Hate List Part 19

Just past the driveway, a large gate to a pasture had been pulled open and Jessica pulled onto the gra.s.s. Up ahead it looked like a parking lot, as if all of Garvin had shown for the party, and Jessica eased her car in with the others. As soon as we tumbled out of it we could hear thumping music off to our left. Ahead we could see the barn, the door thrown wide open, a square of black light and spinning crescents of colored light spilling out onto the cropped gra.s.s.

Over it all we could hear laughter and little squeals and above even that we could hear the sounds you would expect to hear on a farm-a faraway dog barking, intermittent mooing, frogs chattering near a pond.

Jessica, Meghan, McKenzie, and Cheri practically raced toward the barn, talking excitedly and b.u.mping to the beat of the music. I followed slowly behind, chewing on my bottom lip, my heart pounding, my legs feeling leaden.

Inside, the barn was packed, and I couldn't find Jessica or the others in the sea of people. I pushed through as well as I could and eventually found myself standing at a giant metal tub filled with ice and drinks. Mostly there was beer inside, but after searching for a few minutes I found a soda and pulled it out. I hadn't drunk a drop of alcohol since Nick died and I wasn't sure I could handle it.

"Don't you want one of these?" someone called to me from behind. I turned to see Josh holding up a beer. "This is a party, man."

He stepped forward and took the soda out of my hand and tossed it back into the ice, then rummaged around in the tub and pulled out a bottle of beer. He twisted off the top.

"Here." He flashed me a smile that showed all of his teeth.

I took the beer with shaking hands. I thought about Nick. About the times we partied together. The times we sneered over how we imagined people like Jessica and Josh partying. About how disappointed Nick would be to see me drinking with Josh. About how it didn't matter anymore, what Nick thought, because Nick was gone. And somehow that thought seemed to make the difference. I took a long gulp.

"You come with Jess?" Josh shouted over the music.

I nodded and took another swig.

We both listened to the music for a while and watched the crowd. Josh finished his beer and tossed the bottle into a pile of empties behind some hay bales. He reached into the tub and grabbed another, wavering slightly as he did so.

I took another gulp and was almost surprised to find more than half of the bottle gone. My arms and legs started feeling warm. My head felt lighter, too, and I was beginning to think that this party might be a great idea. I took another drink and bounced my head slightly to the rhythm of the music.

"Want to dance?" Josh asked.

I looked behind me at first, sure he wasn't talking to me. He could barely look at me in those student council meetings. He hadn't exactly pulled a seat out for me at the lunch table, either. The change seemed so... sudden.

He laughed. "I'm talking to you," he said.

I laughed, too. And not a little laugh, which sort of surprised me. I tipped the bottle back up to my mouth and discovered that it was already empty. I tossed the empty bottle behind the hay bale with a clink and pulled another one out of the ice. Josh grabbed it out of my hand and twisted open the top, then handed it back.

"I don't really dance anymore," I said, taking a big swig. "My leg..."

But when I looked down, my leg looked like anyone else's leg. And, come to think of it, it didn't throb at the moment, either. I took another long swallow.

"C'mon," he said, tossing an arm over my shoulders and leaning in to me. "n.o.body will even notice."

I drank again and licked my lips. He smelled good. Like soap. Some of that masculine soap like Nick used. I loved that smell on Nick. And suddenly a longing opened up in me so big it hurt. Suddenly I was so lonely I felt as if I were in a cage. I closed my eyes and leaned my head back into Josh's arm. Things swam in front of my closed eyelids. I smiled, then opened my eyes and downed the rest of my beer. I tossed it into the pile and grabbed his hand.

"What are we waiting for then?" I shouted. "Let's dance!"

I was amazed at how easy the moves came to me. Came back to me, I should say. I could remember a time when dancing was one of my favorite things to do, and with the alcohol in my system, it was difficult to stay in reality. I remembered a thousand times dancing in Nick's arms, him breathing into my neck, saying, "You're gorgeous, you know that? These school dances are really lame, but at least I get to be with the most gorgeous girl in the room." "You're gorgeous, you know that? These school dances are really lame, but at least I get to be with the most gorgeous girl in the room."

The song changed to something slow and I allowed Josh to hug me tight around the middle. I leaned into him, my eyes closed. The leather sleeves of his letter jacket creaked against my cheek and I soaked up the sound, along with the smell of him, and the rough feel of his football letter pressing against my ear. With my eyes closed, I could imagine that I was smelling Nick's leather jacket, feeling one of its zippers pressing up against my ear. Hearing him telling me he loved me. Telling me he'd always love me.

