8

Garver’s house isn’t far from mine. Even walking slowly, plotting out with Morgan how I should play things with Charlie tonight, we get there in ten minutes. The old Victorian has a wraparound front porch complete with a swing that looks perfect for soaking up sunny days while watching the world go by. I’d love to enjoy that kind of simple pleasure. It makes me kind of mad to think that people who can often don’t.

Garver appears at the door without us even having to knock. He’s of average height and weight, and has longish dark curly hair, a cute little-boy face, and zero zits. There’s no major geekiness to him that I can detect, other than maybe his WHY AM I HERE T-shirt. He’s certainly not anywhere near as dorky as Morgan always claims.

Garver’s eyes light up when he sees her. “You came!” he yelps.

“Don’t sound so excited,” she says. “Or I might change my mind.”

I press my foot down on top of her toes. Be nice. She wriggles her shoe out from under mine without acknowledging my silent message.

“Any chance you or your hot friend knows how to get beer out of a keg?”

Morgan pushes past Garver, dragging me behind her. She stops short in the kitchen. Two of Garver’s friends—one with a bowl cut and wearing a bow tie, the other with Mr. Spock eyebrows and mustard-colored flood pants—are trying to pry the thing open with a dinner knife.

Morgan stares at Garver incredulously. “You didn’t get a tap?”

He shrugs, palms up. “I didn’t know they were separate things! Why would they sell me a barrel of beer I couldn’t access?”

Morgan spins around the kitchen, then peeks into the living room. Her face falls and she mouths Sorry at me. She’s horrified, and she’s not even trying to hide it.

“Garver, what the hell?! This really is a tame, safe, parent-friendly party!”

Garver points over to the kitchen table. On it are a few gallons of ice cream, a can of whipped cream, some sprinkles, and a squirt bottle of Magic Shell. “Do tame parties have sundae bars?”

Morgan smacks him. I watch his friends—who from the looks of them probably are going to be actual rocket scientists someday—have zero luck liberating the beer from the barrel. Like, they’ll probably figure out how to populate Mars, but they cannot get beer out of a keg. The thought makes me laugh out loud.

“This is so cool!” I whoop.

“Don’t listen to her,” Morgan tells Garver as she grabs my arm and starts dragging me away. “She’s never been to a party before, so she doesn’t realize how dire this situation is. We’re outta here.”

Garver runs ahead of us and cuts Morgan off before she can get out the front door. “You’re leaving?! But I made a huge thing of chili.”

Morgan rolls her eyes at him. “Chili is not a party food!”

There’s a knock at the door. Relief is written all over Garver’s face. “You see? Party’s just kicking off.” He checks out who it is through the peephole. “Wait. Whoa. What is Charlie Reed doing here?”

Before I can say I invited him, Garver throws the door open. He welcomes Charlie, pats him on the back like an old pal, and ushers him inside.

Charlie looks right past him and our eyes meet. Whoosh. We’re totally locked into each other. Nothing else seems to matter. Everyone else ceases to exist.

“Wow,” he whispers. “Hi.”

Something about the look on his face makes me think Morgan deserves a huge tip for my makeover. She’s nudging me with an elbow and grinning at us grinning at each other. I know what she means. It’s hard to miss how much we’re vibing.

“Hi,” I say back.

Staring at Charlie is like staring right into the sun—and we all know how dangerous that would be for me—so I have to pry myself away. I glance into the kitchen where Mr. Spock Eyebrows has decided it’s a great idea to bring a rolling pin down on the keg. Of course, it bounces off the barrel—that thing must be made of, like, titanium—and hits him right in the face. And still there is no beer. Bruises probably, but no beer.

I’m momentarily grateful this isn’t some huge rager where I’d also have to contend with talking to people who actually know how to tap a keg and don’t serve sundaes and chili as party food. Safe, tame, and parent friendly is about all I can handle at this particular moment.

Next, the guys get a mallet, some sort of spike, and a roll of duct tape. They line up the random items on the counter like surgical instruments. I sigh. It’s going to be a while.

“Maybe we should go sit on the porch while these guys figure that thing out?” I suggest.

Charlie follows me outside and sits down next to me on the swinging bench, and we float gently back and forth. I’m staring up at the sky. He’s staring at me.

