“She has been allowed to dispose of her time
in the most idle and frivolous manner, and
to adopt any opinions that came in her sway.”
— Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice, Volume III, Chapter Five
When Cat didn’t show her face, I took off in the Jeep at seven, over Dad’s protests that Mom kept shushing.
Now I just had to figure out where the parties were.
I cruised through the school parking lot, but I didn’t see any cars I recognized. Of course, I’d been gone over a year. When I left town for Wisconsin Dells at the end of sophomore year, most of the kids in our class either hadn’t yet passed their driver’s test or didn’t have wheels.
I didn’t bother checking the football stadium. I hadn’t set foot inside it since a really bad night during freshman year, and none of my friends had gone to football games when we’d been sophomores. I couldn’t believe everything had changed.
I glanced at my cell phone. Still no texts or calls. I could call Drew, but my hair still hurt from doing that yesterday. I could call Kirk. No, I couldn’t. I’d never actually made the first move on a guy before, and I didn’t plan to start tonight.
It didn’t stop me from cruising past his house. Dark, and no familiar cars were parked in front.
I cruised up and down the streets of Woodbury. Past Michael’s house, in case the band was practicing. Past Tess’s house. Nothing. I skipped Amber’s house and didn’t know where Chelsea lived, but it wouldn’t matter if I did.
Finally, I drove to the Mall of America. If nothing else, I could catch a movie. Alone. Talk about pathetic.
My cell phone rang as I pulled into the parking ramp on the east side.
I answered without bothering to glance at the caller display. “Party central.”
“Babe. Not the smartest way to answer your phone.”
Liz. So much for getting a lead on a party. “I’ll answer my phone however I want.”
“I’m sure you will. Nothing’s changed, I see.”
“Nothing that matters.” Or nothing I planned to share with any of my sisters, not even Cat. “But you must be having a pretty boring Friday night if you’re wasting your time checking up on me.”
“Mom said you went out but didn’t seem to have any plans. I thought I’d—”
“Since when does Mom know if I have plans?” I turned off the Jeep and climbed out, then pocketed the keys and headed for the entrance. “Not that you’d have a clue, but I’ve never exactly shared my plans with Mom.”
“No kidding. But Cat said—”
“Cat wouldn’t know, either.”
She didn’t say anything for so long, I almost thought we got disconnected. “Does anyone know about you these days? Or are you keeping yourself a secret? That would be a change.”
I bit off the first reply that came to mind, since it was profane even by Liz’s standards, but I didn’t hang up. The truth was, I didn’t have any plans and wasn’t completely sure any of my friends were worth my time. Not that Liz would qualify as a friend.
“Lydia? You still there?”
I sighed. “Yeah.” Unfortunately.
“So what are you doing tonight? Jane and I were going to catch a movie.”
“Yeah, well, I . . .” I trailed off, for the first time in my life blanking on an excuse. I must be tired. Tired of everyone in Woodbury, for starters. Tired of not knowing what I was doing, even at the Mall of America. I was at the second-floor entrance and wondered if I should head back to the Jeep.
“Join us. We were going out for Chinese first, but we could do burgers or pizza.” She mumbled something to someone else, probably Jane, before getting back to me. “Jane doesn’t care as long as she gets Cold Stone ice cream for dessert, even though I pointed out that Milk Duds during the movie are the only dessert a girl needs. Am I right?”
“No.” As usual. “It’s all about the popcorn.”
“Another thing you have in common with Jane.”
Wrong again. I had nothing in common with Jane, the world’s most perfect girl, and not just from a parent’s perspective. If it weren’t for the fact that she never tried to bug me, unlike Liz, I might even find her annoying.
“Whatever. Hey, I’m at the Mall of America.” I might as well admit it. Knowing Dad, he’d installed a GPS tracker on the Jeep. “Why don’t we catch dinner and a movie here?”
More background mumbling before Liz spoke into the phone. “Meet you in twenty minutes at Chipotle?”
“No, Kokomo’s. Across from Cold Stone.”
“Chipotle is close to Cold Stone, too.”
“Good. You can wave to Chipotle from our table at Kokomo’s.”
Liz actually laughed, surprising me. “I’d argue, but Kokomo’s is Jane’s first choice, too. Luckily for both of you, they have a wicked chocolate cake for dessert.”
