in here?” he says.
“Don’t you want to see it?”
“I can watch it anytime. I’d rather talk to you.”
I glance into the living room. Delaney is laughing, looks like she’s having fun. Some of the kids have set their drinks on the wood coffee table, no coasters, and a bag of chips is spilling onto the carpet. I think about my mom having to clean it all up.
“Do your parents know you have friends over?”
“Yeah, they’re okay with it. My dad is working at his office tonight and my mom is away for the weekend with some of her friends.”
“Your friends are making a mess.”
“I’ll clean it up.” He gives me a curious look. “Just because we have a maid doesn’t mean I’m a slob.”
“My mom prefers to be called a housekeeper.”
“Sorry. I didn’t think.” He looks embarrassed now and I feel bad for being snarky.
“It’s okay. Sensitive subject, I guess.”
“I think it’s really cool that your mom has her own business.”
“She works hard.”
“She’s a good cleaner. My mom likes her a lot.” He says it so casually, rating my mom, and I want to tell him off, but I can tell he meant it as a compliment. I don’t like thinking of my mom scrubbing their floors and bathrooms. I wonder if his parents know he invited me over. What must it be like to have a happy family? With a mom who gets to go away and have a weekend with her friends. My mom never gets to do stuff like that.
“She found my pot stash under my bed one day and left it on my pillow. I had to find a better hiding place.” He laughs, showing a flash of white teeth. One of them is crooked and I wonder why he didn’t get braces. I hope he never does. I like him not perfect.