Did I Mention I Love You? (Did I Mention I Love You (DIMILY) Book 1)

Just after 8PM, Meghan takes us all over to this party that I’m dreading beyond words. I’m dreading it so much I wish I’d gone out to the family meal with Dad and Ella. Surely forcing overpriced food down my throat would be better than the bitter taste of cheap liquor.

We pile into the silver Toyota Corolla as the darkness begins to filter through the setting sun in such a beautiful way that I find myself gazing down the street toward the horizon before Rachael calls shotgun and nudges me to the side. I unwillingly get in the backseat with Tyler seated in the middle between Tiffani and me, beer in his lap and vodka by my feet. There’s an overwhelming combination of body spray and perfume and Tyler’s cologne, not to mention the music that’s increasing in volume with each passing second. The car rolls down the street at, thankfully, a safe speed. Meghan drives with her body rigid and huddled over the wheel, and she doesn’t say a word. It’s like she’s terrified of getting distracted, so while she concentrates hard on the road, Rachael and Tiffani do enough talking to make up for her silence.

“If Molly Jefferson is at this party, I swear to God, I’m leaving,” Rachael states without glancing up from her phone. She’s texting extremely quickly, her fingers moving so fast that I just watch in amazement.

“Why would that loser be there?” Tiffani lets out a laugh as she adjusts her hair, running her fingers through it until she’s pleased with the way it’s sitting. “Austin’s a total creep, but at least he has standards. No losers.” For a moment, she leans forward an inch to peer at me over Tyler, but then she smiles and gets comfy again.

As we travel across the city, I steal a glance to my left. Tyler’s arms are folded across his chest and he doesn’t quite look comfortable, his eyes fixed on the handbrake, his face tight. He must notice my eyes on him, because he quickly glances sideways at me and then looks away just as fast. So I angle my body to the side and train my eyes on the passing buildings outside the window instead, but it does little to help how awkward I feel. Every few minutes I can sense Tyler’s eyes on me again, but each time I look back over to catch him in the act he’s already looking in the opposite direction.

“What about that Sabine girl? Sabine . . .?” Rachael glances up from her phone and presses a finger to her lips as she thinks for a moment. She twirls around in the seat and squints at Tiffani through the gap in the headrest. “You know the one I’m talking about, right? The German exchange student?”

“The girl who stole my seat in Spanish class? Sabine Baumann.”

“Yes!” Rachael shrieks as she slumps back in the seat. “I hope she’s not there either. She’s always staring at Trevor.”

“And you, Tyler,” Tiffani adds. Beside me, I feel Tyler shrug, but it’s obvious this Sabine girl isn’t her friend. She presses her lips together and scoots closer to him.

The two of them discuss other potential party guests, with the rest of us offering little input: Meghan because she’s too busy trying not to kill us all; Tyler because he’s focusing so hard on staring at nothing in particular; and me because I honestly couldn’t care.

So fifteen minutes and a lot of hair adjustments and bitchy remarks later, we arrive at the party, which appears to be in full swing. There are several people loitering in the front yard and more arriving, the music loud and echoing as we step out of the car, which Meghan has managed to awkwardly squeeze into a spot between a beat-up truck and a convertible. We grab the booze and I end up carrying in a pack of Twisted Tea and a bottle of vodka, and suddenly I feel like an alcoholic. I bet the neighbors are peeking through their blinds with the cops on speed dial. It’s so obvious that we’re all minors. I have no idea where Tiffani, Rachael and Meghan got any of this from or how they managed to get it, but like every other teenager in this country they must have their ways. There are always ways.

“Hey, Tyler!” a voice yells across the lawn. A shorter guy with a buzz cut and a Budweiser in his hand approaches him and they greet each other with a fist bump. “Glad you could make it.”

“Yeah,” Tyler says. He nods to the crate of Bud Light under his arm. “Kitchen?”

“Yeah,” the guy says, jabbing a finger out toward the house. “Dump it and come join us.” Tyler disappears inside, greeting a number of people on the way, his steps uneven.

“Hey, Austin!” Tiffani says to the same guy—the host of the party. I tag along behind her, with Rachael and Meghan by my side, and I can’t help but feel entirely out of place. I don’t know any of these people, yet here I am, turning up at a party and praying that no one will notice the stranger among them.

“Enjoy yourselves, girls,” Austin says, and there is so much lechery underlying his tone that it makes him repulsively gross. “Nice dresses.”

