Page 40 of My High School Rebel Boyfriend
“Yeah. I finish at twelve.”
“Okay, I’ll see you later.” And my heart fluttered, but I told myself it wasn’t a romantic thing. No, he was just making sure that I was protecting his secret.
Bella told me there was a party at Jack’s friend’s house, as did several other people I didn’t even know. The information was passed around freely and that’s what I told Mitchell when I met him. He was waiting for me at the entrance, the orange jacket gone, standing in a white shirt, his arms crossed over his chest in defiance of the cold.
“Okay, let’s go,” he said.
“Really? We won’t know anyone except Bella.”
“You were invited?”
“Yeah.”
Mitchell shrugged. “Let’s go then. A chance to crash a Covington party sounds good!”
I smiled, hoping that it was because he wanted to spend time with me, but knowing it was more likely he was in no rush to go home.
The party was at someone called Devon’s house, a grand mansion with river views. It was a white house with huge windows that we could see from our side of the river, and it seemed surreal that Mitchell and I were wandering through it, checking out all its rooms. Several people had offered us drinks and Mitchell had taken a beer. I took a mineral water, something to occupy my hands.
Mitchell had insisted I wear his black puffer jacket, and I felt bad but he said he wasn’t cold. Inside the house it felt like we could’ve been in the tropics.
Outside there was a pool area and a bunch of kids were sitting in a hot tub, steaming and bubbling like a cauldron. I had a feeling most of them were in their underwear. Mitchell and I sat in a corner, on a step surrounded by exotic palms. We talked and laughed about the kids, none of whom we knew, but it didn’t matter. Everyone was having a good time, a lot of them drunk I presumed.
Mitchell’s one beer turned into a few more, as he said he couldn’t refuse the good European brand which he’d never normally drink. He seemed to mellow out and I didn’t say anything about him supposedly driving me home; I already knew I would do it. When he put his arm around me, instead of feeling awkward, I leaned into him. It wasn’t about romance I told myself, it was two friends bounded by an unspoken truth. He knew that I knew about his father’s abuse. And though I didn’t drink myself—alcohol could make my blood sugars go haywire—I could see Mitchell needed this time to chill out.
“I’m not hurting you, am I?” I said as he pulled me in closer.
“No, not a bit. You’re keeping me warm.”
“Do you want your jacketback?”
He shook his head. “Nah. I like you in it.”
I smiled. I liked being in his arms.
We talked about how amazing the house was, the views, the grandeur, only miles away from where we lived but like a whole different world.
“Imagine being able to jump in the jacuzzi every evening,” I said, “that would be so awesome.”
“Yeah, it would,” Mitchell said, and then he paused. “I said some pretty nasty things to you, Harper.”
I drew in a sharp inhale. With his left arm around me he stroked down the length of my arm, over the jacket, but it made me shiver.
“You should hate me for the things I said,” he murmured, taking another swig of his drink.
I sat still, almost scared to breathe. As his fingers laced through my hair I couldn’t remember one hateful thing he’d said to me. His fingers tangled and twirled and I felt like Cleopatra, exalted and adored.
“I dream about this hair,” he whispered, his lips gently caressing it. “Soft and silky.” And straight out of a box, I giggled to myself,Vivid Copper. “You’ll think I’m crazy but you give me butterflies. Whenever I think about you.” He laughed softly, like he wasn’t even talking to me, just expressing his emotions out loud, not needing a response.
And I didn’t give him one. I sat and enjoyed his touch, sensations rolling through me, from the roof of my mouth to the tips of my silver colored painted toenails. I savored the warmth, the tingles, his words...for what they were—alcohol infused. Mitchell was drunk...and tomorrow he probably wouldn’t remember a word he’d said.
When I realized his hand had stopped moving I knew he’d fallen asleep. I didn’t like to make him move, but we could hardly spend the night at some random Covington mansion.
“Time we went home,” I said, tapping his shoulder and coaxing him to his feet. The three empty beer bottles beside us were only half ofwhat he’d drunk, and he carelessly picked one up and drained the few remaining drops.
Having met Mitchell’s father and knowing what he was capable of, there was only one option for me—take Mitchell to my house. He could sleep in Nadine’s room. I got him buckled in and I took a few minutes to adjust the seat and check the dashboard, his car different from Mom’s. Satisfied I had the lights and blinkers sorted, I pulled out. It was only a five mile drive home, and I wasn’t fazed by driving a completely unfamiliar car. It was Mom who was nervous about me driving, always worried I would randomly have a low. The health team guidelines recommended that I get my diabetes under control before I drive regularly and that was enough for Mom to put a red light on me having my own car. For now, she kept saying. Unfortunately for me she’d also watched one of those police shows where a woman was driving dangerously while in the state of hypoglycemia. That had sealed my fate. I had learnt it was easier to ride with someone else.
Drunk, tired Mitchell was compliant with everything I asked of him:Be quiet as we go up the steps. Watch the mat. Take off your shoes.
