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Maddox finally appears at the end of the alley and Ridge and I breathe a sigh of relief.
“Sorry, guys. Larry was asking how my grandma’s doing since my pawpaw passed away, and I couldn’t just leave. Felt too suspicious.”
I narrow my eyes. “So we’re good?”
“We’re good.”
“Hell yes!” I beam, slamming the bottle to Maddox’s chest. “Try that shit.”
I’m surprised when Maddox actually takes a drink, but I’m not surprised at all when he curls over and almost throws up.
We all take one more drink during the walk to the dance, trying to get a little buzz going before we go in. Maddox needs all the liquid courage he can get if he’s gonna make a move on Shelly tonight.
When we arrive at the dance, we give the ticket collectors our tickets and step into the gym. A disco ball spins from the ceiling, and with every step we take, we kick the red and black balloons covering the floor.
“You guys want any more of this?” Ridge asks as he pats the bottle under his shirt.
“Nah. I’m good,” I tell him, and Maddox says the same.
Ridge walks away, returning five minutes later. “I just dumped half the bottle in the fucking punch bowl.” He laughs.
Maddox’s eyes widen. “Fuck, man. There’s no way no one's gonna know. That stuff is potent.”
Twenty minutes later, everyone is talking about it. But when we see Maddox dancing with Shelly, Ridge and I have no regrets.
Although, something isn’t sitting right with me. There’s an unease in my stomach. I don’t feel sick, just uneasy. I approach Ridge, who’s talking to a couple of girls in our class, and rest my hand on his shoulder. “Hey. I’m taking off.”
“What?” He huffs. “Why?”
“Not feeling too good. Call me after the dance. I’ll come over and play some video games with you and Maddox.”
He nods in response and I see myself out.
The walk home on the desolate street feels longer than it should. This is the same walk I make every day, going to school and coming home. But something feels off tonight. I’m not sure if it’s the shots of alcohol stirring in my stomach, or if I’m coming down with something.
As I turn onto my road, I stop in my tracks when my phone beeps with a text. Pulling it out of my pocket, I read the text from Ridge.
Ridge: Dude! You’re not gonna believe this shit. Cops are at the dance. Maddox and I are hauling ass down Aero Drive. We’re coming to your house.
I look over my shoulder, wondering how far behind they are. But when I don’t see them, I keep on my way.
As I’m walking, I read a text that was sent earlier, while Ridge and I were in Larry’s.
Dad: Be safe tonight. Make good choices. Most of all, have fun. Love ya, son.
I smile at the message. Most people have best friends that are their own age, and I do. But I also have a best friend that is twenty years older than me, and that’s my dad.
Sticking my phone back in my pocket, I walk up my paved driveway toward the house. As I approach the door, my stomach twists into knots again.
The front door is wide open, which is odd, but I guess someone just forgot to shut it. I take the first step, then the second. When I hear the small whimpers of Alana, my three-year-old sister, I jog up the rest of the steps and hurry through the open front door.
Everything stands still. Time. Life. My heart. The world.
I freeze. Unable to comprehend what I’m looking at.
Lying in a pool of blood, six feet in front of me, is my mom. She’s face up, her eyes glazed over. To the left, I see more blood—and my dad lying face down. “Emery,” I shout. “Alana!” I’m not sure how many times I scream my sisters’ names, but it’s pointless because no one responds. All I have to go on is the muffled cries of Alana, so I follow the sound and fall into the doorframe when I see Emery, my nine-year-old sister—dead.
“Levy,” Alana cries from her small toddler bed. “Levy. Help.”