“I know,” Tiffani says. She rolls her eyes over her shoulder and down to her ass, biting her lip. But I notice. “By the way, Eden’s here too.”

“Eden?” Austin’s eyes drift past her, darting from Rachael to Meghan and then finally to me. “Crashing my party, Eden?”

Before I can drop dead right there and then, Tiffani steps forward and presses her hand flat against his chest. She leans in close by his side, murmurs, “Eden is Tyler’s stepsister,” and then leans back to fix him with a hard look. “And you don’t want to get on the wrong side of him, so . . .”

Austin’s expression immediately falters and he takes a step back, replacing the smirk on his face with a wide smile. “Welcome to the party! Turn up or go home.” He raises his beer to the sky, whistles for a moment, and then walks away.

“You heard him,” Rachael says. She unscrews the cap of a bottle of vodka she’s holding in her hand and takes one huge gulp, drinking it straight without her features even shifting. She must do this a lot. “Turn the hell up!”

The sky darkens and Tiffani leads the way inside, and I’ve figured by now that she’s the alpha female of the trio. The trio of friends plus me, the tagalong from Portland. And with being the tagalong come anxiety and nerves and the awareness that I’m not welcome here.

The house is pretty much packed from one wall to the other, be it with bodies or crates of beer, and it is very, very hot. The music is loud and the alcohol doesn’t seem to be in short supply. The majority of the people here are already tipsy, if not wasted, and there are only a few who are still standing steady. By the time we weave our way through to the kitchen, Tyler is already gone. His box of beer is lying among the overflowing collection of alcohol that covers the table and every worktop. Used shot glasses decorate the floor, and I carefully step around them before sliding the pack of Twisted Tea and the vodka onto the edge of the table.

“S’cuse me, Rach,” a male voice says from behind us, and when I glance to my right there is a guy moving Rachael to the side by guiding her with his hands around her waist. “I was wondering if you’d show up tonight.”

“Trevor!” Excitedly, she throws herself into his arms and pecks his lips.

Trevor moves around her and fetches himself a beer as she gazes at him the way a three-year-old gazes at a puppy.

“Boyfriend?” I mouth to Meghan, but she shakes her head.

“Catch up with you guys later!” Rachael yells, despite being right next to us all. “Have fun, Eden!” The two of them head out of the kitchen together, Trevor with a beer in his hand and Rachael with the vodka still in hers.

“Rachael’s a total lightweight,” Tiffani says while lining up two new shot glasses, her back to us. “She’s been drinking cocktails since the second she turned up at my place.” True, Rachael did slip out to the kitchen every so often while we were getting ready. Until now, I thought she was just making excessive toilet trips.

Closely, I watch as Tiffani fills the glasses with tequila. “Who’s that Trevor guy?” I ask.

“Her party fling,” she answers in monotone, as though it’s no big deal at all. “They hook up at parties and that’s all it is. Okay, here.” She twirls around, her lips quirked up into a huge grin, and she hands me a glass of Cazadores tequila. I glance at Meghan for help, but she shrugs and holds up her car keys.

I’ve tasted tequila a couple times before, back home in Portland with my limited group of acquaintances, but it didn’t do anything for me besides leave a sour, bitter taste in my mouth. “Oh,” I say as I study the glass. It’s filled to the brim. From the corner of my eye, I notice Tiffani licking the back of her hand. “Oh?”

Meghan laughs softly and rolls her eyes as she reaches for the random salt shaker lying on its side on the worktop. She passes it to Tiffani. “Have you done this before?”

“Tequila?” I ask.

“Tequila done right,” she corrects, arching her brows. “You know, with the lime and all.”

“Oh,” I say again. Back home, all we drink is beer and rum. “Our parties aren’t so . . .”

“Cool?” Tiffani smirks. She pours some salt onto the back of her hand. “You can teach them this when you go back. Now lick the back of your hand between your thumb and forefinger.”

I feel dumb all of a sudden. It’s like I’m in freshman year all over again, where I’m subject to scrutiny by the much older, much cooler students. But this isn’t high school and they aren’t other students. This is a party and they know exactly what to do and what to say and how to fit in. I, on the other hand, have no clue. “Okay,” I say, and lick my hand. I feel ridiculous, and I’m beginning to wonder if Dad and Ella are home yet.