For a minute my fantasy was so real I was surprised when I looked up into his eyes and saw Josh there instead.

"I think I should get some air or something," I said. "My head's spinning. I think I drank that too fast."

"Sure," he said. "Okay."

We plowed our way back through the crowd and made our way outside the barn. A few kids were scattered here and there, making out, smoking, playing grab-a.s.s in the wedge of lights and music that slipped through the open door. We rounded the corner to the side of the barn where n.o.body was. Josh sat down on the gra.s.s and I dropped down next to him, wiping my hands across my forehead, which was beginning to sweat.

"Thanks," I said. "I haven't had a lot of exercise in the past few months. I'm kind of out of practice."

"No problem," Josh said. "I was ready for a break anyway." And he smiled at me. A genuine smile. And it was cool, this party. Nothing like Nick and I had guessed these parties would be.

Suddenly there was a rustling in the nearby weeds and a trio of guys burst out of the overgrown pasture, heading toward us. I recognized one as Meghan's brother, Troy. The other two I knew as older guys who hung around with Troy, but I didn't know their names.

"Well, what do you have here, Joshy?" Troy said, standing over us, his arms folded across his chest. "Gettin' busy with the murderer's girlfriend? Risky! Hey, I hear blowing people away gets her hot."

Josh's smile blinked out like a lightbulb, replaced by a hard edge I recognized all too well. "With her? No way, man. I'm just keeping an eye on her. For Alex. Making sure she doesn't cause any trouble."

I was almost surprised at how much I felt like someone had punched me in the chest when I heard him say that. It almost felt like a physical blow. Here I was again, thinking Josh was actually into me, too stupid to see what was real. The old blind Val back in action. My head was buzzing and I felt tears spring to my eyes. Idiot, Idiot, I thought. I thought. Val, you're a real idiot. Val, you're a real idiot.

"Thanks, but I don't need a babysitter," I said. I tried my best to sound tough, unaffected, but a quaver rode on top of the words and I found myself pressing my lips together instead. "You can go now," I said when I was able to pry them apart again. "I was just leaving."

Troy crouched down and squeezed my knees with his hands, staring directly into my face, too close for comfort. "Yeah, Joshy. You can go. I'll hang with Sister Death."

"Cool," Josh said. He scrambled to his feet and was gone. As he rounded the corner of the barn, he looked over his shoulder at me one last time. I could almost swear I detected a look of regret in his face when he did that, but how could I possibly trust anything I saw anymore? I was, like, the world's worst at reading what anybody was thinking. I might as well have GULLIBLE GULLIBLE stamped across my forehead. stamped across my forehead.

"If she gets out of line," Troy said, leaning in so close my hair moved in puffs when he talked. "I'll just talk to her in her own language." He c.o.c.ked his forefinger and thumb into a gun shape and pressed it to my temple. I shrugged away from him angrily.

"Get away from me, Troy," I snarled, trying to stand up. But his grip on my leg tightened, his pinky digging into my thigh dangerously close to my scar. "Ow, you're hurting me. Let go."

"What's the matter?" Troy said. "Not so tough without your boyfriend?" His mouth was so close now I felt little pieces of spittle hit my ear. "Alex told me you were coming tonight. Seems your new buddies aren't too thrilled to have you hanging around their parties."

"Alex isn't my buddy. I'm here with Jessica," I said. "It doesn't matter. I'm leaving anyway. Let go."

His fingers gouged into my leg harder. "My sister was in that cafeteria," he said. "She saw her friends die, thanks to you and that puke boyfriend of yours. She still has nightmares about it. He got what he deserved, but you got a free pa.s.s. That ain't right. You should've died that day, Sister Death. Everyone wishes you would have. Look around. Where is Jessica, if she wants you here so bad? Even the friends you came here with don't want to be with you."

"Let go of me," I said again, pulling on his fingers. But he only pinched tighter.

"Your boyfriend isn't the only one who can get his hands on a gun, you know," he said. Slowly he eased himself up to standing again. He reached into the waistband of his jeans and pulled out something small and dark. He pointed it at me, and when the moonlight hit it, I gasped and pressed myself against the barn wall.

"So was this the kind of gun your psycho boyfriend used?" he asked, turning the gun in his hand contemplatively. He aimed it at my leg. "Do you recognize it? It's not so tough to get ahold of one. My dad hides this one in the rafters downstairs. If I wanted, I could make people go away, just like Nick did."

