Jake’s earlier expression and Meghan’s hesitant glances suddenly make sense now. They both knew what Tyler was up to.
“Why don’t any of you stop him then?” I find it insane that these people are supposedly his friends, yet despite being aware that he’s doing coke ten feet away from them, they aren’t doing anything to help or stop him. “I mean, does his mom even know?”
“Trust me, I’ve tried,” Dean says. He pulls up outside Dad’s house and cuts the engine. “But getting through to Tyler is like getting through a brick wall. It’s literally impossible. The guy just doesn’t listen. We all just gotta ignore it. I think his mom knows about the weed, but definitely not the coke.”
“He’s disgusting.” Shaking my head in disbelief, I reach for the handle and push the car door open. With my other hand, I quickly open up the small clutch purse I borrowed from Tiffani and rummage through until I grab the first bill I find. It’s five dollars, and it’s crinkled to the point of being void, but it’s enough to cover the cost of the journey. I hand it to Dean. “Thanks for the ride.”
“What’s this?” He stares down at the wrecked bill with a perplexed frown before glancing back at me.
“It’s to cover the gas.” I urge the money into his hands, but he refuses to accept it, so I sigh. “Take it.”
“Eden, don’t sweat it, honestly,” he says with a laugh. “Just tell Ella I said hey and we’re good.”
I narrow my eyes at him, skeptical. Back in Portland it’s the social norm to hand over a couple bucks to contribute to the cost of the gas if someone gives you a ride. If you step out of the car without offering a cent, you’re pretty much blacklisted from the circle and you’ll be lucky if you’re ever offered a ride again. Maybe they give each other free rides down here, or maybe Dean’s just too nice for his own good. Either way, I toss the bill onto the dashboard and jump out of the car before he can give it back to me.
“Keep it!” I call, twirling around and slamming the door shut behind me as I rush toward the house.
That’s when I notice that the lights are all on inside. Dad will either be extremely understanding or absolutely livid. Most likely the latter. Maybe I can slip in through the back without Dad and Ella even noticing. Run up to my room, pull on some PJs, and then convince them that I’ve been there the entire time. Or just break down into tears and beg for forgiveness.
Bracing myself, I pull Tiffani’s dress as far down my thighs as it’s willing to go and stretch it a little to cover a few more inches of my body. Every little bit helps. I pull off the irritating fake eyelashes too and toss them onto the lawn. I carry with me the noticeable waft of liquor and there’s nothing I can do to get rid of it. I just have to face the fact that I lied and deserve to be cast into the pits of hell.
The door is unlocked when I reach it, so I slip inside as quietly as possible and creep across the hall. But I’m not as discreet as I think I am, because Dad calls my name from the living room.
I bite down on my lip and step toward the door, peering around the frame only slightly. I keep my body well hidden. “Hey.”
“Hey?” Dad repeats, blinking as he stares at me in a flabbergasted sort of way. “Is that what you’re going to come in here and say? Hey?”
“Hello?” I try instead. I’ve never been one to get myself into trouble, so all this sneaking around is entirely new to me. Mom’s grounded me twice in sixteen years. Dad hasn’t been around to ground me in the first place. “I’m home.”
“Yeah, I can see that you’re home,” Dad says, his voice gruff and scolding as he gets to his feet. Ella watches from the couch. “Which is where you were supposed to be the whole night. You weren’t feeling great, but now it seems you’re feeling absolutely fine. What’s up with that?”
“I was at Tiffani’s house,” I blurt. This is partially true. “Girls’ night. I felt a little better, so I went. I thought you’d be okay with it.”
“Tyler’s girlfriend?” Ella chirps. She too gets to her feet.
Unfortunately for Tiffani, yes. “Yeah.”
“Speaking of Tyler,” Dad mutters, “where the hell did he sneak off to?”
“I don’t know,” I lie. Right now, he’s smoking joints and snorting coke and drinking beer and laughing at slurred jokes that aren’t even funny. “He was still here when I left.” It would be so easy just to blurt out to Ella that her son is a pothead. That would teach him not to be a jerk to me. But for some reason I feel as though it’s not my place to tell, so I continue to cover for him. It’s as though I can’t stop the words from spilling out of my mouth. “Maybe he went to get food or something.”