“Salt.” Tiffani passes me the shaker and I pour a small amount onto my skin, mimicking her. It sticks. “Okay, there’s gotta be limes somewhere.”

“Tiff, they’re right there,” Meghan says, and laughs as she points to the basket of limes that has clearly been provided for this exact purpose. I don’t even like limes.

Tiffani presses her hand to her forehead and then sighs. “I haven’t even had one drink yet and I’m already going blind. Alright, grab a slice. Eden, hold it in the hand with the salt.”

I do as instructed, placing the lime slice between my thumb and forefinger and then staring back at her, waiting to hear what my next move should be. “Now?”

“Salt, tequila, lime,” Meghan answers instead. She steps back to examine Tiffani and me, and when Tiffani nods, she cheers, “Go, go, go!”

I panic but lick the salt anyway and throw my head back as I attempt to force the tequila down my throat. I fight the urge to gag. It’s so gross and so bitter. I remember the lime in my hand and bite into it, despite how screwed up my face is, but the juice only squirts all over my cheeks and I make a dive for the kitchen sink, spluttering the drink all over it.

When I get home, I am so dead.

“You know what they say,” Tiffani says with a grin. I must look horrified, and she quickly passes me a can of beer, as though it’ll help to clear the taste. “One tequila, two tequila, three tequila, floor.” Several people file into the kitchen to top up their drinks, and she decides to seize this opportunity as her getaway. “I’m gonna go find Tyler. You guys have fun.”

The music gets louder all of a sudden, bouncing from the walls and drilling into my ears. The intense beat drops are giving me a headache. Meghan reaches for my free hand and pulls me out of the kitchen and into a large—but cramped—living room. She talks to a couple people on our way, but thankfully none of them ask her why there’s a loser by her side.

A bulky guy approaches us from the opposite side of the room, and Meghan instantly yells “Jake!” over the sound of the music.

“Hey, Megs,” Jake says. He’s wearing a black T-shirt with a huge slogan scrawled across the front of it, which I don’t bother to read, and his blond hair is gelled messily in all directions. “Where are Tiff and Rach?” Jake, I discover, likes to cut names short.

“Rachael’s with Trevor,” Meghan says, and she rolls her eyes, as does he, “and Tiffani’s looking for Tyler. Seen him?”

I notice the way Jake’s expression hardens slightly. “Yeah,” he says a little stiffly. “Doing what he does.”

Meghan glances sideways at me, bites her lip, and then moves the conversation on. “Where’s Dean?”

“He was looking for you guys.” Jake laughs, his expression softening as he takes a sip of his beer. As he swallows it, he stares at me. “Who’s the new girl?”

“Eden,” I answer before Meghan can. I already know which questions are coming next, so I go ahead and throw the answers out there before Jake can even ask. “I’m Tyler’s stepsister. I’m here for the summer.” There go his hardened features again. He shoots Meghan a glance, and she shrugs in return. “What?”

“Um,” Meghan says. “I’m gonna go check on Rachael. Gotta make sure she doesn’t get knocked up.”

“Want some rubbers to give ’em?” Jake smirks. He pats his pockets in a joking manner and then chuckles. Meghan giggles, adjusts her hair, and then leaves. “So you’re Tyler Bruce’s stepsister?”

I want to shake my head no, but that would be bullshit, so I murmur a quick “Yeah,” and then change the subject as quickly as I can. I ask him the first thing that pops into my head. “Are you all seniors?”

He tilts his head. “Aren’t you?”

“Junior,” I say quietly. Yet another reason why I’m so out of place here. I’m a junior attending a senior party. There’s no way Amelia is going to believe this. In Portland, seniors refuse to associate with the rest of us. The guys are too cool for us, the girls too busy acting like adults. It’s almost as though they believe they’re a superior race. Kind of like New Yorkers.

“Where did you say you were from again?”

I reel my attention back to Jake. “Um, Portland.”

“Portland, Maine?”

“Portland, Oregon,” I correct. Jake takes another swig of his beer, and the silence and blunt conversation is making the entire thing awkward. “Sorry, where’d you say Tyler was again?”

He stops drinking and raises a brow. “Why does it matter?”

Because I want to go home and we just so happen to share the same one. “I’ve got to get a beer for him.” Sold.

Jake hesitates for a long moment before finally saying, “He’s out back. Watch yourself.”

