16. Into You
INTO YOU
This is so stupid.
“We’re going to get caught,” I whisper, but it falls on deaf ears. Jase is already ducking into the men’s restroom to get changed.
The Fourth of July celebration at the country club is kind of a big deal.
It holds a massive fundraiser, giving the vacationing politicians, celebrities, and business moguls the perfect excuse for a photo op to show off their quote-unquote humanitarian side before getting shitfaced once the cameras go away.
Sadly, the celebrities showing up aren’t hot new rock stars or boy bands or hunky actors.
They’re the people whose greatest achievements are at least a decade or two behind them, who coast through life now by name recognition and residuals, who think they can fight the clock by pumping their faces full of fillers and plastic.
They’re the people you really don’t want to be around.
Seriously, they seem to despise teenagers, especially their own.
It’s exactly why I’ve spent the last hour hugging the wall and nibbling on an occasional cracker—it’s the only normal food they’re serving right now.
Yep, you read that correctly. They’re serving only banquet standards.
No hot dogs, hamburgers, or macaroni salad here.
It’s all caviar, stuffed grape leaves, and herbed squash confit.
Since Jase suspected this party would be as much of a bore as it has proven to be, he prepared ahead of time…with a plan that will likely leave me grounded until I’m thirty.
I point this out to Jase when he reemerges into the hallway, but he still pulls out the plastic grocery bag I had given him earlier from his backpack and directs me to the women’s restroom.
“You’ll only get grounded if we get caught, so I suggest you move fast.”
We’re using the restrooms as far away from the party as possible, but there is still some foot traffic, and Jase’s clothes aren’t exactly up to country club standards at the moment.
Having changed out of the preppy monstrosity his father had forced him to wear, he now stands in the hallway donned in black board shorts, a white linen button-up, and flip-flops. My new attire won’t be any better.
I’m grateful to hear the only other occupants leave the bathroom as I finish changing in my own stall, because I know I need a mirror. All the clothes I own are either bought by Blythe or handed down from my sister, and I usually only get the articles that my stepmom deems suitable.
Vanessa had just cleaned out her closet, and when Jase suggested his plans for tonight, I may have snuck into the basement and pilfered a few items out of the clothing donation bags.
My sister’s casual outfits when hanging out with her friends are always cute, so this seemed like a safe bet.
Looking down at myself, however, everything seems small .
I’m already small, in every sense of the word, so I figured wearing some of Vanessa’s old summer clothes would fit the same way the rest of her closet does on me: slightly baggy.
That doesn’t seem to be the case here. Easing the stall door open, I dare to steal a glance at my reflection in the large mirror positioned above the communal sinks.
It’s just as bad as I feared. This outfit must have been sitting in my sister’s closet for at least five years, because there’s no way in hell she could wear it now.
Even for how slender she is, Vanessa still has a feminine frame and is easily four inches taller than me.
On her, these clothes would be scraps of fabric.
Hell, on me , they’re scraps of fabric. The black tank top hugs my nonexistent curves, and the hem of the frayed denim shorts comes up so high that I may as well be in my underwear.
I’ve never shown off this much skin in years, even at a beach or pool.
I don’t know how long I stand there yanking on the hem of my clothes, as if I can somehow stretch out the denim a good five inches, but I must waste enough time to warrant Jase’s concern. A knock comes from the other side of the main door, and I have no choice but to answer.
When I confirm I’m the only one in here, Jase slips in between the door and wall with the grace of a 007 agent evading enemy detection, hearing voices make their way down the hall. “Ready?”
Before self-preservation can convince me to dive back into the stall, he sees me in all my bony glory as I continue yanking fruitlessly at the hem of the shorts.
“Well, don’t you look nice.” He smiles, and I want to bury my head in the garbage can just to not see it.
“I look stupid .” I whirl around to the stall, ready to change back into the dress Blythe made me wear, but Jase anticipates the move, blocking my path.