“I thought you planned to eat Milk Duds for dessert.”
“That was before I knew we were eating at Kokomo’s. I try to be flexible.”
And I try to do things on Friday night that don’t involve my older sisters. At least one of us was happy.
I woke up Saturday morning in my own bed and with a clear head. It didn’t say much for my Friday night.
Actually, it’d been okay. Jane pretended to care about how things were going with me, and Liz let Jane and me choose a movie that didn’t star Channing Tatum. A first.
Still, I frowned as I stretched in bed, then looked over at Cat, who was still sound asleep.
“What are you looking at? And why are you still in here? Didn’t Dad say you had to move to Mary’s room?”
Ahh. She’d been faking it. I’d almost forgotten I was dealing with the new Cat.
“Mom said I could stay.” I tried not to grin at my all-too-easy triumph, but I didn’t mind annoying Cat. “Besides, why do you care? You’re hardly ever here.”
She rolled over, facing the wall, and pretended to snore.
“Maybe you can fake it with Jeremy—” I snorted. No response. “But I know you, Cat. I’ve known you forever.”
Something came flying across the room at me. Luckily, it wasn’t Boris. I grabbed the SpongeBob pillow and tossed it right back at Cat.
“You get that from work? Nice. What does Jeremy think of it?” When she rolled her eyes, I tossed out my next question before I could pull it back. “So what did you guys do last night?”
As the silent treatment continued, I wondered why I’d asked. I didn’t need to know if they’d gone somewhere to make out. I didn’t want Jeremy. And I wasn’t sure I wanted to find out that they’d gone to a party hosted by Kirk. Or Drew. Or someone else from our gang.
Or even, say, Jeremy.
“Hung out.”
The words floated so softly in the air, it took me a moment to realize she’d finally spoken.
“Oh. At Jeremy’s house?”
“No.”
At this rate, I’d find out what Cat did last night in about five years.
“We started at the Mall of America.”
This was really getting annoying. “Yeah? Where did you go then?”
For a minute I didn’t think she’d answer. Throwing back the covers on my bed, I groaned to my feet. I might as well do something today. Something other than trying to talk to Cat.
“Kirk’s house.”
I froze in front of my dresser, then slowly whirled in Cat’s direction. She didn’t look a bit happier about going to a party at Kirk’s house than I was about not being invited.
“You went to a party at Kirk’s house without me? And you didn’t tell me?”
Cat finally rolled over in my direction, completely awake and looking ready to bolt. Except that she was wearing undies and a camisole.
She sat up on the edge of her bed. “It wasn’t a party—not really—so I couldn’t invite you. Not that you and I have been hanging out together lately anyway.”
“Whose fault is that?”
Cat held up a hand. “It is what it is. Jeremy and I ran into Kirk and Amber.” Her nose curled as if she hadn’t exactly been thrilled. Right. Like she had so many better options. “They were going to Kirk’s house, and I would’ve skipped it, but Kirk said Michael and Zach were coming over.”
“Zach?”
Cat frowned. “You went to that band practice, right? Zach plays bass guitar.”
I’d been too busy kissing Drew and getting my hair ripped out by Chelsea to remember much else, but I nodded. “The cute, skinny guy.”
“With the Cat in the Hat tattoo.”
I stared at her.
“You didn’t see his tattoo?” Cat grinned, something I hadn’t seen her do in ages, except once last week when I caught her gazing into Jeremy’s eyes and drooling. “It’s the first thing I noticed about him.”
“But you’re dating Jeremy.”
“So? I can’t notice a guy’s tattoo? I even drew a portrait of him from the side, just to capture it.”
I almost forgot. Our artist in residence drew portraits of almost everyone she saw. I wondered when I’d show up in her rogues gallery, probably with a huge “X” over my face.
“Whatever. So Michael and Zach were there. Did the band practice or something?”
Should I have told Kirk I was ready to play guitar? No way. It’d be the last time I could show my face in front of Kirk’s band—and maybe Kirk. I’d told him I could play in a couple of weeks, but I actually needed to stall as long as possible.
I finally realized Cat was back in silent mode. I looked at her, waiting, but she just stared at the floor.