“Thanks.” I take a quick sip of my own drink and head out into the hall, following it down toward the back of the house and through the mass of bodies. Bodies that do not include Tiffani and Rachael and Meghan. And right now, I could really do with having them with me. I’ve been abandoned among a crowd of strangers in a brand-new city and it certainly doesn’t feel great.

At the end of the hall, there’s a back door left open with people slipping in and out of the house, so I squeeze by and step outside into the yard, laying my beer down on the patio table. There’s a guy throwing up by the fence and a girl passed out on the lawn. I contemplate helping her, but my attention is immediately diverted to the eruption of laughter from the shed in the corner. The laughter sounds as though it belongs to a group of guys, so I build up some courage and head over there. If I don’t, I’ll be stuck at this party until some unearthly hour of the morning.

As I get nearer, I notice the smoke in the air. There’s no window and the door is shut, so I reach for it and pull it open. Immediately I’m hit with the most overwhelming smell of weed, so overwhelming that as the smoke escapes into the night air all at once tears whelm in my eyes. I clasp a hand to my mouth and cough, squeezing my eyes shut and taking a step back.

“Is that weed?” I blurt.

“No, it’s cotton candy,” someone shoots back, and the shed rings with howls of laughter. But there’s nothing funny about this at all.

I open my eyes again as the air clears and I find four guys staring back at me. One of them is Tyler. There’s a joint in his hand and he’s attempting to hide it behind his leg, but it doesn’t make a difference. I can still see it, the same way I can see the panic and alarm crossing his features. “Are you serious?” I ask in disbelief.

“Dude, get this chick outta here,” someone mutters. I don’t even know which one of the other three is talking. I don’t care about the others. My eyes are locked on Tyler. “Unless she wants to come in here and keep us company.”

“Bro,” Tyler says, but it’s hard to ignore the shake in his voice as he swallows and forces a small laugh to escape his lips. His eyes are glazed, pupils wide. “You really want that kid in here?”

There’s more laughter, but Tyler doesn’t join in with the combination of chuckling and coughing. He’s just gnawing on his lips and glancing between me and his friends, not quite sure of the best way to handle the situation. For starters, he should get rid of the joint that’s still in his hand.

“Who the hell is she?” the same guy asks. More smoke wafts toward me as someone exhales, but I quickly wave it away from me. “Has no one taught her the rules?” I squint through the dispersing plume of smoke until I spot the pair of bloodshot eyes struggling to focus on me. The black guy that they belong to is grinning. “No interrupting, babe. Get the fuck out of here unless you’re here to ball with us.” He takes a step forward and holds up the glowing joint in his hand. It’s almost burnt out, but he offers it to me nonetheless.

As though I’d actually consider taking it from him, Tyler steps in between the joint and me. He licks his index finger and presses it to the cherry of his own joint, extinguishing it and then stuffing it into his pocket before straightening up and glowering at the guy in front of him. “What the hell are you doing?” he asks, nodding to the jay in his hand. “C’mon, Clayton, where’s your common sense?”

Clayton moves the hovering joint back to his lips, drawing on it for a long moment before exhaling the smoke toward Tyler’s face. “Offering her a hit is common sense. It’s called good manners. It would be rude not to,” he says. He peers at me over Tyler’s shoulder. “Am I right, new girl?”

The other two guys stifle a laugh again, but they’re not paying too much attention anymore. I think they’re too baked to even care. They’re just standing around at the back of the shed, laughing, grins wide. Tyler, on the other hand, is not so easily entertained.

“Dude, take the damn hint,” he hisses. He takes a step backward and his body nudges against mine, forcing me to back away too. “She doesn’t want it. Look at her.” He glances over his shoulder at my repulsed expression, and he ends up staring at me for a moment longer than I feel comfortable with. Even when Clayton speaks again, Tyler’s just looking at me.

“Alright, alright,” Clayton says. “Just get her outta here then. Why do we have some random kid in here anyway?”

“I’m wondering the same thing,” Tyler murmurs. Suddenly he turns to face me. Completely disgusted by the smoking, I shake my head at him. I wonder if Ella knows about this. Is she aware that he’s out here spending his night getting high?

Tyler takes a step toward me, but as he shifts, his curled-up fist knocks against something. His eyes fall to his right and my stare follows until it lands on a small metallic table and the tiny lamp perched on the corner of it. I’m about to look away when I notice what’s on that table and beneath the light. There’s a stack of dollar bills and some credit cards scattered around, and, most importantly, a row of neat lines. White powder lines.

