Page 14

Is that half a whiskey ginger already getting to me?

He raises the glasses for us all to cheers. I see Henry, eyes boring through me, as I toss back the shot. It burns my throat, and I can’t help but cough as it goes down. A very cool-girl look, I’m sure. I blink open my watering eyes, and Frankie hands me her shot as well.

“Bottoms up, Nor. It’s party time.”

I down the second shot and my whole body shivers in response. Trevor’s eyes twinkle as he smiles down at me. Henry gives me a look like he’s never been more appalled by anything in his life.

Who fucking cares what he thinks about me?

And that’s when I hear the infamous electric guitar opening of “Mr. Brightside.” People start to gather, singing along to the riff. I grab Trevor by the sleeve. “Come dance with me,” I say as I lead him into the crowd of our classmates, leaving Henry’s obvious sneer far behind me.

Chapter 7

I was such an innocent teenager. My friends and I were nowhere near cool enough to drink, save for that one night on our New York trip senior year that we don’t talk about. After we graduated, while the rest of our classmates rented houses on the waterfront and spent a week being blackout drunk, my friends and I had a wholesome camping trip.

Blinking awake, parched, a dull pounding in my head the next morning is the first time I wake up hungover in my childhood bedroom. The bright pink walls feel like they’ve been waiting years to mock me like this. I fumble around for my phone to check the time, shocked to see it’s nearly eleven a.m., and notice five missed calls from Hannah with no accompanying texts.

Shit.

She knows the effect this many missed calls has on me. She knows the panic it will cause, so it must be something serious.

I chug a glass of water that I discover next to my bed as I dial her back.

“Have you guys left yet?” Hannah asks, answering on the first ring.

“Just about!” I lie, gulping down the rest of the glass. I look out the window toward Henry’s house. It’s completely dark. I grab a bag and start indiscriminately throwing things inside. For having received my suitcase less than twenty-four hours ago, this room somehow looks more lived in now than my parents would have ever allowed while I was still a resident.

“You have to hurry up and get here,” Hannah says, her voice dropping slightly. “Something big is happening.”

I stop, clutching a pair of long underwear. “Big how?”

“Look, I’m not supposed to know, but—” She pauses for dramatic effect. She’s enjoying this. “I found a ring in Mom’s bag! I was looking for some Tylenol, and it was right there!” No way was it right there. I know that much. Hannah knows she’s not fooling anyone. “She’s going to ask Kristine to marry her!” Hannah’s whisper cannot contain her excitement.

I hear shuffling in the background as Mom comes to the phone.

“I wanted to tell you once you were here. Your sister wasn’t supposed to know yet either.” Mom pauses, testing the waters. “And before you say it’s too fast, I want you to remember that I’ve known Kristine Cole for over twenty years. And when it’s right, it’s right.”

Hearing the love in my mom’s voice seems to melt away my hangover. “I’m so happy for you, Mom. Dad would have been too. He always thought Kristine was the coolest.”

I feel Mom beaming on the other end of the phone.

“Now get in the car and join us! There’s a storm coming in tonight. I don’t want you kids getting stuck in that.”

I promise Mom that we’ll be there soon, and then hang up.

As I scoop up last night’s outfit from the floor and put it in the hamper, a hazy memory returns from the evening. I open my phone back up and see a slew of messages I barely remember between me and Rob, culminating in my final text: We’re not gonna be together!! That’s not what this was. I’m sorry!!!

Not my most tactful or gentle severing of ties, but the lack of response from him tells me he finally got the message, literally and figuratively.

I take a quick but necessary shower, trying to rid myself of the guilt about how poorly I handled things with Rob. I pile my dark curls into a haphazard bun on the top of my head, get dressed as fast as I can, and reluctantly go next door.

I knock, almost knowing that the attempt will be futile. I peek into the window and can see Henry, still dressed from last night, passed the fuck out on the couch. At least Drunk Norah got herself into pajamas and her bed, I think, feeling a small sense of superiority. I rap on the window loudly and see Henry spring up in a panic, then immediately regret his decisions from last night. He blinks a few times at me through the window, looking disoriented, then gestures for me to meet him at the door.

“What?” he grumbles, throwing the door open.

“We have to go,” I reply.

“What?” He runs a hand through his disheveled hair. He’s always so well put together, but seeing him in this unfamiliar way brings me a bit of glee.