Hey, keys!

Oh—my keys.

“Okay,” she said. “Let’s go.”

I am such a loser.

Eleven

I DIDN’T SAY ANOTHER WORD until we were both safely inside my car. “You sure you know how to drive a stick?” I asked as she pushed in the clutch and turned the key.

She barely glanced at me as she smoothly eased the car out of its parking spot. “I think I can handle it,” she said, accelerating and shifting gracefully from first right to third. Without taking her eyes from the road she changed the radio station, turned down the bass, and flicked off her brights as an oncoming car approached—like she knew every single button in my car.

“You’ve done this before,” I said, not managing to form a more coherent sentence.

She laughed. “My dad has one of these. I drive it all the time.”

So much for my special car.

As we wound around curves on the drive back to Santa Monica, I started to feel a little sick. I’m not sure now how I had expected to get home. I guess I just didn’t plan on having more than one beer. It really was a good thing Sera came to rescue me.

I tilted my seat back and turned my head just enough to stare at her. The streetlights slanted across her face as she drove, giving her the look of being not quite real. Or maybe more than real. She had gone over and above for me tonight. Either she actually liked me or was amazingly nice. Maybe some of both.

We went around a few more curves and I realized that my stomach was starting to really get angry with me. I must have started to look sick because soon Sera stopped the car in front of some kind of park. “Come on,” she said, opening her door and walking toward a small playground.

I felt a lot better in the cool air.

We walked over to the swings and while Sera swung high, I kinda pretended to swing low. The initial relief from the fresh air was slowly yielding to simmering nausea. After about ten minutes, I had to grind my feet into the sand to keep the swing from moving at all. Every motion made me feel worse.

Sera looked down at me then flew off her swing and landed soundlessly what looked like a hundred feet away.

“Wow,” I said, before clapping a hand over my mouth.

“Come on,” Sera said, tugging on my arm. “You’ll feel better after you hurl and the kids who play here will feel better if you don’t do so all over their swings.”

I couldn’t open my mouth to argue.

She pulled me over to a large garbage barrel and was kind enough to step quite a ways away as I puked up what felt like an ocean of beer.

I definitely did not drink that much.

Or eat that much Jell-O . . .

. . . did I?

When I finally stood up straight again, my physical relief gave way to embarrassment. Extreme embarrassment. Here I was, puking my guts out in front of one of the most beautiful girls I’d ever met. All I needed now was for Kimberlee to pop up and start pointing and laughing.

Finally I turned to Sera. “Sorry about that,” I mumbled.

“It’s okay,” she said. “The real test will be if you go get plastered again the next time Langdon sponsors a party.”

I grimaced and shook my head back and forth. “No thank you.”

Sera dug in her purse for a few seconds. “Here,” she said, offering a packet of tissues and a travel-sized bottle of Listerine mouthwash. “I packed this for you earlier.”

I stared at them for a long time, feeling suddenly very sober. “You knew I was going to be an idiot,” I muttered.

“Well, I didn’t know. I try to give everyone the benefit of the doubt. But pretty much everybody falls for the lure of being Langdon’s special guest,” she said, then shrugged. “I did.”

“Really?”

She smiled tightly and nodded. “End of football season my freshman year—the party to celebrate the last game.” She turned and started walking up a grassy hill. I swished and spit some of the sharp mouthwash before following her. I stayed a few paces behind her as she walked up the hill, swishing all the way. By the time we reached the top, the bottle was empty, my mouth felt clean, and my stomach was getting back to normal. The air was fresh and crisp again and I felt a second chance coming on.

“Langdon invited me personally. I felt really cool. He kept giving me shots of Jägermeister till I lost count. And I know I kept going a long time after that.” She reached the top of the hill and sat on the grass.

“Jägermeister?”

“Yeeahhh, trust me, Jell-O shots are much more . . . gentle. But I was a freshman and I wanted to be cool, so I choked it down till it started tasting better.”

That sounds familiar. I sat down beside her, just close enough that our thighs touched. “So you got drunk and puked everywhere, too?”

She coughed out a sharp laugh. “I wish it were that simple. Yes, I got drunk, and yes, I eventually puked all over. But Khail had found out Langdon’s plan from someone. They were going to get me plastered enough that they could make a fool of me in front of everyone. I imagine pictures would have been involved.”

“What happened?” I whispered, almost afraid to hear.

But she smiled. “Khail rescued me.”

“Like you rescued me?” I said with a grin.

“No, I just intervened tonight. Khail seriously had to rescue me. By the time he found me it was obvious I was in a really bad place. He dragged me away and put me in his car. I was half passed-out but they told me later he . . . he messed Langdon up pretty good. Broke his nose, loosened a tooth or two. He had two black eyes when he came to school on Monday.”