“Hey, I know you’re not exactly thrilled with the band, but you are dating Jeremy. You must have to sit in on band practices all the time.”
“The band, uh, didn’t practice.”
“So they just got together to talk about songs?”
She kept staring at the floor, something neither of us normally did in this room, which was probably why it never got vacuumed.
“Michael and Zach didn’t show up, but Drew and Chelsea did. So we just hung out.”
The sudden ache in my gut had nothing to do with the fact that I was starving. If I ate anything now, I’d probably heave. “You hung out with them.”
Cat drilled me with a serious look. “Kirk and Amber have been going out since last March. Drew and Chelsea since January. You can’t just waltz into town and expect those guys to dump their girlfriends. A lot happened while you were gone. Besides, you don’t actually want those guys, do you?”
Numb, I just stared at Cat while the wheels that were always turning in my head refused to budge. A lot had happened, all right. None of it good.
But it didn’t mean I couldn’t change it.
I finally took a shower and returned to my room ten minutes later—or a half hour, tops—to find it missing.
Okay, my room wasn’t missing. Just all of my stuff. Clothes, books, phone, laptop. Even my bed!
“Cat? What the hell did you do with my stuff?”
Dad poked his head into my room, the benign smile on his face saying it all. “Cat went to work. You’d probably like to get a jump on your day as well.” His eyebrows rose. “So I took the liberty of moving you to your new room.”
“But Mom—”
“Your mother had to go into the office, but I managed as best I could. You don’t have to thank me.”
I stood there, in a T-shirt and shorts with my wet hair dripping onto my shirt, glaring at Dad. “Don’t hold your breath.”
“As we say in yoga, it’s always best not to.”
I felt like punching him. “Mom said I could stay here. I’ll just move my stuff back.”
“Your mother also promised to buy you a guitar, I understand, but I think you’ll find that life isn’t quite as easy as you remember it.”
I went over and flopped on Cat’s bed—also known as my new bed. If one of us had to leave, it wasn’t me. “Thanks, but I don’t remember it being easy. I remember it sucking. This is no big change.”
It was, actually, but I’d never admit it to Dad. Before Wisconsin Dells and Justin and that strip bar and a jail cell in Milwaukee and reform school in Montana, my life had been pretty good. And the few times I’d run into a bump in the road, Mom had been there to fix it. Just like she would be now.
First, though, I wouldn’t mind punching Dad. “Maybe you think you can tell me what to do, but Mom can let me stay here if she wants, and she can buy me a guitar, just like you bought one for Mary.”
“For her birthday.”
“Whatever.” I glanced around the half-empty bedroom, actually liking it better this way. I also wouldn’t miss Cat one bit. “Since Mom makes the money in the family these days—” Direct hit. As I caught his flinch, I barely kept myself from pumping my fists. “I don’t see you having much say.”
I watched as Dad struggled to bring his breathing under control. He was all about breath and control and pretending his life was better than it was. I was all about that, too—in my own way—so you’d think we’d actually get along.
But no.
“As someone with no job and no apparent interest in college, you’re not in a good position to speak. Now, get off Cat’s bed and go to your new room.”
So much for Dad’s usual attempt at a Zen state of calm.
I scooted to the far side of Cat’s bed—my new bed—and crossed my arms and legs, then leaned against the wall. “Nope.”
The harsh breaths coming out of Dad’s flared nostrils weren’t even remotely calm, let alone Zen-like.
“I think you’ll find you regret your decision.”
“Yet another thing you’d be wrong about.”
He took a step toward me, as if he planned to yank me off the bed or even spank me, which totally wasn’t Dad’s style. It was Liz’s style, but she wasn’t here.
After another step, though, he stopped. And retreated. And left the room.
Cat was so wrong. I could come home after a year away and take over the world, just like always. I’d beaten Dad, and he didn’t fold easily. Sure, I’d have to wait until he was far enough away to toss Cat’s stuff in the hall and grab mine from Mary’s room, but Cat would be gone for hours and I didn’t have anything going on today. I could wait.
Grinning, I curled up with Cat’s SpongeBob pillow and let my eyelids drift shut.
I woke up with a jolt to the angry buzzing sound of a huge beehive, as if someone had just sprayed it with a hose.
Either that, or Dad was going nuts with his drill.
“What the hell?”
