“Seriously, Nathan, you’re overreacting.”

“No, I’m not. You aren’t the one who found her. You didn’t see…” He took a deep breath, shaking his head slowly.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“No, tell me.”

“Just drop it, Whitley. It’s nothing. But she’s not going to parties with you anymore.” He took a breath and let some of the tension leave his body. “Look, you go to parties to escape—I get it. But if you’re going to be this messed up, that means you can’t look after her, too, so you’re on your own from now on. Okay?”

I sighed, rolling my eyes. I wasn’t that messed up. Not yet. “Yeah. Whatever.” I twisted around to face forward again. According to the clock on the dashboard, it was only 11:21. We still had more than half an hour to sit here, waiting to go back to Dad and Sylvia’s house.

My headache was getting worse again. I leaned my temple against the window, closing my eyes. Since I could remember, I’d always been a night person. My burst of energy came right around the time the sun set. I lived in the darkness. Loved the darkness. My world came alive when the stars came out.

But for the first time in my life, I wanted the night to end.

13

I woke up the next morning to the sound of Bailey retching in the bathroom next door. That hangover was going to be hell.

I stayed in bed for a while, thinking about the night before. Poor Bailey. The first hangover was always the worst. I felt a little guilty for not giving her a better warning, for not keeping an eye on how much she’d had. At ninety pounds, it probably didn’t take a lot to get the kid smashed. I hadn’t even thought to tell her that.

Probably because no one had warned me about limits the first time I ever drank.

I hadn’t been awake long when Sylvia found Bailey in the bathroom. I listened to their muffled voices, unable to make out the words. I heard them leave the bathroom and walk down the hallway, Sylvia’s heels clacking past my room, the door to Bailey’s room shutting a moment later.

I wondered if Sylvia would be able to tell Bailey had a hangover, or if she’d think the kid was just sick. If she knew it was a hangover, how much trouble would Bailey be in? How did someone like Sylvia punish her kids for drinking?

The truth was that I’d never actually been in trouble before. Not once.

Back when my parents were married, Mom had been the authoritarian. It was hard to imagine now, but she’d been tough on Trace and me as kids. Not that I needed any sort of discipline. Before the divorce, I’d been the good kid. Straight A’s. Middle school student council. Perfect, perfect, perfect.

Obviously, that had changed.

But by the time I became a “bad kid” or whatever, Mom was too busy being angry at Dad or depressed about everything to care what I was doing. So I’d never been punished for the drinking or the parties or staying out too late.

Whatever happened between Sylvia and Bailey, it didn’t involve yelling. The house was nearly silent for almost half an hour. Then I heard Bailey’s door open and shut again, and Sylvia walked back up the hallway. Three light taps on the door across the hall. She’d moved on to Nathan.

I sighed and climbed out of bed, grabbing a pair of shorts and a T-shirt from my duffel. My own hangover was pretty minimal, since I’d stopped drinking around ten thirty. Most of the time, I didn’t hit my stride until midnight or later. So I wasn’t feeling half bad when I reached for the doorknob, intent on grabbing some breakfast downstairs.

At least I wasn’t until Sylvia spotted me.

“Whitley,” she said as soon as I walked out of my bedroom. She was sitting on Nathan’s bed, staring at me through the open door. I could see Nathan on the other side of her, still in a T-shirt and pajama pants. He was facing the wall, so I couldn’t see the expression on his face.

“Um, yeah?”

“Would you mind going back to your room and waiting for me?” she asked. “I need to have a talk with you.”

Shit.

“Uh, sure. But will it take long? I’m really hungry and want to grab breakfast.”

“It’ll only take a second.”

I nodded and slouched back into my room. This could not be good.

I sat down on the bed, twisting my hands together. Why was this worrying me? What the hell could Sylvia do? Nothing. She had no proof that I’d done anything wrong. That’s what I told myself when she walked into the guest room five minutes later, anyway.

“Whitley.” She sighed, not looking at me at first. “Whitley, Whitley…”

Yeah, that’s my name, I thought. Get to the point.

I watched as she sat down in the chair in front of the desk, turning it to face me. “So…” she said, her eyes wandering the room. After a moment, they fell on my duffel bag. “You haven’t unpacked yet?”

I shook my head.

“Why not?”

I shrugged.

“Oh… well, okay.”

There was a long pause. She wasn’t saying a word, just looking around the guest room and occasionally glancing at me. It was driving me nuts. So nuts I had to break the silence and get her to the point. Even if I was in trouble, that was better than letting her sit there screwing with me.

“Did you have something you wanted to talk about?”

“Yes.”

I sighed loudly. “Well, I mean, like I said, I’m really hungry, so can we hurry this up?”

Sylvia shot me a sharp look, warning me to watch my step. At least I thought she did. The menace disappeared so fast I wasn’t sure if I’d really seen it or not.

“Okay,” she said. “It’s about the party you kids went to last night when you told me you were out bowling.”

So Nathan or Bailey had ratted. Lame.

“I’m very upset that my daughter—my thirteen-year-old daughter—was at a party and drinking, especially when I hadn’t been informed.” She paused, as if I should respond to this. I didn’t, and she continued. “I don’t condone that kind of behavior in my home, Whitley—or outside of it, if we’re getting technical. Not from my children.”

“Okay,” I said. “So tell Bailey that.”

“I’ve already spoken to both her and Nathan.”

“Good to know.”

After a mini staring contest, Sylvia started to shake her head. “Listen,” she said. “I’m not your mother, or even your stepmother yet, but—”

“No,” I agreed. “You aren’t. I’m not your responsibility, and it isn’t your place to punish me. You can’t even prove I did anything wrong at the party.”

“You let a teenage girl drink,” she replied. “And I’m sure I can safely assume she wasn’t the only one of you drinking. I’m a lawyer, Whitley. Don’t challenge me to prove anything.”

I rolled my eyes. “Whatever.”

“And as long as you are living under my roof, spending time with my children, you are most definitely my responsibility. I’ve already discussed punishments with Nathan and Bailey. I’ll be discussing yours with your father when he gets home.”

“Gets home,” I repeated. “Where is he now? He didn’t have to cover Tommy’s show until four.”

“He had to run a few errands before work,” she said.

“Right.” I gritted my teeth, staring out the window. “Good luck discussing that punishment thing with him. Apparently, he’s impossible to talk to alone for more than five seconds. Maybe he’ll make the time for you, though.”

“I know he’s been busy this week,” Sylvia said. “It must be hard not getting to talk to him, but—”

“No,” I said. “What’s hard is living with an embittered psycho twenty-four/seven and only seeing my dad once a freaking year. Then, when I finally do see him, he’s too busy trying to make his new family happy to spend any time with me.”

“That’s not—”

“Don’t tell me it’s not true, Sylvia,” I snapped. “Your freaking guest list was more important than talking to me about college yesterday. The first time we’ve talked alone since I got here, and you and your wedding had to ruin it.”