Page 39 of Not Home Alone

I am still not used to having a fake boyfriend. “I’m not sure. He sent a text earlier to say that he has a family business meeting at their winery at five. Your mom’s coming to pick you up, right?”

“Yes. When I call her,” she says, then she takes a long pull on her bottle of not-beer and belches. “If I can call her, I mean, oh my god, I’m so drunk.”

“Really? Should you maybe stop drinking your alcoholic beer, then?”

“No way, I’m gonna get hammered. Tell me about your boyfriend. I heard Joe tell my mom and aunts that there’s a backstory, but he didn’t say anything juicy, so spill the tea.”

“Oh, it’s not that interesting. You don’t want to hear about some dumb story from high school, do you?”

“Totally.”

“Really?”

“Never mind.”

“Okay, I’ll tell you.”

“Okay.” She hunkers down and gives me her full attention. She’s almost smiling.

I am definitely only drinking apple cider, but I feel drunk with power and high on not feeling like a cringey lame loser at this moment. “So, it was December, ten years ago. I was seventeen. Senior at Holly Grove High. And the community players had cast me as Clara in The Notcracker. Huge honor. I was thrilled.”

She yawns. She doesn’t even do it dramatically, to prove a point. She does it very naturally, like she’s genuinely ready to fall asleep. It’s so effective.

“So, Grant, who had been going to a boarding school in Chicago since he was ten, was in his senior year there, but he was several months older than me.”

“Oooh an older man. So forbidden.”

“Maybe not forbidden, but he was eighteen, from the wealthiest family in town, living in Chicago, so dreamy, and he was a bad boy. But he had sad, hazel eyes. So broody.”

April leans forward the slightest bit. “Say more.”

“He always wore this hot black leather jacket, and his hair was longer back then.”

“How long?”

“Like between his ears and his shoulders. And he rode a motorcycle sometimes, so he wore motorcycle boots.”

“Shut up. That’s so hot.”

“It was really hot. Anyway, Grant was back in town for the holidays, like he always was, but this year his dad forced him to participate in The Notcracker, which Robert Moody was sponsoring. His dad wanted Grant to be more involved with the community.”

“Ew.”

“Yeah. And also, it turned out, this was punishment because Grant had gotten in big trouble at school.”

“That makes sense,” April says. “That being involved in The Notcracker was punishment for him, but for you it was a thrill.”

I sigh. She’s not wrong.

“What did he get in trouble for?”

“Well, the rumor was that he had been running an underground poker ring at his dorm and a junior got in way over his head financially.”

“Whoa.” This is the most impressed April has looked since she heard Old Lady Crowley might have eaten her murdered husband.

“Yeah. The kid’s parents found out and went to the headmaster. Expulsion was on the table, but Mr. Moody made a sizable donation to keep everything quiet.”

“This guy sounds way too cool for you.”