“I thought we’d watch movies,” Mom said hopefully. “I made Rice Krispies treats.”
“Oh, hooray,” Colleen said. “Dad? You in?”
“I have to go to check on some properties,” he said a bit tersely.
“Okay. I’ll come and help,” Colleen offered, a twinge of guilt at instantly changing plans. “We can watch movies a little later, Mom.”
“Sure!” Mom said with forced good cheer. “I’ll tag along, too.” She frowned, her sweet face soft.
“No. I’ll go alone. You girls stay here,” he said in that voice he used when he was irritated.
“Roger that,” Colleen said, keeping her voice light. Experience had shown that when Dad was in a bad mood, there was no point in arguing.
“Don’t be silly. We’ll go with you, and we can all get some dinner afterward, and it’ll be really fun?” Mom suggested, her voice ending in a question mark. Colleen wished she wouldn’t be like that.
“I said, I’ll go alone. Okay? I have some business to take care of.”
“Sure!” Mom said, and Colleen had to stifle an eye roll. She loved her mom, of course, but...well. “Of course, Pete! We’ll keep the home fires warm.”
Dad forced a smile, then kissed Colleen’s cheek. “I’m sure the other girls are glad you’re not going tonight, honey. All their dates would be after you.”
“Hmm,” Colleen said. It was a slightly insulting insinuation—she’d never steal someone else’s guy, and she liked to think that most other girls quite adored her—but she knew Dad meant it as a compliment.
And so she and Mom ate the sticky treats and admired Matthew McConaughey’s abs, Mom sitting with the house phone and her cell on the arm of her chair, just in case Dad changed his mind.
He didn’t, but around eleven, the phone rang. It was Faith, urging her to come to the after party at her boyfriend’s lovely house.
“Okay if I go up to the Lyons’, Ma?” she asked her dozing mother.
“Oh, sure,” Mom said. “Did your father call?”
“Nope. Why don’t you go to bed? Con and I will be home later.”
“Want to take the car?” Mom asked.
“Nah. I’ll walk.” Jeremy only lived a half mile away from the O’Rourke house, and she could get a ride home.
“Okay. Make sure you’re smart, sweetheart.” Her code for “don’t drink, don’t do drugs, don’t have unprotected sex, don’t get kidnapped, don’t eat tuna fish” (she had a strange fear of tuna, for some reason).
“I was born smart.” She kissed her mother’s cheek. “See you later.”
The Lyon parents were exceptional hosts; nothing was more fun than one of their parties because they were the cool parents—the kind who knew how to be welcoming and funny and also how to disappear and let the kids do their thing.
The entire senior class was there, it seemed, and gourmet pizzas were being served, in addition to three kinds of green salad, ciabatta sandwiches and designer pop, and yards and yards of organic snack food and desserts. “Hi, Mrs. Lyon,” Colleen said. “Thanks for having us!”
“Colleen, why on earth didn’t you go to your prom?” she asked.
“I have an old soul,” Colleen answered, getting a fond chuckle as a reply.
Most of her classmates were in the huge finished basement. ’N Sync played from the hidden speakers, and a fire crackled in the stone fireplace. Colleen saw Connor, who was nodding as Sherry talked. He shot her a look that she read perfectly, courtesy of their psychic twin connection—I’m dying here, curse of the nice guy, please save me. She blinked at him. You should’ve listened to me, shmuck-o. Suffer on. He responded with a subtle middle finger. But hey! She’d warned him. Sherry had had a crush on Connor since preschool, something Connor had refuted until a few weeks ago.
Faith and Jeremy were snuggled on the couch, the golden couple, prom king and queen, of course, as if anyone else had a chance. Some guys were playing pool while their dates gossiped or sulked in a gaggle nearby. Funny thing about prom; no one ever had as much fun as they were supposed to. Except Faith and Jeremy, of course.
Bryce Campbell, looking pretty beautiful in his tux, gave her a sloppy wave. Colleen instantly pegged him as being a bit drunk. Must’ve snuck in some booze, because the Lyon elders would’ve called his parents if they’d noticed he’d been drinking. Tanya added a sharp look and put her arm around Bryce’s waist. Please. Colleen was so not the type to swoop in and ruin someone’s night. She drifted over to them. “You look gorgeous, Tanya!” she said, getting a fake smile from the girl. “And you, pal, very handsome.” She leaned in. “No more drinking here, got it?” she whispered. “And no driving.”
“Got it, Coll,” he said with a smile.
She got a bottle of Virgil’s root beer, made the rounds, admired the gowns of the girls, winked at the boys and generally schmoozed, comfortable as the grand dame of the senior class. Part of things, but above them. A modern-day Emma, her favorite Jane Austen heroine. She ascertained that her brother was still trapped as Sherry moved in to try to kiss him, and once again smilingly rejected his silent plea for help. Revenge for the time he locked her in the cedar closet for six hours when they were ten.
At about midnight, it was decided by half the group that a visit to the lake was in order; for one, it was a gorgeous May night, the sky gleaming with stars, the air soft and gentle and just cool enough for cuddling; and two, those who wanted to have sex or drink could drift off to wherever without getting busted by Mr. and Mrs. Lyon. The good kids stayed put, and Colleen figured she would, too.
Until she saw Bryce Campbell fumbling for his keys.
“Hey, buddy,” she said, earning yet another glare from Tanya. “You’re not driving, are you?”
“Oh, I’m fine, don’t even worry about me,” he slurred. So much for her warning. Was there a creature on earth more stupid than an eighteen-year-old boy? “I’m totally fine, Colleen. You’re pretty, you know that?”
“You’re not driving. Let Tanya... Oh, right.” Tanya had flunked her driver’s test three times already.
Colleen could tell the Lyons, of course. But then they’d call Bryce’s parents, and who wanted to be the kid who turned in a friend?
“How about if I drive, then?” she offered.
“No thanks, Colleen,” Tanya said. She really was quite dim.
“Your date’s not sober, sweets. Besides, it’ll be fun. You guys can sit in the back and cuddle, and I’ll be your chauffeur.”
“All right,” Bryce said. “That does sound fun.” He smiled affably. Goofball.
Jeremy and Faith walked everyone to the door, already acting like a married couple, and Mr. and Mrs. Lyon waved good-night and told everyone to drive safely.
Colleen got into Bryce’s car (a red Mustang convertible, really, did his parents want him to die in a fiery crash?), and Tanya and Bryce got in back. Bryce took a brown paper bag from under the seat, unscrewed the cap of the bottle inside and took a pull, then offered some to Tanya, who accepted.
“Underage drinking, children,” she said mildly. “Illegal.”
“Lighten up,” Tanya said.
Kids today. No respect. Good thing they