“Oh my God,” I whisper, blinking as fast as I can, because I have no idea if the smoke I’ve just inhaled is having an effect on me or if I’m really seeing what is truly there. “Oh my God?”

“Dude, seriously, I’m not kidding.” It’s Clayton. “Get her out of here before she calls us out to the cops or something.”

“Yeah, yeah, she’s leaving,” Tyler replies. At the same time he reaches for my elbow, gently pushing me away from the shed. I’m surprised he follows, pulling me across the yard until we’re away from everyone else and out of hearing range.

“You’re unbelievable,” I hiss while I shake his hand off me. “Coke? Really, Tyler?”

He appears helpless before me, like this is the first time he’s ever been confronted about it, because he just presses his hands to his face and groans. “This isn’t the place for you,” he says once he drops his hands. He stuffs them into his pockets and kicks at the grass. “You should—you should go back inside.”

I grind my teeth. I’ve never been in a situation like this before, so I’m not entirely sure how I’m supposed to handle it. Do I try to talk to him about it? Do I call Ella? The cops? Eventually, I just decide to storm off. I push him out of the way, my pulse racing and my blood hot. I’m infuriated by what I’ve just witnessed. I want to kick something, punch a wall, tear someone’s limbs off. I’m so mad.

Tyler heads back over to the shed, and I don’t know what he says to his friends when he gets there, but all of a sudden they burst into howls of laughter. I can hear it echoing behind me and I can’t help but wonder if it’s me they’re laughing at.

“Dude, come on,” someone calls. The laughter in the shed stops. “That’s low. Chill out.”

“Shut the fuck up, Dean,” I hear Tyler say, but I don’t bother to turn around. I’m too pissed off to even look at him.

I hear footsteps running, and I glance up to the guy when he catches up to me. “You’re Dean?”

“And I’m going to have a wild guess and say you’re Tyler’s stepsister,” he says. There’s a hand resting in his brown hair as he looks at me. “You’re the only person here that I’ve never seen before and Meghan says that this mysterious stepsister just so happens to be at this lame party. So am I right?”

I force a smile. “Yeah. Hey, you don’t happen to know which number Tyler’s house is? The one on Deidre Avenue? I need to get home, but I . . . I don’t know the address.”

“Would I happen to know where my best friend lives?” Dean grins. “329.”

“Best friend?” I glance back over to the shed. Five seconds ago they were cursing across the yard to each other.

“Complicated,” he says, and then points to the house. “I can give you a ride home. My car’s parked just down the block.”

“Have you been drinking?”

“If I’d had anything to drink, I wouldn’t be offering to give you a ride.”

I heave a sigh. “Thank you.”

He heads back to the house and I follow by his side, my mind awhirl. And to think I thought Tyler couldn’t get any worse. I slow down for a second to look back at the shed, and with the door still open, I get a clear view of him reaching back into his pocket and pulling out the remainder of his joint. Just as he presses it to his lips and sets it alight, he notices my stare.

For the briefest of moments, he grimaces and drops his eyes to the floor. Someone forces a beer into his free hand, but he doesn’t acknowledge it. Instead, he just stands there as though he’s frozen in place and can’t possibly move, his shoulders sunken and his head low. And then he breaks free of his paralysis and shifts his way to the back of the shed, as far away from me as possible, so that the only thing I can see is an orange glow blazing in the darkness.

*    *    *

As Dean is driving me home, it suddenly hits me that I’m about to have a lot of explaining to do. Not only did I bail on Dad’s plans by convincing him I was sick, I also left the house and went to a party instead. Right now he’s probably already calling the cops to report me missing. And to make matters worse, I’m returning home in a dress that barely covers half my body.

“My dad is gonna kill me,” I murmur as I rest my head on the window. “I was meant to be sick.”

Dean glances at me. “Did you make a miraculous recovery or something like that?”

“Something like that.” I sit up and reach for my phone—it’s second nature—but I discover I have no pockets and no phone. I left it at Tiffani’s. “Crap.”

“What’s up?”

“Nothing.” I heave a frustrated sigh and scour the dashboard for the time. It’s almost eleven. I stuck around at the party for barely an hour. If I’d stayed any longer, I would have only found more reasons to despise Tyler and even more reasons to question my sanity. “Are you heading back there?”

“Yeah,” Dean says as he pulls onto Deidre Avenue. “I’m kind of Jake’s designated driver,” he chuckles. “Gotta make sure the guy gets home.”

