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 had her to watch over them and get them home. And sure, it was fun to drive the Mustang.
The gathering at the lake was on a private beach; the owner was a summer person who surely wouldn’t mind if the Manningsport youth used her property. Colleen parked the Stang on the street and followed the path down to the lake, the sound of peepers shrill and sweet.
The party was already in progress; Asswipe Jones lit a fire on the small beach, and a radio was playing. Two or three couples were out on the dock, smooching. There was laughter and a shriek as Angela Mitchum’s date, a kid from Corning, picked her up and threatened to throw her in the water.
Bryce and Tanya weren’t the only ones drinking. Colleen made the rounds and ensured that those who were had a ride with a sober driver; most of the kids had come via limo; Colleen had seen one parked on the street, the driver smoking a cigarette and talking on the phone.
After a while, most of the couples left. It had gotten colder, and the night was winding down. There were still a few couples left—the drinkers, naturally.
Sigh. The curse of the designated driver. She’d volunteered, after all. She checked her phone, hoping to call Con to alleviate her boredom. No cell service down here, though.
Stifling a yawn, she sat down on the sand, which was a little chilly. The stars stretched and blazed above, and a comet streaked across the eastern sky, and then her eyes were closed.
She awoke to the sound of angry voices.
“Fuck you, pretty boy,” someone was saying. Great. It was Jake Green, one of the too-privileged lacrosse players. He’d been the first of the nine who’d asked Colleen to the prom and was now talking to Bryce out on the dock.
Colleen got up. Tanya was sitting with her head in her hands, crying. “What happened?” Colleen said, putting an arm around her. “Honey? You okay?”
“My shoe broke,” Tanya sobbed. “See?” She held it up for inspection. “The heel just snapped. And they’re so pretty!”
Colleen