I tried to look away, to force myself to be strong, to get up and run at least. But I couldn't look at anything but the gun gleaming in Troy's hand and I felt boneless, my muscles useless. My ears started ringing just like they had on the day of the shooting, and I felt like I couldn't take a breath. Images of the Commons tried to force themselves in on me. "Stop," I half-grunted. Tears sprang to my eyes and I wiped them away with shaking hands.

"Stay away from my sister and her friends," he said.

"This is lame, man," his friend said. "C'mon, Troy, I'm losing my buzz. That thing isn't even loaded."

Troy stared at me, his face pulling into a smile. He wiggled the gun at me and laughed like it was all some big funny joke. "You're right," he said to his friend. "Let's get out of here." He shoved the gun back in his waistband and they took off around to the front of the barn.

I sat on the ground making a raw, ragged sound in my throat that was not quite a cry and not quite a gasp, but something in between. I felt like my eyes were bugging out of their sockets and all I could think about was getting away. I struggled to my feet and ran with all my might through the pasture and toward the road, ignoring the pain in my leg that throbbed every time my foot hit the ground.

I kept running until my lungs felt molten and then I walked, first down gravel roads and then onto paved ones, following the railroad tracks to the highway. Once, I stopped and sat on a low wall by a pond to catch my breath and let my leg rest. I crawled to the edge of the pond and lay on my belly, splas.h.i.+ng my face with the cold water. And then I sat there, my jeans soaking up the damp ground under me, staring up at the sky, which looked so clear and full of promise.

Finally I made it to the highway and shortly to a gas station. I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket and dialed Dad's cell phone number. The one I'd added to my contacts list, thinking, I'll never call it. I'll never call him I'll never call it. I'll never call him.

I waited through two rings.

"Dad?" I said. "Can you come get me?"

32.

Dad came to get me at the gas station in his pajamas, his face angular and intense, his hands gripping the steering wheel tightly. He didn't look directly at me as I slid into the front seat next to him, just sat there staring straight ahead, his jaw clenched.

"You been drinking?" he asked as he pulled out of the gas station parking lot onto the street.

I nodded.

"Dammit, Valerie," he said. "This is why you called me? Because you're drunk?"

"No," I said, leaning my head back against the seat. "I'm not drunk."

"I can smell it on you."

"I just had a couple beers. Please don't tell Mom. Please. It'll kill her."

He gave me a look that clearly said, And what about me? And what about me?, but thought better of it. Maybe he realized it wasn't only me that was killing Mom. He had something to do with the death of her dreams, too.

"I can't believe your mother is letting you go to parties," he muttered under his breath.

"Maybe she's trying to trust me," I said.

"She shouldn't," he answered, glancing at me as he pulled onto the highway.

We drove on in silence, Dad shaking his head every few seconds disgustedly. I stared at him, wondering how it was that we got to this place. How the same man who held his infant daughter and kissed her tiny face could one day be so determined to shut her out of his life, out of his heart. How, even when she reached out to him in distress-Please, Dad, come get me, come save me-all he could do was accuse her. How that same daughter could look at him and feel nothing but contempt and blame and anger and resentment, because that's all that had radiated off of him for so many years and it had become contagious.

Maybe it was the alcohol or maybe it was the rawness I felt after Troy's threat, or maybe it was both, but for some reason I couldn't shut out the outrage I felt coursing through me. He was my dad. He was supposed to protect me, to at least be concerned when I called him from a gas station out in the middle of nowhere in the middle of the night, asking him to pick me up.

"Why not?" I blurted out before I could stop myself.

He glanced at me again. "Why not what?"

"Why shouldn't Mom trust me, Dad? Why are you so determined to make me out to be the bad guy all the time?" I stared at the side of his face, willing him to make eye contact. He didn't. "I've been doing really good lately and you don't even care."

"Yet you still managed to get into trouble tonight," he said.

"You have no idea what happened tonight," I said, my voice ratcheting up a notch. "All you know is that, because I was involved, I'm somehow guilty of something. You could at least pretend to care, you know. You could at least try to understand."

Dad gave a sardonic little laugh. "I'll tell you what I understand," he said, his voice getting a courtroom causticity to it. "I understand that when you're left to your own devices you get into trouble, that's what I understand. I understand that I was trying to have a happy, restful evening with Briley and once again you screwed it up."

I sat back against the seat and snorted laughter. "Sorry to bother your perfect little life with perfect little Briley," I said. "Sorry you had to be bothered by your real family. But in case you-"

But Dad cut me off, his voice booming in the car. "I understand that your mother lets you run wild. If I'd been there, you wouldn't have been going to any d.a.m.n party tonight."