“No way in hell. You look great, and you already said how uncomfortable you were in this,” he says, plucking up the plastic bag I had shoved my dress and shoes into.
He’s not wrong. I don’t know what exactly either is made of, though I suspect they’re part tree bark and part sandpaper.
Still, I make a move to snatch the bag away from Jase, but he easily holds it out of my reach even as I resort to practically climbing him.
He shoves it into his backpack, and there’s a definitive click as he sets the lockable zipper into place.
“Jerk.” I untangle myself from him to brush the mess of hair out of my eyes, only to find Jase’s hands cupping my face.
He lowers himself until his forehead touches mine. “Trust me, Birdie. You look beautiful, as always.”
“Considering you’ve seen me fresh off a bird attack, I seriously doubt that,” I mutter, not bothering to mention how many mornings he’s found me curled up in bed with my hair a tangled mess and my face still mashed into a pillow.
He chuckles, his hands falling from my face. I expect him to back away, but Jase only drops lower, grabbing hold of my thighs. I shriek as I’m suddenly flung off my feet and pitched forward as he lifts me up into an over-the-shoulder carry.
All I can see is Jase’s back, but I can still sense him smiling somehow. “What’re you doing?”
“Kidnapping you,” he says in mock seriousness, whirling around. “It’s the only way I can extract you from this hellhole.”
The hinges on the bathroom door creak ever so slightly, and I can only guess Jase is peering outside to see if the coast is clear.
It must be, because he takes off running, not the least bit hindered by his new cargo.
I have to curl my toes to prevent my flip-flops from flying off as we race down two hallways and a flight of stairs.
Quite frankly, I’m a little disappointed by the security here.
There are cameras stationed pretty much everywhere around the country club, so the fact no one seems inclined to intervene with the young man who seemingly broke into the women’s restroom and abducted someone is rather alarming.
Or maybe the cameras transmit sound, and security can hear me squealing and laughing all the way out the side door to the golf course.
Only once we’ve reached the sidewalk does Jase set me back on my feet, and it’s a short walk to the pick-up driver parked along the curb of the side road.
When he informed me of this plan, he only said that we’d be going to the beach.
I assumed we’d be going to one nearby, so I’m surprised to find us heading down to the south side.
Jase sees my look of confusion the second we turn onto Montague Avenue. “You’ve never been to Arcadia for the Fourth, have you?”
Arcadia?
When I was younger, my family vacationed during the holiday, and when we stopped five years ago, we always went to the country club.
I tell him this, and it only makes that mischievous grin of his grow all the more.
“There’s not going to be some kind of Hells Angels biker rally there or something, will there?” I say this jokingly, but I’m suddenly not so sure.
Thankfully, even the driver laughs at my comment, so it provides a little reassurance, and Jase proves my fear is wholly unnecessary when a Ferris wheel comes into view long before we reach Arcadia’s beach.
Traffic clogs the streets for several blocks as everybody waits to park, so Jase pays our driver, and we hoof it on foot towards the front entrance to what I can definitively see is a Fourth of July festival.
The original parking lot and field before the beach have been transformed into fairgrounds with everything from a funhouse to bumper cars to concession stands and arcade games.
Even better, I don’t recognize a single person we pass upon getting our hands stamped.
Jase comes up from behind and wraps his arms around my middle, lifting me right off the ground high enough that he can whisper right into my ear.
“Now, make a list of all the games you see that you want to kick my ass in later,” he laughs, all the while still walking.
“But our first order of business is to get some actual food in our systems.”
When he sets me back down, he guides me all the way through the festival to the beach, where a God’s honest cookout is being held.
It’s obviously meant to be more about bringing the community together than making a profit, because everything costs next to nothing.
And they have it all. Burgers and hot dogs, potato salad and macaroni salad, apple and cherry pies, bacon cheddar deviled eggs, and even grilled peaches with moonshine syrup.
I honestly had never even heard of the last before, but, oh sweet Moses, are they delicious.