“What about Tyler?” I ask, and then I mentally curse myself out for even caring.

Dean smiles a little. “Tyler doesn’t really go home.”

“What does he do? Does he just pass out in the street or something?” I fold my arms, contemptuous but also slightly curious. “Spend the night in a jail cell?”

“Not exactly,” Dean says. “He normally just goes back to Tiffani’s place with her.”

“Oh.” Gross. “I can’t believe he does drugs.” Even grosser. “Did you know?”

There’s a long silence. “Everyone knows.”

Jake’s earlier expression and Meghan’s hesitant glances suddenly make sense now. They both knew what Tyler was up to.

“Why don’t any of you stop him then?” I find it insane that these people are supposedly his friends, yet despite being aware that he’s doing coke ten feet away from them they aren’t doing anything to help him or stop him. “I mean, does his mom even know?”

“Trust me, I’ve tried,” Dean says. He pulls up outside Dad’s house and cuts the engine. “But getting through to Tyler is like getting through a brick wall. It’s literally impossible. The guy just doesn’t listen. We all just gotta ignore it. I think his mom knows about the weed, but definitely not the coke.”

“He’s disgusting.” Shaking my head in disbelief, I reach for the handle and push the car door open. With my other hand, I quickly open up the small clutch purse I borrowed from Tiffani and rummage through until I grab the first bill I find. It’s five dollars, and it’s crinkled to the point of being void, but it’s enough to cover the cost of the journey. I hand it to Dean. “Thanks for the ride.”

“What’s this?” He stares down at the wrecked note with a perplexed frown before glancing back at me.

“It’s to cover the gas.” I urge the money into his hands, but he refuses to accept it, so I sigh. “Take it.”

“Eden, don’t sweat it, honestly,” he says with a laugh. “Just tell Ella I said hey and we’re good.”

I narrow my eyes at him, skeptical. Back in Portland it’s the social norm to hand over a couple bucks to contribute to the cost of the gas if someone gives you a ride. If you step out of the car without offering a cent, you’re pretty much blacklisted from the circle and you’ll be lucky if you’re ever offered a ride again. Maybe they give each other free rides down here, or maybe Dean’s just too nice for his own good. Either way, I toss the bill onto the dashboard and jump out of the car before he can give it back to me.

“Keep it!” I call, twirling around and slamming the door shut behind me as I rush toward the house.

That’s when I notice that the lights are all on inside. Dad will either be extremely understanding or absolutely livid. Most likely the latter. Maybe I can slip in through the back without Dad and Ella even noticing. Run up to my room, pull on some PJs, and then convince them that I’ve been there the entire time. Or just break down into tears and beg for forgiveness.

Bracing myself, I pull Tiffani’s dress as far down my thighs as it’s willing to go and stretch it a little to cover a few more inches of my body. Every little helps. I pull off the irritating fake eyelashes too and toss them onto the lawn. I carry with me the noticeable waft of liquor and there’s nothing I can do to get rid of it. I just have to face the fact that I lied and deserve to be cast into the pits of hell.

The door is unlocked when I reach it, so I slip inside as quietly as possible and creep across the hall. But I’m not as discreet as I think I am, because Dad calls my name from the living room.

I bite down on my lip and step toward the door, peering around the frame only slightly. I keep my body well hidden. “Hey.”

“Hey?” Dad repeats, blinking as he stares at me in a flabbergasted sort of way. “Is that what you’re going to come in here and say? HEY?”

“Hello?” I try instead. I’ve never been one to get myself into trouble, so all this sneaking around is entirely new to me. Mom’s grounded me twice in sixteen years. Dad hasn’t been around to ground me in the first place. “I’m home.”

“Yeah, I can see that you’re home,” Dad says, his voice gruff and scolding as he gets to his feet. Ella watches from the couch. “Which is where you were meant to be the whole night. You weren’t feeling great, but now it seems you’re feeling absolutely fine. What’s up with that?”

“I was at Tiffani’s house,” I blurt. This is partially true. “Girls’ night. I felt a little better, so I went. I thought you’d be okay with it.”

“Tyler’s girlfriend?” Ella chirps. She too gets to her feet.

Unfortunately for Tiffani, yes. “Yeah.”

“Speaking of Tyler,” Dad mutters, “where the hell did he sneak off to?”