“His car’s still here,” Ella points out. She looks disappointed, like she was hoping he would be the child who walked through the front door and not me.
“Maybe a walk?”
“I doubt that,” she says. “He won’t answer my calls.” It must be hard for her having to deal with a kid who is almost impossible to handle.
“Eden,” Dad says. “I smell alcohol. I don’t like you lying to me.”
I stare at him, wondering what he’s referring to: lying about being sick, lying about being at Tiffani’s, or lying about not knowing where Tyler is. For some reason, there’s a sudden wave of anger flowing through my veins and I have no idea why. My face contorts. “And I don’t like you walking out on Mom, but things don’t always go the way we want them to.”
I don’t wait around to hear Dad’s reply. I ball my hands into fists and quickly dart up the stairs and into my room. The tequila churns in my stomach, reminding me that I could barely survive the party for more than an hour. The loud music has given me a headache, and I can still recall the powerful reek of weed. Now I really do feel sick, and this time it isn’t just an excuse.
* * *
I awake in the morning to the sound of Ella’s voice bouncing around the house and Tyler’s voice echoing twice as loud. I stare at the ceiling for a little while, listening to their yelling and wondering what time it is. And whatever time it actually is, it feels way too early for this. Tyler must have found his way home from Austin’s.
With the sunlight streaming into my room and the sound of someone mowing their lawn difficult to ignore, I decide to get up and pull on some clothes. As I’m doing this, I hear loud footsteps on the stairs and cursing. It can only be one person, and this one person just so happens to decide to enter my room.
“Did you know there’s this thing that exists called—oh, I don’t know—privacy?” I fix my intruder with a firm glare before I finish pulling on my hoodie.
Tyler cocks his head to one side as he shuts the door. “Here’s your stuff.” In his hands, he’s holding my clothes that I left behind at Tiffani’s, and he lays them down on my bed. Surprisingly, his voice is calm now. Five seconds ago, it was loud enough to deafen a small child. “And your, uh, phone.” He edges a little toward me, and I take it from him, slowly, as I stare up at his face. He’s struggling to meet my eyes.
“Thanks,” I say bluntly. I’m still unbelievably furious at him.
Silence captures my room for a long moment. He slowly turns to leave, but before he reaches the door, he spins back around again. “Look,” he starts, “about last night—”
“I already know that you’re a jerk and that you do drugs and that you’re pathetic as hell,” I say. “You don’t have to explain it to me.”
He frowns, his lips forming a firm line as he furrows his eyebrows and takes a few hesitant steps toward me. “Just—just don’t say anything.”
I fold my arms, gazing at him curiously. For once, he doesn’t look terrifying. “Are you asking me not to snitch?”
“Don’t tell my mom or your dad anything,” he says, and his voice is so soft and almost pleading that it’s leaving me slightly confused. At least the begging side of him is nice. “Just forget about it.”
“I can’t believe you’re involved in that stuff,” I murmur, glancing down at my phone—four missed calls from Dad—and then tossing
it onto my bed. “Why do you even do that? It really doesn’t make you look cool if that’s what you’re trying to do.”
“Not even close.”
I throw my hands up in exasperation. “Then what?”
“I don’t know,” he mutters. “I’m not here for a lecture, okay? I just came to give you your stuff back and to tell you to keep your mouth shut.” He throws a hand into his hair and glances away.
Maybe I’m sleep deprived or maybe I’m just insane, but I somehow gather up the courage to ask him the question that’s been playing on my lips since Friday. “Why do you hate me so much?”
This takes Tyler by surprise. He suddenly looks perplexed. “Who said I hated you?”
“Um,” I say. “You kind of insult me every chance you get. I get that it’s weird having a stepsister all of a sudden, but it’s weird for me too. We got off on the wrong foot, I think.”
“No,” Tyler says, shaking his head as he laughs. “You don’t get it at all.” Quickly scanning my room, he narrows his eyes and finally turns for the door again.
“What don’t I get?” I call after him.
“Everything,” he shoots back.
