Page 10 of The Good Girl's Guide to Being Bad

“Well, you know how it is,” I said, echoing her. “Went to a party, hung out with the girls, read raunchy romance to little old ladies with a thing for men in kilts. Those guys at Shady Grove know how to have a good time.”

She laughed. “Did Betty have a good birthday?”

I thought back to my last sighting of Betty and Cora: They’d been giggling, fanning themselves as they talked about the undeniably sexy Laird Blackwood.

“Betty had a great birthday,” I said, “though I think her taste in books is somewhat inappropriate.”

“Take it from me, Sadie. Even older women need a bit of stimulation now and then.”

“Gross, Mom.”

“Gross but true. Hey, is Betty coming tomorrow for Senior Night?”

“I don’t know why she wouldn’t.”

“I really wanted to wish her happy birthday in person. She’s a great dancer and an even better woman.”

“She definitely is. And here, take this.” Taking the shawl hanging from the coat rack, I dropped it over her bare shoulders, fluffing her blonde hair that was so like mine. The wild curls were somehow softer and fit Mom so much better. “It’s supposed to be cold tonight.”

“Why do I sometimes feel like you’re the parent, and I’m the kid?” she asked.

I shrugged. “Maybe it’s because I was born eighty.”

“So not true.”

“It’s Friday night, Mom.” I sighed, shook my head. “I’m home before ten, and my plans involve a pint of Ben & Jerry’s, curling up with the remote control and studying Physics. Sometimes, I wish I was more like you.”

“I don’t. If you were like seventeen-year-old me, I’d probably have had a heart attack by now.”

I couldn’t help but think back to my CAT results, how dull and boring everyone seemed to think I was. “A test I took said I should become a nun.”

“What a bunch of bullshit,” she scoffed. “You’re just a good kid, Sadie. There’s nothing wrong with that—actually, everything isrightwith that.”

“I love you, too, Mom.”

“I love you more. And if you ever do decide to become a wild teenager, just give me some warning, okay?”

With a smacking kiss, she waved and walked out the door, leaving me with a perfect pair of red lips on my forehead.

Alright, I thought, looking at myself in the hallway mirror. Friday night, nowhere to go, I might as well spend some quality time with two of my favorite guys. After a day like today, I was looking forward to a little ice cream therapy.

Ben and Jerry were calling my name.

A while later, I’d watched the first season and was just starting the second ofSherlock, my Physics book unopened on my nightstand. I had tried. Really I had…okaaay, I’d given it about ten minutes before chucking the book aside. But seriously, on this crappy day, Physics would’ve been like adding insult to injury. The pint of Ben and Jerry’s was long gone. I’d inhaled the Chunky Monkey like oxygen. Jon and Sherlock had just faced down Moriarty in the notorious pool scene when my phone buzzed a text.

“This had better be good,” I muttered.

When I saw who’d sent the message, I nearly pressed ignore—but then my mind registered what it said.

Colton Freakin’ Bishop:K drunk, not sober enough to drive. Need ride ASAP.

I didn’t have time to respond before another text came through.

Colton Freakin’ Bishop:707 Nottingham Rd.

I typed out a quick response, trying to calm my nerves. This was only the second time Kyle had gotten drunk, the first being after his beloved dog Skittles died last year. So why had he gotten drunk this time?

Me:Of course, I’ll be right there.

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