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“Sure.” His eyes meet mine, briefly, and then slide over to the TV screen.
But they fix there just as blankly.
No matter what happens in the movie, my dad never laughs.
4
THEO
The next day, I’m a bundle of nerves, wondering if Sullivan really will tell Angus that I’m a filthy, lying dropout.
Angus has bragged about which school I attended about a hundred times—pretty much every time I cook for guests. And while that’s barely a part of my job anymore, I know that’s the kind of thing that will really piss him off.
He’s super paranoid, like all rich people. I mean, I guess it’s not really paranoia because everybody around them actuallyistrying to use them. But also, they’re using everyone else—that’s how they know how it works.
Money warps everything.
Look what a pretzel I’m twisting myself in, all because I can’t afford anything, and it feels like constant drowning.
I don’t want to be a liar. But I already am. And now I’m trapped…
Right as I’m thinking these thoughts, I pick up the cup in my sink, and the hugestcockroach I’ve ever seen goes leaping out of the sink and sprinting across my counter. It dives ontomy stovetop and somehow wrigglesinsidemy range while I’m shrieking and trying to smash it with a spatula.
“Nooooo,”I moan, realizing I am never going to be able to find it in the innards of my oven, which means I am going to be forever paranoid that it’s living inside there, building some awful cockroach empire with its spawn.
I sink down on the sticky linoleum, spatula still clutched in my fist, fist pressed against my skull. I take tiny, shallow breaths, trying not to scream.
I really can’t imagine that Sullivan is just going to let this drop. He’s so intense, he makes roller coasters seem chill.
I hate roller coasters.
And I can’t stand not knowing when the next drop is going to come.
I’m better off driving over to Angus’ place to tell him the truth.
Angus livesin what looks like a giant concrete saltshaker on the edge of Paradise Cove Bluffs in Malibu. His neighbor is Beyoncé, and no, I haven’t met her. If I ever do, I might forgive Angus a few more things.
It’s a little risky coming here before 10 a.m. Angus is a night owl, not an early riser, and I’ve already witnessed my share of women in wrinkled party dresses sneaking out of his place as late as noon.
However, this morning I find him alone and particularly chipper in an open robe and damp swim trunks, blending up an enormous smoothie.
“Theo!” He cries, so pleased to see me that I’m instantly certain that Sullivan hasn’t had a chance to rat me out. “Have a smoothie!”
It’s an order, not a request.
I take a seat on one of his barstools, gingerly, because I really prefer to be on the opposite side of the kitchen island. Angus is not to be trusted with food. Among other things.
When he pours out the smoothie, it’s gray and puffy. He fills two glasses the size of tankards.
“What’s in it?” I ask, trying to sniff it without being too obvious.
“Taste it and guess!” Angus beams.
Oh my godddddd….
I give him a watery smile to buy myself time. I can’t not drink this smoothie. Not when I’m here to confess my crimes.
Do I have to drink all of it?