The drill paused. “I suggest you clean up your language. The forty-five-minute shower you took this morning apparently took care of only the surface.”
“Ha ha.” I tossed SpongeBob across the room, into the space where my bed once stood. It joined the fast-food wrappers, random crap, and dust bunnies that had collected under the bed. “But since when do you do home-improvement projects?”
Dad might be an engineer by training, and he’d worked as one until his midlife crisis drove him to blow most of his and Mom’s life savings and open a yoga center, but he never did a thing around the house. Unless you count reading the newspaper, puffing on cigars that Mom had tried a million times to outlaw, and waving his butt in the air on his yoga mat.
Which I don’t.
The drill cranked up again. “I do them when I’m inspired. And you, my dear, have inspired me.”
Whenever Dad used “my dear” on Mom or any of us girls, it meant he was either pissed or on the verge of it. From the crimson color of his face, he’d already leaped off the verge. I looked more closely and finally figured out what he was doing. After years of me begging for a lock on my door, he was installing one.
Somehow, I had a feeling it wasn’t for my benefit.
Still, a lock was a lock, and I’d score the key soon enough, and that would be the end of my hassles with Dad and everyone else around here. If I could just rig up some sort of escape route through my window, I’d be set.
I grinned as Dad kept working, but it annoyed me that his own grin seemed even bigger. As if he knew something I didn’t.
Finally, the drilling stopped, and Dad took a step backward to admire his handiwork. Typical guy.
I rolled my eyes. “It’s just a lock. You’re not going to take a picture, are you?”
With the drill gripped in one hand, he glanced over at me, his lips twisted in triumph. Triumph over me? Not in this lifetime.
“No, but you might want to take a picture. This is the last view you might have of the hallway, or any other part of the house, for quite some time.”
I frowned. Dad and I had always argued, but I had a bad feeling that I was going down. Even if temporarily.
When realization slowly dawned, I sprang off the bed and bolted for the door. Too late. With a slam followed by the soft click of a key turning, I was locked in.
His voice floated through the door. “When you decide to be reasonable, let me know. But you’re moving to Mary’s old room, and you’re moving today.”
Jerk. He’d pay for this when Mom got home. If not sooner.
There’s nothing like knowing you’re locked in for the duration to make you have to pee. Or eat something before you starve to death. Or drink something to quell the raging thirst in your throat, even if it means needing to pee even sooner.
I glanced out the open window of my room—because it was still my room, dammit—and calculated the drop to the grass below. Liz could probably do it. I’d break my neck, or at least my leg, if I tried.
My cell phone was in Mary’s room, along with the rest of my stuff, and Cat must’ve taken hers to work, which meant I couldn’t call anyone to rescue me. I wasn’t even sure who I’d call. Kirk would do it, no problem, but he’d laugh when he heard what my dad pulled on me, and I didn’t feel like being laughed at today. I had enough problems.
With a final wistful glance outside, I slammed the window shut. Returning to Cat’s bed—my bed—I perched on the edge, squeezed my legs together, and tried not to think about how much I needed to pee.
And it had only been an hour since Dad locked me in.
Damn.
The sound of the phone ringing jarred me awake. I rolled over and squinted at the clock on the desk. Almost three. I’d already opened the window, punched out the screen, and peed down the side of the house, but that had been hours ago. My throat felt raw from raging thirst, and my stomach seemed to be gnawing itself to death from the inside.
Where was Mom? For that matter, where was Cat? Oh, yeah. She worked until four or five on Saturdays. But Mom never worked past noon on Saturdays. Had Dad locked her up, too? Had he finally snapped under the strain of all that yoga? Was our house turning into the setting of a Stephen King novel?
When someone knocked on my door, I jumped. With a jerk, I brought my trembling under control, but I didn’t say anything.
“Lydia?”
Dad called my name as if he wasn’t completely sure I’d be inside. Good.
“Lydia, your mother wants to talk to you.”
Right. She was probably bound and gagged in the basement, which was the only possible reason why she hadn’t rescued me yet, and Dad just wanted me to come to the door so he could toss me out of Cat’s—I mean, my—room. No way.
“Fine. I’ll tell your mother you didn’t feel like talking to her, which probably won’t increase the odds of her buying you a guitar.”