Chapter 7
On Tuesday, I set my alarm for sunrise and make a point of heading out for an early morning jog before everyone else wakes up. Tiffani’s words about the tight dress are still echoing in the back of my head, so I venture farther than the neighborhood, tracing a route down to the coastal highway and back again, pushing my body to its limits. I’m dismayed to discover that the beach has a layer of fog covering it, but the air is still warm. By the time I get back to the house, Dad is awake and brewing some coffee.
“Nice jog?” he asks as I enter the kitchen.
I heave a sigh, pressing my hands to the edge of the countertop and catching my breath. “Yeah,” I say, but it’s closer to a pant. “Almost four miles. It was super foggy down by the pier.”
“I’d pass out after the first,” he jokes. “Oh, the famous fog. It’s called the June Gloom. Coffee?” He holds up the jug.
“I’m good.” I might love coffee, but 7:00 a.m. is just too early. The only thing I could do with right now is a long, hot shower. “Anyone else awake?”
“Ella’s getting dressed,” he says, turning back around to fetch a mug, “but the guys are still sleeping.” After my abrupt remark on Saturday night, he has lightened up and is trying his hardest to be overly nice at every chance he gets. He knows now that I haven’t forgiven him, that I’m still upset with him for leaving us. He has a lot of sucking up to do.
“Does she have work to go to or something?” Yesterday she didn’t seem to have a job. When Dad left for his, she simply cleaned the house, made small talk with me, argued with Tyler a little, and then drove Jamie and Chase to wherever they needed to go.
Dad gives me a small smile. “Ella’s a civil rights attorney.”
I blink. I wouldn’t have taken her for an attorney—she seems to lose every argument with Tyler, giving up after only a few minutes. “Shouldn’t she be at an office or something?”
“She’s on a career break,” Dad says, but he doesn’t give me any opportunity to press the subject further before he asks, “You said you’re going to the beach today, didn’t you?”
“Yeah,” I say, “with Rachael.” And Tiffani and Meghan, but I doubt Dad cares about every single detail.
“If you need a ride there, Ella will take you,” he offers, which is ridiculous, because I only met her four days ago and am far from comfortable enough to be asking her for rides.
“Rachael’s already giving me a ride,” I say. “Thanks though.”
“Alright.” He takes a long swig of his coffee, then tucks his shirt into his suit pants and adjusts his tie. “I’m going to leave and try to beat this LA traffic. Some mornings I win, others I lose.”
“Why the shirt again?”
“I’m the supervisor.”
“Oh.” Finally, an answer to why this house is so luxurious. Dad’s been a civil engineer since before I was even born, and the years of experience must have finally landed him a better paid position. Obviously.
“I’ll be home at six,” he says and gives me a two-finger wave as he passes me.
I roll my eyes and head over to the faucet, pouring myself a glass of water, and then I make my way up to my room. I hear Ella swinging open the master bedroom door as I walk down the hall, so I quickly dart up the staircase before she can see me. However, there’s still no sound from Tyler’s, Jamie’s, and Chase’s rooms.
I grab a shower—a long, hot one, long and hot enough to relax my muscles and leave my body feeling great again. I remember to shave my legs this time.
“Eden,” Ella says as she enters my room without knocking, leaving me desperately clinging onto my towel. “Sorry—I—”
I tighten my grip on the fabric and offer her an awkward smile. “It’s fine.” Although, I think, it’s really not fine. I’m half naked in front of a stranger.
Ella clears her throat, dropping her eyes nervously to the floor and keeping them fixed on the carpet. “I was wondering if you’d like any breakfast. Or did you have some with your dad?”
“I’m good for now,” I say. “I’m not that hungry.”
Ella smiles, nods, and leaves. At least she’s making an effort. I was expecting her to be like a stereotypical wicked stepmother. But so far, she hasn’t handed me any mops.
With my hair damp, I braid it and slip back into bed. I’m not going to the beach until the afternoon, and I can’t stop myself from yawning after waking up so early, so a quick power nap is the only way to go.
* * *
“Tiffani and Megs are already there,” Rachael says the second I get inside her car, five hours later. She arches her eyebrows and looks me up and down. “You look like you just woke up.”