“I don’t know,” I lie. Right now, he’s smoking joints and snorting coke and drinking beer and laughing at slurred jokes that aren’t even funny. “He was still here when I left.” It would be so easy just to blurt out to Ella that her son is a pothead. That would teach him not to be a jerk to me. But for some reason I feel as though it’s not my place to tell, so I continue to cover for him. It’s as though I can’t stop the words from spilling out of my mouth. “Maybe he went to get food or something.”

“His car’s still here,” Ella points out. She looks disappointed, like she was hoping he would be the child who walked through the front door and not me.

“Maybe a walk?”

“I doubt that,” she says. “He won’t answer my calls.” It must be hard for her having to deal with a kid who is almost impossible to handle.

“Eden,” Dad says. “I smell alcohol. I don’t like you lying to me.”

I stare at him, wondering what he’s referring to: lying about being sick, lying about being at Tiffani’s, or lying about not knowing where Tyler is. For some reason, there’s a sudden wave of anger fusing through my veins and I have no idea why. My face contorts. “And I don’t like you walking out on Mom, but things don’t always go the way we want them to.”

I don’t wait around to hear Dad’s reply. I ball my hands into fists and quickly dart up the stairs and into my room. The tequila churns in my stomach, reminding me that I could barely survive the party for more than an hour. The loud music has given me a headache and I can still recall the powerful reek of weed. Now I really do feel sick, and this time it isn’t just an excuse.

*    *    *

I awake in the morning to the sound of Ella’s voice bouncing around the house and Tyler’s voice echoing twice as loud. I stare at the ceiling for a little while, listening to their yelling and wondering what time it is. And whatever time it actually is, it feels way too early for this. Tyler must have found his way home from Austin’s.

With the sunlight streaming into my room and the sound of someone mowing their lawn difficult to ignore, I decide to get up and pull on some clothes. As I’m doing this, I hear loud footsteps on the stairs and cursing. It can only be one person, and this one person just so happens to decide to enter my room.

“Did you know there’s this thing that exists called—oh, I don’t know—privacy?” I fix my intruder with a firm glare before I finish pulling on my hoodie.

Tyler cocks his head to one side as he shuts the door. “Here’s your stuff.” In his hands he’s holding my clothes that I left behind at Tiffani’s, and he lays them down on my bed. Surprisingly, his voice his calm now. Five seconds ago it was loud enough to deafen a small child. “And your, uh, phone.” He edges a little toward me and I take it from him, slowly, as I stare up at his face. He’s struggling to meet my eyes.

“Thanks,” I say, bluntly. I’m still unbelievably furious at him.

Silence captures my room for a long moment. He slowly turns to leave, but before he reaches the door he spins back around again. “Look,” he starts, “about last night—”

“I already know that you’re a jerk and that you do drugs and that you’re pathetic as hell,” I say. “You don’t have to explain it to me.”

He frowns, his lips forming a firm line as he furrows his eyebrows and takes a few hesitant steps toward me. “Just—just don’t say anything.”

I fold my arms, gazing at him curiously. For once, he doesn’t look terrifying. “Are you asking me not to snitch?”

“Don’t tell my mom or your dad anything,” he says, and his voice is so soft and almost pleading that it’s leaving me slightly confused. At least the begging side of him is nice. “Just forget about it.”

“I can’t believe you’re involved in that stuff,” I murmur, glancing down at my phone—four missed calls from Dad—and then tossing it onto my bed. “Why do you even do that? It really doesn’t make you look cool if that’s what you’re trying to do.”

“Not even close.”

I throw my hands up in exasperation. “Then what?”

“I don’t know,” he mutters. “I’m not here for a lecture, okay? I just came to give you your stuff back and to tell you to keep your mouth shut.” He throws a hand into his hair and glances away.

Maybe I’m sleep deprived or maybe I’m just insane, but I somehow gather up the courage to ask him the question that’s been playing on my lips since Friday. “Why do you hate me so much?”

This takes Tyler by surprise. He suddenly looks perplexed. “Who said I hated you?”

“Um,” I say. “You kind of insult me every chance you get. I get that it’s weird having a stepsister all of a sudden, but it’s weird for me too. We got off on the wrong foot, I think.”

“No,” Tyler says, shaking his head as he laughs. “You don’t get it at all.” Quickly scanning my room, he narrows his eyes and finally turns for the door again.

“What don’t I get?” I call after him.

“Everything,” he shoots back.