“We don’t need a shot, we . . . pregamed at Mo’s,” I lied. I hated shots.
“Who cares. Now you’re at the game!” Lamont poured rum into the glasses, filling the first so full it spilled over the top. Beau handed it to Monique. She smiled at him, ignoring my glare in her direction.
He passed the next glass to me. I took it. Even if shots sucked, I needed the liquid courage before I found Kyle.
Lamont filled the last two glasses and looked down at Monique with a wolfish grin.
“To new friends!” he said, clinking his glass against hers. She raised her glass toward the center and pounded back the rum. There was really no other option but to do the same. It burned going down but left a pleasantly warm feeling behind.
“All RIGHT,” Lamont shouted, slamming his glass down through the air, throwing himself forward and a little off-balance. He giggled as he stumbled forward. “Now you guys are ready to party! Keg’s in the kitchen, and there’s booze up there and pop for mixers. Pool’s off-limits, at least till Anderson STOPS BEING A WOMAN.” He turned to Beau, who was swaying slightly and grinning, apparently unaware he was being insulted. Score one for feminism? “And . . . I dunno, don’t do anything really stupid.” Lamont laughed at himself. “Hey, you guys ready for another shot?”
I didn’t look at Monique, in case she was. “Maybe later. Do you know where Kyle is? I said I’d meet up with him.”
“Don’t be booooring.” Lamont slapped his mitt down on my shoulder. “It’s still early. You have to catch up.”
“I will, for sure,” I said, trying to smile the way Monique had before. “I’ll just get this out of the way then find you again.”
“Okay, cool,” Lamont said, nodding slowly.
“So . . .”
“You need something?” He smiled at me. Jesus, drunk people were the worst thing in the world when you weren’t drunk.
“Do you know where Kyle is? Kyle Bonham?”
“He’s . . .” He scrunched his face in thought. “I dunno, upstairs probably? I think I saw him going into Chad’s room with . . .” He trailed off, confused. “Maybe upstairs-upstairs?”
Clearly Lamont was going to be incredibly informative.
“Thanks,” I said. I turned to Monique. “Keep your phone on you, okay?”
“Okay,” she said reluctantly. She kept glancing toward the far corner of the basement, where Sean Langford was hooking up someone’s phone to speakers. He was a football player in our year, but he was in all Mo’s advanced classes. She would never admit she had a crush—athletes were officially “not her type.” But she’d also never had the chance to drink with him in a basement. She pulled her phone out. “I’ll be here.”
“All right,” I said, running up the basement stairs before anyone sucked me into more drunk “conversation.” “I’ll find you. Soon.”
Upstairs was more crowded, especially the kitchen, where the basement stairs let out. I squeezed around a knot of sophomore girls huddling into one another over their drinks and almost got clocked as I tried to edge around Scottie Tarlington, one of the football seniors, animatedly replaying some extremely elbow-centric story for the benefit of a couple of guys my year.
From what I could tell, Kyle wasn’t in the kitchen. I wove my way into a dining room, occupied only by a couple making out against a wall, then wandered out into the massive, tiled foyer, a giant staircase leading up the center and splitting off into two half-flights to the hallway that ran around the entire second floor. Every couple of dozen feet white-painted doors led into what had to be bedrooms.
Upstairs-upstairs. Maybe Lamont wasn’t as worthless as I’d thought.
I padded up the swirling floral carpet, turning left at the top on a whim.
The first door was partially open, the room inside illuminated only by the streetlamps pouring in the windows on the front side of the house. I pushed the door open just far enough to see a couple mauling each other on a bottom bunk . . . and a leg and arm sticking out over the edge of the top, dark silhouettes in the dim room.
I didn’t go to a lot of ragers, but even I wouldn’t be passed out this early.
I made my way to the second door. It was closed, but if I leaned my ear up to it, I could hear voices inside. It sounded like a girl was shouting.
I was just about to move to the last room on this side of the hallway when the door flew open and Emma Stashausen almost body-slammed me to the floor.
chapter twenty-eight
KYLE
FRIDAY, 8:50 P.M.
I hadn’t exactly expected my conversation with Emma to go well, but I’d thought if we talked in person I could make her understand. It’s not like I’d wanted to ask Rachel instead of her. I was just going along with what the producers wanted. What Mom seemed intent on. It didn’t mean anything. Emma would see that.
“What the hell do you want?” she spat the second the door to what must have been Beau’s brother Chad’s room clicked closed.