Chapter Twelve #2
A log split, and the bonfire crackled with molten sap. Across the fire, Wendy Walker stood holding a red cup, blond twins on either side of her like Norse goddesses protecting their liege. All three wore letter jackets, the keys to the kingdom. Wendy cocked her head and locked on Maeve.
Heat rose in Maeve’s cheeks. What I wouldn’t give . . .
She didn’t know what that thought was, what she had to give, what she would want in return.
But looking at Wendy made her want. She wanted to be in the world the way Wendy was—assured, head up, carefree.
She stayed in the game, holding Wendy’s gaze.
Holding, holding. Sparks flew like kite tails trailing into the black woods.
There was a quick eruption of gleeful laughter, and the intensity of two girls staring into each other’s eyes broke.
The mood surged and shifted into high gear.
Maeve unclipped the barrette, stuck it in her pocket, let her hair hang heavy and loose.
Around her, bodies swayed as if on a cusp, trying to speed up and slow down the beat, searching for the never-ending. Maeve swayed too.
She crept into the kitchen, way past curfew, dragging the stink of campfire and beer and mud in behind her.
Her own sneaking cracked her up. Nothing had been fun or funny for months.
Suddenly, everything was. She hadn’t intended to drink so much, but it all caught up with her now.
The panes rattled when she shut the door too loudly.
She snickered, covering her mouth. She just had to get up the stairs without waking her parents.
“Maeve.” A voice in the dark. The light flickered on.
Maeve giggled, forced a serious frown. “Father.”
He pulled a wooden chair across the pine floor. “Sit.”
Maeve leaned against the closed door, rested her head back. “I’ll stand.” She let her eyes drift closed, let the room spin. She took a wobbled step forward.
“You’re drunk.”
Maeve sighed. She straddled the chair and rested her head on her arms across the back. “I know, Dad. I’m sorry.” Even her apology was funny. She let out a guffaw.
“Keep your voice down. You’ll wake the whole house.”
As if on cue, Molly bounded down the back stairs in her nightgown, red hair pointed every which way. She plopped onto William’s lap and plugged her nose. “What’s that smell?”
Maeve noticed then that her pants were torn and caked with mud. The party had drawn cops to the woods, and she’d spent the last two hours huddled in a ditch with Wendy and the twins, hiding until the coast was clear. She was covered in bug bites, and her neck was kinked. She’d never been happier.
“Go back to bed, Pixie,” William said.
“Pixie, Pixie, Pixie,” Maeve said. Maeve tapped the words out purposefully, moving her fingers along an invisible keyboard. “Did you rat on me?”
Molly tossed her arm around her father’s shoulders, casually, a simple affection. “I told you I could keep a secret.”
“I was worried, Maeve. You’re so late. I forced it out of her. Molly said you went to a birthday party in the woods. Is that true?”
“What the heck, Pix!” Maeve railed. “You promised!”
Molly leaned toward Maeve. With her hand to the side of her mouth, she whispered, “I didn’t tell him about the German boy you kissed . . .”
“What’s this? What German boy?”
“You did that on purpose! You’re such a brown-noser, Pix,” Maeve said. She spat the P sound. “I’m never trusting you with a secret again!”
Her mother appeared at the foot of the stairs, velour robe over her nightgown. “Oh, God. Okay. Molly, you heard your dad. Back to bed.” She clapped her hands, and Molly slid off her father’s lap like a pancake off a spatula.
Maeve knew she was in deep trouble but couldn’t stop giggling. Wendy had stifled her laughter earlier with a finger pressed to Maeve’s lip. She bit the spot, tasted bug spray and beer. All worth it.
“You know what?” Her mother circled her finger in the air. “Everyone. Go to bed. William, you better walk behind that one so she doesn’t fall and break her neck. We’re really disappointed, Maeve. You know better.”
Upstairs, Maeve collapsed into bed. She didn’t like that her mother was disappointed, and her father had said there would be punishment in the morning.
Plus she’d probably get a talking-to about that business with Oskar, but Maeve didn’t care.
Nope, Maeve couldn’t care less. She’d led the girls through the woods, down a path to a ditch where they wouldn’t be found.
She was the one who made sure the cops were gone.
She was the one who’d spotted Wendy’s keys on the ground.
And the way Wendy had looked at her when they found their way back to the parked car . . .
A persistent knock made Maeve open her sleepy eyes. The bedroom door creaked, and a moment later, Molly stood next to her bed.
“What do you want, snitch?”
“Sorry I told. It slipped out.”
Even though she got caught by her parents, Maeve still felt like she’d gotten away with something. And it felt way better than shoplifting ever did. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t care.”
“You’re not mad?”
In that hazy light, Maeve saw Molly for what she was—her little sister busy with child’s play, her little sister, too little to understand Maeve at all. In a way she hadn’t in ages, Maeve felt full grown. She wouldn’t need Molly to be her best friend anymore.
She steeled her voice, tried to sound like their mother. “I’m not mad. Go to bed, Pix.”