Chapter 2
When I got downstairs, I discovered that Hemlock House was full of people.
And not ordinary people.
Surfers.
I mean, it wasn’t exactly a rigorous process of deduction, and I’d spent enough time with Bobby and Keme now to know the type.
They were all tan and fit, their hair still wet, smelling like the sea.
The dudes were uniformly in board shorts (and most of them wore nothing else).
The dudettes wore bikini tops and what I would have called, for funsies, Daisy Dukes.
I was wearing my joggers, hoodie, and favorite Final Fantasy tee (it was ancient, and the design was flaking off, but it showed the Black Mage—obviously the best character), and I had the disorienting sense that somehow I was the one out of place.
All around me, the surfer bros and, uh, bro-ettes were laughing.
They were talking. They were all holding a drink of choice.
And they were also tracking a lot of sand into my Class V haunted mansion.
Millie drifted past, and I caught her arm. “What is going on?”
“OH MY GOD, DASH!” She beamed at me. “ISN’T THIS PARTY AMAZING?”
“What party?”
“THIS ONE!”
“No, I meant—”
But she spotted someone in the crowd, gave an excited squeal, and darted off.
Keme, I thought. Keme was responsible for this.
He had to be. In a sense, it was inevitable.
Keme was a teenager. More importantly, he was a teenage boy.
And he’d grown up a lot faster than most kids because of his rough home life.
We—the Last Picks and I—had adopted him, more or less, and although none of us had directly addressed the situation, I was pretty sure Keme was living full-time at Hemlock House.
So, it probably shouldn’t have been a surprise that the boy who thought he was an adult and acted like an adult would want to do other things like an adult—like invite all his surfer friends back for a rager.
Did people still say rager?
I knew it would drive Keme crazy if I asked.
When I found him, he was perched on the back of the chesterfield, knees drawn up to his chest. He had a red plastic cup, which set off my (admittedly weak) parental alarms. And he was listening to a bare-chested surfer bro with artfully tangled blond hair.
“There it was, this tentacle thing wrapped around my leg,” the guy was saying. And then, with a wry grin. “Seaweed. Again.”
Everyone burst out laughing. Even Keme.
“What’s in that drink?” I asked and took his cup.
He scowled at me as I tried a sip. It was only Coke, so I handed it back, but the scowl didn’t go away.
“Can I talk to you?” I asked.
He shook his head.
“Just for a minute.”
He shook his head more emphatically.
“Do people still say rager?”
He actually looked over at the other guys, as though afraid they might have heard me. Everybody was still entranced by the seaweed story. He slid off the chesterfield and bullied me across the room until we were far enough away from his friends, and then he folded his arms and glared at me.
“It’s an honest question.”
“What?” he snapped.
“Do people still—”
“What do you really want?”
“Well, I wanted to talk to you about throwing parties. I mean, I want you to feel like this is your home, and I want you to be able to bring your friends here, but I’m a little concerned about the alcohol, and I also wish you would have talked to the rest of us first.”
The look on Keme’s face suggested I might be stupider than anyone, even he, had previously realized.
“What?” I asked.
“I didn’t invite them.”
“Oh. Then who—”
But I didn’t finish the question because I already knew.
I spotted Bobby on the other side of the room.
He wore board shorts and a sweatshirt, and his feet were bare.
He was leaning against the wall, a drink forgotten in one hand as he listened to a pair of girls who were laughing and trying to talk over each other.
To my surprise, Fox was there too, laughing along with the girls.
Well, that definitely changed things. I was going to have to talk to Bobby.
I mean, I understood that Keme might not know the protocol for asking his roommates about hosting a party.
But Bobby was an adult. And he was usually so responsible and respectful and—was there a word like considerate, but it started with an r?
When I tapped Bobby on the arm, he gave me a smile that started at surprised and ramped up to delighted.
If you’ve never been on the receiving end of one of Bobby’s smiles, they are super goofy.
He’s a total dork. But they also have this weird side effect of making you feel like you’re rocketing through time and space, and the only thing you can see is his face, and it feels like these micro explosions of color and music are detonating inside your body.
“I’m sorry we crashed your quiet night,” he said before I could open my mouth. Then, leaning closer, he whispered, “Nobody showed up to Fox’s gallery exhibit, so I asked some friends to go with me. We just kind of ended up here.”
Fox’s gallery exhibit.
Which had been tonight.
When I’d been having my people-free evening.
Bobby must have misread my expression because he said, “I’ll get them out of here.”
“No.” In a softer voice, I said again, “No, don’t do that. Everyone’s having such a good time.” And then, because I felt like I had to say something: “That was really sweet of you. Fox looks happy.”
“They ought to be,” Bobby said drily. “Just about everybody here bought something. Danny and Kai almost got in a fistfight over one of the necklaces.”
“You’re kidding.”
Bobby just gave me that goofy grin again as he slung his arm around my shoulders and turned his attention back to the party.