“You look amazing,” he says.

“It’s all Morgan,” I tell him with a wave of my hand, trying to shoo away the compliment and all the embarrassing blushing that accompanies it.

He shakes his head. “Nope.”

I’m about to protest again when Garver bursts onto the porch. He’s holding two bowls of chili. I don’t want to hurt his feelings, but I also don’t want to have chili breath around Charlie.

“For you, good sir,” Garver says, handing one to each of us. “And for you, mademoiselle.”

“Oh, thank you so much, but I can’t. I’m… allergic,” I tell him.

“I’m allergic to your dead cat, but that doesn’t stop me from hanging out with you, right? Try it, you’ll like it,” Charlie says with a wink.

He takes a bite, swallows, and gives Garver a thumbs-up. “Top shelf, buddy.”

Garver tries again to hand off the bowl to me, but I put my hands up. “No. Thanks. Really.”

“You sure?” he asks.

I nod, so he starts chowing it down instead. Charlie makes a face, leans over, and whispers, “Wise decision. It tastes like ass.”

I’m still giggling at Charlie’s assessment when Morgan walks outside. Garver stops midgobble to stare at her. A blob of beef teeters precariously on his chin.

“I really thought we’d have a bigger turnout,” Garver comments. “But more beer and chili for us, right?”

One of Garver’s friends sticks his head out the front door and says, “I told you not to go up against a cheerleader!”

“What cheerleader?” Morgan asks.

“The mean blonde one with the big Cadillac,” Garver says through a mouthful of food.

“Zoe Carmichael?” Morgan yelps.

Thank God we’re here and not there, I think.

“Yeah. Zoe.” Garver nods. “She’s also having a party. Must have dinged our turnout.”

“Should we just go there?” Charlie suggests.

Adrenaline shoots through my body. There’s no chance I’m going to Zoe’s party. But there’s also no chance I’m not going if that’s where Charlie’s headed. What a conundrum.

Garver’s shoulders slump. Anyone can see how important it is for him to impress Morgan. Which he’s not, but at least he’s trying. If we all leave, it’s not even a possibility anymore. “Whoa. You’re gonna bail on me, brah?”

“Nobody’s bailing. I just thought we could move this whole scene over to her house.” Charlie looks over at me to gauge my reaction.

I avoid his stare and look at Morgan like What am I supposed to do now? She looks at me and shakes her head. I look back at Charlie and shake mine.

“You know how I told you my dad is superstrict? Well, I can’t go anywhere but where I said I’d be or I’ll be grounded for the entire summer.”

“Couldn’t you just, like, text him and say your plans changed?” Charlie asks.

I shrug. “That’s not how it works with my dad. Like I told you, he’s pretty overprotective.”

“Let me drive you home and we can explain it to him together,” he offers.

More emphatic head shaking from me. My dad doesn’t even know Charlie exists. The last thing I want to do is have to explain who he is, how we met, and that now we want to hit a rager together.

“Okay then, staying here it is,” Charlie says, and he doesn’t even seem mad about it.

After a half an hour, the keg is still untapped, the chili’s been eaten, and we’ve all demolished sundaes from Garver’s elaborate sundae bar. Charlie and I are left staring at each other, the conversation petering down to nothing. I am desperate not to let my first real date with him be my last one. And if this night gets any sleepier, I’m pretty sure that’s a distinct possibility.

“Let’s just go,” I suddenly blurt out. “To the other party. What my dad doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

Morgan gives me a look like Have you completely lost your mind? I wince. Desperate times call for desperate measures.

“Okay, cool,” she says, giving me the hairy eyeball. “Lemme just get my passport, because Zoe Carmichael is Satan and her home is most likely the portal to hell.”

Garver lets out a laugh.

“Shut up, Garver, that wasn’t even a good joke,” she says, trying to act like she doesn’t love that he totally appreciates her humor. “And, Katie, you do realize we’re talking about Zoe Carmichael here? You know, the girl who basically ruined—”

I cut her off before she can say “your life” or utter the words “Vampire Girl.” “I’m sure it’ll be fine,” I say quickly.

“Zoe’s harmless,” Charlie assures us both. “She’s like a gnat with a really expensive car.”

