Chapter 4 Adventures In Chaperoning #6
“Well, it’s not a nice word, either. Now just… think for a minute. Where else could Henry possibly have gone? Did he have a plan B? In case Vivi didn’t want to go to the movies?”
Weston shrugs. “Not that he told me. I should’ve grilled him more about it. But at the time, I didn’t think I was actually going to stalk him.”
I cross my arms over my chest, pondering for a moment. “Does he have any friends from school? Someone else they might’ve made plans to hang out with?”
No sooner have the words crossed my lips than—
“Ludovico!”
The voice is booming, nasally, and eerily reminiscent of fingernails on a chalkboard. Weston’s whole countenance falls when he hears his name and secretly shoots me a miserable glance before slowly turning around.
“Ferguson.”
I’ve only had the displeasure of meeting Weston’s nemesis, Neil Ferguson, once before, an interaction that mainly consisted of him giving me backhanded compliments and objectifying once-overs while Weston quietly resisted the urge to punch him in the teeth.
There’s no escaping Neil Ferguson’s notice at this point—not when he walks up to us, trailing some unlucky girl behind him.
Weston is the first to speak. “How did you like Pony Pal Adventures, Ferg? On a scale of one to ten?”
Ferguson grins hatefully. “Very funny, Ludovico. Enjoying a nice little chick flick with your girlfriend?” He nods toward the rom-com poster on the wall. “Man, you two are just the perfect PG couple.”
Weston lets the insult roll off him like water. “Well, I guess some people need to watch movies about stuff they don’t get to experience in real life.” He loops one arm around my shoulders. “Isn’t that right, Tessa?”
I nod, biting back a smirk as I lace my fingers through his. “That’s right.”
The joke goes right over Ferguson’s head. He pulls his girlfriend against his side possessively, but she’s too busy texting to even glance up at him.
“Guess you’re not going to Nicky Savage’s party tonight.” Ferguson says it like a dare, his gaze darting between me and Weston. “Heard it’s gonna be a real rager. You should come.”
I raise my eyebrows at the mere idea of attending any party, never mind one considered to be a “rager.”
Weston shakes his head with an easy laugh. “Ragers are for people who don’t know how to have a good time at home.”
Ferguson narrows his eyes, fighting back a smirk. “Oh yeah? Well, I heard your little brother Henry was gonna be there.”
Weston’s arm stiffens around my shoulders. “What? Who told you that?”
“Nicky did. Apparently, her sister is best friends with Vivi Reynolds. Isn’t your brother going out with her?”
I gulp, looking up at Weston, who has gone white as a sheet.
“That’s right,” Weston says.
Ferguson grins and rocks back on his heels. “Man, the kid’s gonna have his eyes opened tonight. Might even beat you to losing his V-card, Ludovico.”
Weston doesn’t dignify that comment with a response; he just steers me away from Ferguson, not sparing him a goodbye or a backward glance. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”
I don’t say a word until we’ve exited the cinema. “You think he’s serious about Henry going to this party? Or was he just trying to get your goat?”
“Not sure,” Weston says, keys jangling in his hand as we dash back across the parking lot toward his truck. “But there’s only one way to find out.”
And that’s how we find ourselves driving to a late-night “rager” held by a mysterious girl named Nicky Savage, whom I have never seen in my life.
Weston gives me the Spark Notes summary of the situation on the ride across town.
Apparently, Nicky is a senior socialite with a reputation for throwing lively, boozy parties and inviting anyone and everyone between the ages of thirteen and twenty.
“Does that mean we can just walk into this party uninvited?” I ask as Weston slows down for the multitude of parallel-parked cars lining the street. I have a feeling we’re getting close to Nicky’s house.
“I don’t care if we weren’t invited,” Weston says, swerving the truck to a stop along the side of the road. “If Henry’s at this party, having his ‘eyes opened,’ Mom’s gonna take it out of my hide.”
We hop out of the truck and hurry down the street, hand in hand. Weston leads me up the driveway of an unassuming split-level house with the name Savage printed on the mailbox. I can hear the muffled thumping of bass-boosted music, but there doesn’t seem to be much “raging” going on.
Weston climbs the steps to the front door and knocks three times. It swings open seconds later on a grumpy-faced middle-aged woman wearing a cat sweater.
“Back door, for the hundredth time!” she snaps before promptly swinging the door shut in Weston’s face.
He turns to me with a shrug. “Back door, I guess. They should have signs.”
