Page 15 of Better Than the Movies
I checked my phone—no message from Wes. He was fifteen—no,seventeen—minutes late, and he still hadn’t sent a singleSorry I’m running latetext.
Why had I even bothered being ready on time? He’d probably forgotten all about me and was already at the party with a beer in his hand. He’d texted me last night to say that Michael was happy to hear I’d be going to the party, and it’d killed me not to ask all the middle school questions.
Did he say anything about me?
Tell me his exact words.
Ultimately, I’d refrained because Wes would only use that against me.
My phone buzzed and I pulled it out of my pocket.
Jocelyn: What’re you doing?
I put it back without responding as guilt twisted around in my belly. I usually told her everything, but I knew she wouldn’t approve of me going to the party.Do you even know who Ryno is? Michael Young is NOT your racing-to-the-train-station dude.The minute she’d said that, I’d known she had no idea how much this mattered to me.
I was going to just go to the party, and I’d text her after I got home.
My dad asked, “You’ll be home by midnight?”
“Yep.”
“Not a second later, understand?” My dad looked more serious than usual and added, “Nothing good happens after midnight.”
“I know, I know.” He said those words every single time I went out. “I’ll call if—”
“No, you won’t.” My always laid-back father gave a shake of his head and pointed at me. “You will just make it a priority tonotbe late. Understand?”
“Honey, relax—she gets it.” Helena and I exchanged looks of understanding before she pointed out the window and started rambling to him about the grass. My dad was only ever tense when it came to curfew, and it was only because of my mother’s death. His favorite thing to say if I ever dared to push back wasIf your mom hadn’t been out at midnight, that drunk driver couldn’t have hit her.
And he was right. And intense. So I pretty much always shut up about it.
I kept tapping my nails on the end table, shaking my crossed legs as nerves settled in. I wasn’t nervous about Michael; I was excited about that part. What I was nervous about was going to a party with the populars. I didn’t know any of them besides Wes, and my awkward self knew even less about how to act at a keg party.
Because I’d never been to a keg party.
I was more of a low-key girl. On a typical Friday night, Joss, Kate, Cassidy, and I went to a movie or hung out at the bookstore or maybe went to Applebee’s for cheap appetizers. Occasionally we went shopping and ended up at Denny’s or Scooter’s Coffee.
And I liked my predictable life. I understood it, controlled it, and it made sense to me. In my head, my life was a rom-com and I was living it like a Meg Ryan–type character. Cute dresses, good friends, and the eventual appearance of a boy who would find me lovely. Keg parties played no part in that. They belonged in aSuperbadkind of life, right?
“And the parents are home?”
I rolled my eyes and Mr. Fitzpervert jumped onto my lap. “Yes, Dad, the parents are home.”
Spoiler: they were not home.
But my dad and Helena were super chill parents. They trusted me, mainly because I rarely went out and never got into trouble, so they didn’t feel the need to call and check up on me when I was away from home. So yeah—I felt a little guilty about lying,but since I didn’t plan to do anything they wouldn’t approve of (except a best-case scenario that had me and Michael kissing on the back porch under a clear night sky with “ocean eyes” by Billie Eilish on a speaker in the background and his hands cradling my face as my right foot popped at just the right moment like in the movies), my guilt was but a fraction of what it could’ve been.
I scratched behind Fitzpervert’s ear, which made him purr and bite my hand.
He was such a dick.
He was currently sporting the gingham bow tie that I’d purchased on DapperTabby.com, so he looked dashing in an I-want-to-murder-you-but-I-eat-too-much-to-actually-move kind of way. The tiedidaccentuate his recent weight gain, so I wasn’t mad that he’d lashed out.
I got it.
I set him on the floor and walked over to the window, and there was Wes, as if my thoughts had summoned him. He hopped down his porch steps wearing jeans and a hoodie, and proceeded to walk across our front yard.
“He’s here. Bye, guys.” I grabbed my purse and reached for the door.
