Page 103 of How (Not) to Conjure a Boyfriend
“Sweet, let’s go!”
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Kaity’s taillights disappear as I take a right into my driveway and turn the volume down to a reasonable level. The lights are off inside the house, so I’m betting Mom is asleep. At least, I’m hoping. I don’t really have a curfew per se, but I’m supposed to tell her if I’m going to be out past midnight. I didn’t, and she started texting asking where I was and when I was going to be home. I told her I was okay but didn’t answer the rest.
Tonight was needed. After ditching the bonfire, we made it to the house in downtown. It felt good—better—being there. We snuck around back to get in. The main entrance faces the road, and with the prominentNO TRESPASSINGsign posted out front, it seemed safer. Inside we found the first empty space, plopped down, and ended up just sitting and talking for hours surrounded by dusty cabinets and large cutouts where ovens and refrigerators used to be. We talked about everything. How surprised we are it hasn’t snowed yet, the games we used to play in middle school, what color we want to get our nails next—Kaity wants pink with red tips, and I think I’m going back to matte black—and the time I fractured my ankle running up and down the bleachers in middle school. We’d been racing. It was an all-around bad idea. Anything and everything, exceptthem.
Okay, there was the one time Zachary came up. That was my fault. I thought he might like my nail color choice, but it was a dumb thought. Otherwise, I did good.
I twist the key in the ignition, and the engine diesandmy heater cuts off. I squeeze my jacket to my chest to hold in what little heat I can before jumping out and rushing the porch. I slow just enough not to make a ton of noise unlocking and opening the door, and slip inside.
It’s dark. I can only make out the silhouettes of potted plants by the entry, the frames on the wall, and the doorways. I tiptoe down the hall, cringing every time the wood beneath the carpet creaks. I simply need to get to my room and jump in bed.
“Mackenzie Nicholas Jackson.” Mom’s voice jumps at me from the living room.
I quake and freeze. She’s sitting in the dark on the couch with her arms crossed, but her eyes are clear and bold, and locked on me. Shit.
“Hey,” I say.
“Where have you been?” she asks.
For some reason I step past the doorway into the living room. I guess there’s no real point in trying to get away.
“I was with Kaity,” I say. She always complains it’s dangerous when I go to abandoned places, so I omit that part. “I told you I was okay.”
“That’s not the question. What were you up to?”
She’s not happy. It’s rare we get into arguments. I’m still not a fan.
“We were…” I start. “We were in downtown.”
Her brow raises, but she doesn’t say anything. Which means she’s not convinced that’s where it ends. I huff, then spill the truth.
“We went to an abandoned house.”
“In downtown?” She gets to her feet. “There could have been squatters, homeless people there. The police could have come. You could have gotten hurt. You know I don’t like it when you go to places like that.”
“Yes,” I whisper and dip my head. “I’m sorry.”
“So you weren’t at the bonfire?” she asks out of the blue.
“We went, but only for a few minutes and then we left,” I tell her. How does she know about that? I didn’t tell her. “It was lame.”
“You haven’t been drinking, have you?” Mom asks.
“What? No!” I stand taller. I mean, I about did, but I didn’t. I only took a sip. Why would she ask that though?
“You’re not lying to me, are you?”
“No! I swear it!” I say.
“Please don’t lie to me, Mackenzie. The police busted the bonfire because there was an accident,” Mom says.
“An accident?” I ask. Who? What happened? “Did someone get hurt?”
“No. But they could have,” she says. “But you didn’t drink there? And you left early?”
“I promise, Mom!” I say it yet again.
