I cringed. Bailey-Boop? The nickname made me want to barf almost as much as Dad’s description of the Nest. A “wholesome” place to hang out? Seriously? Already I knew that this place would not be my scene. If there wasn’t alcohol to distract me from all this shit, I wasn’t interested.

“So can we go tomorrow night?” Bailey asked Nathan across the table. “Please?”

“That’s up to Whit,” he said.

“Whitley,” I growled.

I hated—and I mean hated—being called “Whit.” For Christ’s sake, my parents named me Whitley for a reason. If they’d wanted me to be called Whit, that’s what they would have written on my birth certificate.

“So, you up for it tomorrow night?” Nathan asked, like he hadn’t heard me.

“I don’t know, Nathan.” Sylvia was watching him. “I’m not sure if it’s a good idea. Maybe you should stay in.”

“I’d love to go.” I looked right at Nathan. “It sounds great.”

“Oh, honey. Let them have some fun,” Dad said. “It’s summertime. They’re kids. A night out won’t hurt.”

Sylvia looked distinctly unhappy. Good. I might have to spend tomorrow night at a lame club with her spawn, but if that meant pissing her off, it was so worth it.

“Fine,” she relented. “Just behave yourselves.”

“You three will have a good time,” Dad said, handing me the plate of rolls. “This will be a chance for you to bond. Become friends.”

“Awesome.” Bailey grinned at me. “I’ll have to figure out what I’ll wear.”

Then Dad was talking about some special report he was airing the next morning and Sylvia returned to her smiling, bubbly ways. The dent I’d tried to make in her perfect little meal didn’t seem to matter. Of course not.

When everyone was done, Nathan offered to help Sylvia clean up. As I walked out of the dining room, I heard him say quietly, “Mom, it’ll be fine.”

I thought about lingering, eavesdropping to see what he meant, but Sylvia caught me in the doorway and gave me that smile again. “Do you want Bailey to help you set up your room?” she asked.

I shook my head and walked away.

When I got upstairs, I locked the door and dug out my bottle of cheap tequila. If there was one thing that would cheer me up, it was booze.

Later, as I lay stretched out on the bed, I glanced at the bottle on the nightstand. Sylvia would freak if she knew I’d brought alcohol into her house. The thought made me laugh. They were so perfect, so proper and clean. Dad and Sylvia and Nathan and Bailey—they were all downstairs, probably watching a fun family movie and playing Monopoly. And I was upstairs, alone, drunk on Margaritaville Gold.

I didn’t fit in with them at all.

It was so funny, so funny I couldn’t remember why I’d been angry before.

I laughed until it hurt, until the room spun, until I closed my eyes and fell asleep.

6

The next day I woke to the sound of Bobby Brown singing “My Prerogative.” I sighed and rolled over, groping blindly for my phone on the nightstand and knocking over the bottle of tequila by accident.

“Shit,” I muttered. Thank God the bottle was closed, or that would have been a bitch to explain.

A second later, I found my cell and flipped it open. “Hello?”

“Hey, sis. Saw you called. Sorry I couldn’t talk last night. We had to take Marie to the doctor.”

“Huh? Oh, Marie… Is she okay?”

“Fine. Emily just got freaked out about a little fever. But you sound awful. You hungover?”

“A little.”

“God, Whitley.”

“Did you know Dad is getting married?” I asked.

“What? No.”

“Yep. Her name is Sylvia. She’s a widow with two kids. She and Dad met last September.”

“Well,” he said. “I guess that’s nice. If they wait a few months to get married, maybe I can fly out for the wedding with Emily and Marie.”

“Is that all you have to say?” I asked.

“What else do you expect me to say?”

I sighed. “I don’t know. I hate it, Trace. I don’t like how different he is with them. He’s not the same Dad we grew up with.”

“That might not be a bad thing,” Trace grumbled.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Whitley, you were pretty young during those last few years Mom and Dad were together. There was a lot you didn’t—” I could hear Marie starting to scream in the background. “Shit, Emily’s at the drugstore and I’ve got Marie—she just woke up.” I could hear him shift the phone away from his mouth. “Shh, shh, it’s okay.” I’d been through this before, and I knew the conversation was as good as over. Sure enough, he came back a second later. “I’ve got to go. I’ll talk to you tomorrow, Whitley. Good luck with Dad. Love you. Bye.”

Click.

“Hurry up, Whit! We’re waiting on you.”

“Then get the hell out of here and leave me alone,” I growled to myself as I slipped a navy blue tank over my head and turned to examine myself in the bathroom mirror. I wondered if Sylvia would be offended by the way my black bra straps showed. I really hoped so.

I applied a little bit of black eyeliner and a dab of lip gloss.

Honestly, I didn’t expect to have any fun at this “wholesome” club, but I did hope to meet someone who could tell me where the real party was. Towns this small still had parties, right? I figured if I was going to be stuck here all summer, I needed to find out where to have a decent time. That bottle of Margaritaville Gold wasn’t going to last me long.

I’d never had to go looking for a good time during the summer before. Hanging out with Dad, watching movies and talking over dinner and listening to music at the condo… That had been enough.

This summer was different, though. Dad was different. He didn’t care about me this year. And I wasn’t going to let myself go insane in this house for three months.

“Whit!” Nathan yelled again.

“Give me a second! Shit.”

I really did need to hurry up, though. It was already seven, and Bailey had been completely made up, wearing her pink cocktail dress and strappy white sandals, since five.

The sad part was that I knew she’d leave the Nest disappointed. Sure, Bailey was all excited to go to this little teen club, but it wasn’t as if she’d make friends. She probably wouldn’t even talk to anyone. She’d cling to Nathan or me the whole night and come home feeling like crap. That’s how it always went. I know it sounds cynical or bitchy to say, but it’s true.

I put on my flip-flops and started walking downstairs. They were waiting by the door, Bailey fidgeting with her dress. She looked like she was ready for a Homecoming dance, not a nightclub. On the other hand, Nathan was totally casual. Ripped blue jeans, faded band T-shirt, sloppy hair. He looked like a mess next to his sister.

I was surprised Perfect Sylvia let one of her Perfect Offspring dress with such imperfection.

“Ready?” Nathan asked, pulling car keys from his pocket.

“You kids have fun,” Dad said from the sofa, turning a page in the novel he was reading. “Get to know each other. You’re family now.”

Yeah, I thought. Family who’ve banged each other.

“Be careful,” Sylvia said. She was standing in the doorway between the living room and kitchen, her arms crossed over her chest. She looked a little on edge. One minute this chick was bubbly as could be, and the next she looked all uptight and anxious. “I’ll expect you home by ten thirty.”

“No problem,” Nathan said, giving the adults a casual wave before turning to his sister and me. “Let’s go, shall we?”

Bailey was already out the door, running down the steps, golden hair streaming behind her. She stopped abruptly in the middle of the sidewalk, glancing over her shoulder at us. Her face turned a little pink, as if she were embarrassed by her own excitement.