“How can this girl host a lively, boozy party when her parents are home?” I ask, shadowing Weston around the back of the house.
He only says, “That’s Nicky Savage for you. Her parents put up with anything.”
The pounding bass grows louder as we round the back corner of the house. There’s a frosted glass door leading to the walkout basement, and inside, I see a thick crowd of teenagers swaying to the dance music, red plastic cups in hand. Some of them are already making out.
I catch Weston’s hand before he can open the door. “We’re not going to have to, like, hang out with these people, right?”
He laughs. “Of course not. We’re just here to look for Henry.”
He’s right. This mission is purely virtuous, and the ends justify the means—but stepping through those sliding glass doors into a bona fide high school party feels strangely like stepping into the outer circle of Dante’s Inferno.
The music instantly swallows me up, bass thumping through my whole body as I hold on to Weston’s hand for dear life.
He parts the crowd for me, scanning the basement for any sign of Henry and Vivi as we weave around dancers and wallflowers.
“Weston!” A high-pitched female voice erupts from behind us.
We both spin around as a curvy blonde girl with sparkles on her face prances over with a dazzling smile.
I’m a little affronted when she grabs Weston by the neck, bold as brass, and plants a kiss on each of his cheeks.
“I didn’t know you were gonna be here tonight!
And you brought your girlfriend! Tessa, right? ”
“Uh, yeah, this is Tessa. Tessa, this is Nicky.”
She swoops in and kisses me on both cheeks. I suppose Nicky doesn’t have a crush on my boyfriend—she’s just a girl who appreciates flamboyant French mannerisms.
“Sweet! I’m so glad you both came. Drinks are on the wet bar! Help yourselves. We’ve got vodka and alllll the mixers. But don’t tell my parents.” She puts a finger to her lips and winks at me, then vanishes into the crowd.
“Wait—Nicky!” Weston’s voice is drowned out by the deafening music. He growls and tips his head back. “I was gonna ask her if she’d seen Henry.”
“Do you see him?” I ask, lifting up on my tiptoes and squinting to identify faces in the dim purple light. “I’m too short to see—and there are too many people here.”
No sooner are the words out of my mouth than some random guy steps on my heels and sends me stumbling into Weston’s arms. My cheeks flush furious red as I look up at him.
“Maybe we should check over here,” he suggests, whisking me away from the bustling dance floor.
(If thirty square feet of space can be called a dance floor.) As Weston heads for the margins of the room, I know exactly what he’s thinking: that if Henry and Vivi have been at this party for the past two hours (while we were obliviously watching Star Wars), they will have moved beyond the dancing and drinking phase by this point.
Moving with the caution of spies in enemy territory, Weston and I prowl the perimeter of the basement—twice—dodging kissing couples.
Henry and Vivi are not among them.
Finally, I pull Weston into the darkest, quietest corner of the basement and blurt out, “How could you have let this happen?”
“How could I have let this happen?” Weston points to himself in disbelief. “You’re the one who said beyond the shadow of a doubt that Henry would be at the movies watching Star Wars—”
“Well, if it weren’t for you trying so hard not to be seen in the theater, maybe we wouldn’t have had to sit there for two hours before realizing that they weren’t even there in the first place!”
“Shh! Calm down, okay?” Weston puts his hands on my shoulders, his eyes glinting in the candy-colored light. “I’m not blaming you, Tessa. It was my responsibility to keep an eye on Henry—”
“Yes, it was. And now God only knows where he is, and we’re stuck at this crazy, inappropriate party with underage teens drinking vodka.”
Weston chuckles. “Are you mad at me?”
“Yes!”
“Why?”
“Because! You’ve dragged me all over the place tonight, doing things I didn’t want to do, and for what? You’re an irresponsible brother and a disappointing boyfriend. One-star review for you, Weston Ludovico.”
He narrows his eyes at me, jaw twitching. In a flash, he catches my hips and spins me around, pinning me against the wall and lowering his forehead to mine. “Have I ever told you how beautiful you are when you’re mad at me?”
“Have I ever told you how insufferable you are when you refuse to admit you’re in the wrong?”
He stifles a reckless little smirk. “Insufferable, huh?”
“Yes.”
“Show me how insufferable you think I am.”
For a breathless moment, all I can do is look up into his dazzling eyes, my heart pumping faster as the bass-boosted music transitions to something slow with reverb. Weston stares down at me, his closeness like a force of gravity, his spicy scent filling my lungs, his hands still circling my waist.
Irritated as I am, I can’t resist him a second longer.