As Dad paused, I rolled my eyes. Mom was going to buy me a guitar and get all of my stuff back in this room as soon as Jane and Liz released her from her chains in the basement.
Dad cleared his throat, as if he’d been talking to Mom just now. Ha. He’d probably called our home phone with his own cell phone. “She said she’ll talk to you when she gets home. She hopes you come to your senses by then.”
That proved it. Definitely not Mom. She didn’t talk that way—except maybe to her clients, who probably needed it—and would spring me the moment she got home. If she wasn’t home already, of course, and locked in chains in the basement.
All things considered, it wasn’t so bad being locked up in my room. Unlike Mom, at least I could pee out the window.
“Lydia, darling? Are you okay?”
That sounded more like Mom. And definitely not Dad.
I finished the paragraph I was reading of The Catcher in the Rye as the key rattled in the door. Mom, in her usual panic to rescue her darling daughter, couldn’t seem to manage the lock. Either that, or Dad hadn’t given her the right key. I’d put even odds on those two possibilities.
I finally heard a satisfying click. An instant later, the door flew open and banged against the wall.
“Lydia! Are you okay? You must be hungry. You look famished. Do you want me to make you something? What would you like, dear?”
“Something to drink? I’m ungodly thirsty.” And starving to death, too, but not enough to risk Mom’s cooking. “Dad locked me up and probably hoped I’d die in here.”
She rushed to my side, checking my forehead for fever and peering into my eyes. The only thing my eyes would tell her was that they were brown. And pretty pissed.
She glanced around the room. “Your bed! Your father really did move it.” Tsking, she glanced out the window, her brow furrowed quizzically. “And your screen! He removed the screen? Why would he do that?”
On the verge of telling her I punched it out, I bit my tongue. Let her think Dad did it. The deeper he dug his grave, the better I liked it. He was going down.
I shrugged. “No idea what’s going on with Dad. He went berserk. I sure hope he can afford a shrink on the nickels and dimes he’s making at his yoga center.”
Mom pursed her lips and looked out the door, but Dad wasn’t hovering. It actually surprised me. I mean, didn’t he want to stop Mom from doing what she did best? Rescue me from Dad’s punishment?
“I’ll speak to him.” She turned back to me, running her hand over my hair, but her wedding ring got tangled in it, and I yelped. “Oh! I’m so sorry, dear. And I’m sorry you’ve had such a rough day. I had to meet with clients.”
“That’s okay.” It wasn’t, but yelling at her wouldn’t help. I couldn’t get my day back at this point, and I needed Mom on my side. “I knew you’d come home eventually, and then you’d fix everything. Just like always.”
I produced a few tears for good measure, even though the lack of liquids all day made it tough to come up with a ton of excess moisture.
“Oh, you poor sweetie.” Mom frowned, running her hand through my hair again, even though I tensed as I waited for it to snag. “But, well, your father feels quite strongly—”
“Oh, Mom.” The tears were still fake, but for once something felt different. Like I’d lost my protector. “You won’t believe the things he said. He wished I was back in reform school.”
Okay, he hadn’t said that, but it felt like he wished I was back at Shangri-La. After all, I’d forced him to get off his yoga mat and actually wield a drill. Hard labor wasn’t Dad’s strong suit.
“I’m sure he didn’t mean it, dear.”
“He meant everything, Mom. It was unbelievable.”
“Unbelievable, indeed.” Dad’s head poked into my room, following his words, and he still wore the snotty grin from this morning. “But your mother and I have talked, and she understands what I’m doing. What we’re doing.”
I shook my head. “You had it right the first time. It’s what you’re doing. Mom wouldn’t do something like this to me. She likes me.”
“I love you, dear. Your father does, too.” She squeezed my hand, but the helpless look in her eye worried me. “And I still plan to buy you a guitar.” She glanced nervously at Dad, who rolled his eyes. “But I’m afraid I have to let your father move you to Mary’s room.”
Stunned, I jerked to a sitting position. “Why? He’s so wrong!”
She patted my hand. “It’s just until you get a job or find an activity or make honor roll or some such thing. It’s your choice, really, but I have every confidence in you.”
The look on Dad’s face told me he didn’t share Mom’s confidence.
Furious, I punched Cat’s pillow. For once, I had to agree with Dad.