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In the mental list of firsts I was accumulating, I could add another alongside “going to public school”, and “drinking beer”.
Having a hangover.
I was grateful it was the weekend, because there was no way I would’ve been able to get through one period of class, let alone seven plus lunch, with the massive freight train that was chugging its way along through my brain. My skull felt like it was going to split open, and I spent most of the morning snuggled under the blankets so that the sunlight filtering through the dingy, dirty windows didn’t make my headache worse.
Drinking, no matter how fun it was, had clearly been a mistake. Maybe next time I would need to take it slower. Or actually eat something beforehand.
It was around noon when I finally dragged myself out of bed. Mom was in her room like usual, her television on—I could hear the soft drone of voices from some game show. I decided not to bother her. While I didn’t think she would ask too many questions about where I’d been last night, I still didn’t want to risk the possibility of having to explain to her that I’d taken the evening off to chill out in a warehouse with three boys and drink.
Still, I paused just outside her bedroom door. I felt shitty about how hard she was taking all of this. I’d found small moments of happiness and levity, little pockets of sunshine amidst the gray clouds, but Mom didn’t have a school to go to—no way to meet new people, nothing to force her out of the house. I didn’t think there was any chance of her getting to know the neighborhood mothers or foster mothers either.
Sighing, I shook my head. Shower, water, food.
I checked them off in that order, and with each item I checked off my list, I felt progressively more human. By mid-afternoon, I felt good enough to make an attempt at sprucing up the house a bit—starting with those grimy windows.
Ava had left cleaning supplies for us, which had so far been left completely untouched. I was out of my depth, but a quick look at the labels revealed she’d left us with window cleaner and bleach.
Soon, I had my hair tied back, rags in my hands, and was using a small step stool I’d found in the tiny pantry in the corner of the kitchen to reach the outside windows. They looked like they hadn’t been cleaned in at least a decade; spiderwebs cluttered the corners of the window panes, and the grime I managed to scrub from the windows’ surfaces couldn’t be cleaned from the cracks that networked over the glass. It was an improvement though. It was better than nothing.
I had moved from the windows on the side of the house by the kitchen to the ones around the front when a voice behind me made me jump.
“Didn’t expect to see you out here working like a normal person, Princess.”
I paused, turning around. It was Kace.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, wiping off my hands on my rag. I glanced around, expecting the other Lost Boys to be with him, but he was alone.
He shrugged. “Bish thought you might have a hangover, but he had somethin’ to do. A thing came up,” he answered cryptically, holding up a greasy Burger King bag. “So I brought some hangover food.”
I blinked.
“Burger King is hangover food?”
“Anything greasy is hangover food. Sops up all the alcohol. Settles your stomach. You want it or not?”
Well, I wasn’t going to turn down Burger King. Not now that I knew it was so damn good. I took the bag, reaching in to find two of the same burgers I’d gotten last time, an order of regular fries, and an order of chicken fries.
“I’ll make sure to pay you back for it—”
“Don’t worry about it,” he interrupted, already turning around to head back toward his house. “Bish wanted you to have it.”
“You… you want to stay here for a bit?”
I stepped off the stool, moving toward him before stopping myself. I wasn’t quite sure why I’d asked, or why I really hoped he’d say yes. But it was the polite thing to offer, wasn’t it? I remembered at least that much from the lessons Mom had taught me.
He hesitated, turning his head slightly as his moss-green gaze caught mine. Then he shook his head.
“Nah. Got shit to do. See you at school, Princess.”
I had Kace’s random appearance on my mind all day on Monday. I was picked up by the Lost Boys as usual, but there wasn’t any hint of Kace’s visit, the fact that Bishop had apparently sent him, or really any conversation about our Friday excursion at all. They all seemed a little subdued; I wondered if it had anything to do with that “thing” Kace had mentioned, but I decided not to ask. I was already way too involved in these three boys’ lives.
The day started off fine. No one had forgotten over the weekend that I was under the protection of the Lost Boys, so the rest of the stude
nts left me alone as usual.
But I should’ve known that at Slateview, “fine” never lasted long.
It was just after lunch when shit hit the fan.