“I did,” I say. “Twenty minutes ago.”
“Okay, I get that it’s summer, but waking up at”—she taps the clock on the radio—“12:20 p.m. is a little lazy, don’t you think?”
I roll my eyes, working my fingers through my hair to ensure I’ve fully undone the braids. I’m left with mermaid waves—perfect for the beach and up to Rachael’s standards. I pull my floral kimono tighter around my body. “I was up super early.”
“Why?”
“I went for a run.”
Rachael snorts. “Okay, my earlier statement is now dismissed. Have you been to the pier yet?”
I slip on my sunglasses and turn to face her, watching her closely as she focuses on the road. “The thing with the Ferris wheel? I saw it this morning. I jogged down the highway.”
“Yeah, that’s the pier,” Rachael confirms. “We can check it out later if we have time.”
It’s extremely hot out today, with only a slight breeze finding its way in from the Pacific, but it’s refreshing so I don’t complain, especially now the fog has been burned off. Portland isn’t exactly a city known for its beaches, mostly because it has none. There are the odd few so-called “beaches” by lakes or along the Willamette River, but nothing on the scale of the beach here. It runs along the edge of the city for miles before meeting up with Venice Beach and has a constant flow of visitors.
Rachael finds a parking spot in the lot by the pier, and I grab my bag and step out. It took me ten minutes back at the house to convince myself to even put a bikini on, and now that I have, I know it’s the worst decision I’ve ever made. While Rachael fetches her towel and speakers from the trunk, I make sure my shorts are tight and my kimono is fully spread over me. There’s absolutely no way I’m taking my clothes off.
“Okay,” Rachael says as she walks around to meet me at the front of the car, her sunglasses pushed up as she squints at her phone. “Meghan says they’re by the volleyball courts next to Perry’s, sooooooo they’re over there somewhere.” She points off to the right. It must be difficult to find the people you are looking for on a beach this big, but thanks to technology, the struggle is minimized.
/> I follow Rachael from the lot onto the sand, my flip-flops flapping around my feet in the most uncomfortable of ways, and we walk for a good five or so minutes before finally spotting Tiffani and Meghan. It’s hard not to—they’re on their feet and waving their arms around like maniacs.
“Guys!” Tiffani calls. “You just missed some cute guy ask Meg for her number.”
I glance over at Meghan, and she sheepishly drops back down to the sand again, color flooding to her cheeks. “He’s from Pasadena,” she murmurs, biting her lip.
As Tiffani settles back onto the sand too, I follow suit with Rachael by laying down my towel and getting comfy. I cross my legs and smile. The beach really is huge, with rows of tiny stores behind us and cycle routes and guys hurling volleyballs at one another.
“So, Rach,” Tiffani says, raising a brow from behind her sunglasses, “what happened with you and Trevor on Saturday?”
Rachael smirks, rolls her eyes, and looks away. “Nothing,” she says, but she’s still smiling.
“Nothing my ass,” Meghan shoots. “I’m guessing third base this time, because a home run two weeks in a row isn’t your thing. Am I right or am I right?”
Rachael stays silent for a long moment and then finally whispers, “You’re right,” before laughing. She pulls off her lace cover-up and tosses it to the side, lying down on her back and getting comfortable. I notice how perfect her figure is, how long her legs and how flat her stomach is. The perfect body to complement her mint bikini.
“Eden, what even happened to you at the party?” Tiffani asks, and I’m so distracted by Rachael’s legs that it takes me by surprise.
“What?”
“Where did you go?” She sits up her equally perfect body and looks at me from behind her shades. “Who’d you go home with? What’s his name?”
I almost choke on my own saliva. “Nooooo,” I say, shaking my head. “I didn’t feel that great. Dean took me home.” How many more times am I going to use the sickness excuse?
“Couldn’t handle the tequila?” She grins, laughs, and gets on her knees to straighten out her towel. “By the way, the guys suggested heading outta town tonight. Maybe Venice or into the city, but Dean also thought about heading out to Hollywood so you can see the sign, Eden, because you can’t come to Los Angeles and not see the Hollywood Sign up close and personal. We’re all going.”