Morgan grabs my arm and pulls me up off the swing. “We’ll be back in a second, guys,” she says, and drags me into the house.

I follow, glancing over my shoulder at Charlie as we walk away. He has a totally confused look on his face. I shrug like I don’t know either.

“You do not have to go to Zoe’s just because you think that’s what Charlie wants to do,” she says when we get inside.

“I know that.” I stare down at my feet and shuffle them around a bit. “I kind of just want to see what an actual high school party is like. No offense to Garver. He’s nice. The ice cream was good. But even I think it’s kind of lame here. This party is only slightly more exciting than watching Netflix with my dad.”

Morgan grabs my chin and pierces me with an intense stare. “You’re sure?”

I nod, gripping her hands in mine and taking a deep breath. “I’m sure. Dear Gabby inspired me. I can’t let XP hold me back anymore.”

Morgan sighs and sticks her hands on her hips. “You are so full of shit.”

“I’m not going if you don’t go,” I add.

“You suck, Katie,” she says.

“I’m not trying to,” I tell her. “I can’t help it. I found out I like being normal. Sorry.”

Morgan gives me an exasperated look and walks out onto the porch. I follow her back there.

“So?” Charlie asks when he sees us.

“Still undecided,” Morgan says. “I mean, Garver put out such a nice spread…”

Garver hops to his feet. “Um, Charlie and I discussed it, and we think it’s in all of our best interest to move this thing to another venue.”

“You don’t have to put on a front, Garver,” Morgan tells him. “If you’d rather we stay here, we’re all down. Seriously.”

Garver shakes his head. “No, honestly. Let’s roll.”

Morgan still looks unconvinced.

Charlie starts chanting, “Mor-gan. Mor-gan. Mor-gan.”

Garver and I pick it up a beat later, so now we’re a chorus of encouragement. “MOR-GAN! MOR-GAN! MOR-GAN!”

“Fine,” she finally concedes. “But don’t come crying to me when Zoe condemns you all to an existence of eternal fire and brimstone.”

We all cheer. I throw my arms around her.

“You’re the best friend anyone could ever ask for,” I whisper in her ear.

“I honestly hope you don’t live to regret this,” she whispers back. “But just know I’ll be there even if you do. To throw down with anyone who dares to mess with you—and also to tell you I told you so.”

It’s such a classic Morgan thing to say. I pull back and grin at her. “Got it.”

Garver whistles, and yells to his friends, “Let’s go, boys! We’re mobilizing!”

Before I have any more time to reconsider my impulsive decision, we pull up to a huge waterfront mansion. There’s a shiny white Escalade parked in the driveway. Its license plate reads 2LIT4U. It’s got to be Zoe’s. Clearly, she hasn’t changed a bit. I’m really starting to have second thoughts, but it’s too late to turn back now.

Charlie easily lifts the keg out of Garver’s friend’s trunk and places it on the ground. The guys stare at him like he’s Superman since it took all three of them to get it in the trunk, and they start rolling it awkwardly toward the impressive home, which is buzzing with loud music and even louder people. The closer we get to the front door, the slower they roll until everything’s at a total standstill.

Garver clears his throat nervously. “This may not be a good idea,” he says. “We’ve never even talked to Zoe.”

“I have,” Morgan says. “And you’re not missing anything except a brush with evil.”

“Relax, guys,” Garver’s friend with the bowl cut and bow tie says. “I talked to Zoe just last week.”

“Do you mean when she almost hit you with her SUV and called you a douchebag?” Garver asks, his mouth hanging open like even he can’t believe how clueless his friend is. “That’s not an actual conversation.”

“Yes it is!” Bowl Cut and Bow Tie protests. “I said ‘Sorry’ to her. It was a back-and-forth. We were talking.”

“It’ll be fine,” Charlie assures them. “Let’s do it.”

His hand reaches for mine. I take it and we start heading up the stairs to the front door. We all stand on the porch as Charlie takes the heavy brass door knocker with a giant lion’s head carved into it and gives the door a few loud raps. With my hand in Charlie’s, I feel safe and cared for, like nothing bad can happen. Even if we were actually approaching the gates of hell, I think I’d go there with him.