My eyes widened. "But you weren't there, Dad. That's the whole point. You're never there. Even when you're around, you're not there. Briley's not your family. I'm your family. I I am. Briley's just a... stupid affair." am. Briley's just a... stupid affair."

Dad yanked the steering wheel and the Lexus swerved to the shoulder of the road. The car behind us screeched to a stop and honked. Then slowly it started to pull around us, the driver glaring at Dad. But Dad didn't notice. He slammed the car into park and got out. He took several long strides to my side of the car and jerked my door open, reached in and grabbed my shoulder with incredible force, and yanked me out. I yelped and stumbled in the gravel.

He pulled me close to his face, his fingers still digging into my shoulder.

"Listen here, young lady," he said through clenched teeth. "It's time you understood something. You've had a good G.o.dd.a.m.n life, you spoiled G.o.dd.a.m.n brat, and I'm sick-" he shook when he said the word "sick" and spittle flew out from between his teeth and cheeks and landed on my chin. "Sick of you ruining everyone else's life. You either pull your s.h.i.+t together and start acting right or I'll have your a.s.s out on the street before you can say 'unappreciative brat,' do you hear me?"

My eyes were wide and I was breathing in short gasps. My shoulder ached where he clasped it and I could feel my legs shaking. My anger had vanished; I was too scared to be mad. I nodded numbly.

He relaxed a little, but didn't let go, and still spoke in angry staccato little reports through his teeth. "Good. Now I'm about to take you to my home with Briley who, like it or not, is my family, too, and you better not f.u.c.k with her while you're there. And if you feel like you just can't handle acting normal for one G.o.dd.a.m.n night then I'll take you home right now, but you'll have five minutes to gather your s.h.i.+t and move the f.u.c.k out. Out of this family. Period. And don't test me."

A silver car came up beside us and slowed, the pa.s.senger window rolling down. A woman's face appeared in the open s.p.a.ce, curious and worried. "Is everything okay here?" she called out. Neither of us moved at first, our eyes locked, our bodies still in the shadow of the car.

Finally, Dad, breathing hard through flared nostrils, let go of my shoulders and looked up. "Fine. We're fine," he said, walking around the front of the car.

"Miss?" she called out. "You okay? You need us to call someone?"

Slowly, as if through water, I turned and looked at her. She had a cell phone in her hand and waved it at me slightly, her eyes flicking to Dad, as he opened the driver's door and got back inside the car. Part of me wanted to run to her, duck into the back seat of her car and beg her to take me away from here. Take me anywhere else.

But instead I shook my head. "I'm fine," I said. "Thanks." I reached up dazedly and smoothed the sleeve of my s.h.i.+rt, which was bunched and wrinkled where Dad's fingers had wound in it.

"You're sure?" she asked. Her car started rolling slowly forward.

I nodded. "Yeah," I said. "I'm okay."

"Okay," she said uncertainly. "Have a good night." She kept her eyes on me as her window rolled up again and the car began to move away, disappearing into the night.

I leaned up against Dad's car, shaking. My heart was pounding and I felt nauseated. I gulped in a few deep breaths and tried to calm myself before ducking back in and shutting my door. We drove the rest of the way home in silence.

When we got to Dad's apartment, Briley, wrapped tidily in a thick pink robe, was waiting at the door. She eyed me as we came through the door and then gave Dad a startled glance.

"What's going on?" she asked.

Dad tossed his keys on a side table and kept walking. I followed him in sheepishly and looked around. The place looked like Dad, although I recognized nothing in it as being Dad's stuff. That stuff was all at my house. Yet this stuff could just as easily have been his stuff, too. There was a flat-screen TV in the corner of the living room, a lot of leather furniture-black-and two giant bookcases crammed with books. On the coffee table were two wine gla.s.ses with a quarter of an inch of red wine splashed in the bottom of each one. I imagined the two of them, hanging out in their pajamas and robes, watching Letterman, holding hands, having a drink before bed, when the phone rang. Had Briley rolled her eyes when he left? Had she tried to get him not to go?

I heard a refrigerator door open and close around the corner. I stood rooted in the hallway, under Briley's gaze.

"Come on," she said. She touched my shoulder lightly, not unlike the touch Dad had given her in the office the other day. The touch that had outed them. "I'll get you some pajamas."

I followed her into a cool and boxy bedroom. She motioned for me to sit on the bed and I sat while she rummaged through a bureau for a pair of pajamas.

"Here," she said, handing them to me. She stood back and studied me, her hands resting on her hips. "He's your father," she said. "He deserves to know what went on."