“Let’s get the drive-by of the dirtbag’s house over with,” Lilliana says. “Then we’re taking you out.”
Lilliana is no longer hiding the fact that she never liked Joey. It’s only because she missed me. Joey and I were inseparable.
“I can’t go out. I’m grounded, remember?” I say. “It’s bad enough I’m sneaking out to do this.”
“Maybe we shouldn’t go,” Marissa says.
“Don’t be such a wuss,” Lilliana snaps.
“A restraining order is serious. Rosie can get in legal trouble if someone sees her near his house,” Marissa pleads.
I feel bad for making her nervous. I’m a good girl at heart. A few months ago, I would have felt the same way. Joey cheating on me has caused me to undergo some kind of psychological shift. Sure, I can be loud and dramatic, but flat-out rebellion was never my thing.
“No one will see me. I’ll hide back here, I promise,” I say, slouching down in the backseat.
I sound confident, but I know I can’t keep doing stuff like this. Do I really want to turn out like one of those reality-show freaks? My dad said he doesn’t know me anymore. That makes two of us.
We take Farms Road, which starts on my end of town where the older-style homes are only a driveway’s width apart, and wind through the small downtown area. We pass the corner deli where the skate kids are hanging out and continue on Farms until it brings us to Joey’s neighborhood, where the houses are newer and larger but more cookie cutter, right down to the identical play sets in nearly every yard. A month ago, this was my favorite route. Tonight, it makes me anxious and sick. When we pull into Elm Court, I duck.
“Tell me if you see him,” I say. “Is there anyone outside?”
“Nope,” Lilliana says.
“Is his car there? Does it look damaged?”
“No cars in the driveway,” Lilliana says. “No lights on either. It doesn’t look like anyone’s home.”
“He’s probably at work. Let’s drive by ShopRite next,” I say.
My phone rings while I’m still crouching down in the backseat. Shit! It’s my mother. She knows I left the house. She knows I’m up to something. She knows everything. Damn the Catalano sixth sense.
“Hello?”
“Where are you?”
“I’m in Lilliana’s car.” This is not a lie.
“And where is Lilliana’s car, Rosie?”
“It’s at the diner. We’re about to go inside.” Of course, that is a lie.
“That’s it,” Mom snaps. “You’re coming home right now! Your father is furious.”
“I know I shouldn’t have left the house, but it’s just the diner and—”
“Look out the back window,” Mom says. I can hear her clenching her teeth.
“Uh-oh,” Lilliana says, glancing in her rearview mirror.
Slowly, I rise up off the floor and look out the back car window. Yep. There’s my mom in her SUV.
“You followed me?” I shriek into the phone, which is still at my ear.
“I didn’t need to. I knew where to find you.”
I squint in the low, dusk light. There’s someone in the passenger’s seat. Dad? Eddie? No effin’ way.
“Is that Matty?” It is. Traitor.
“He talked your father into staying home,” Mom says. “You should be happy you’ve got a friend like him.”
I should be, but at the moment, I’m not.
Chapter 2
I’m leaving for Arizona on Saturday. I could go into the details of the Catalano Monday Night Smackdown that led to their decision to send their only daughter on a nine-day cross-county road trip, but it’s too exhausting. Suffice it to say, Mom’s Ecuadorian temper, I mean passion, trumps Dad’s Italian brand. Dad is loud all the time. Mom is loud when she needs to be. We never say it, but we all know Mom wears the pants in this family.
“Call your goofball friends and tell them I’m in,” I say when Matty answers the phone. It’s late, but I knew he’d still be up.
“Cool. I’m sorry if I got you into trouble, Rosie. I was just trying—”
“No, no. I’m the one who should be sorry. I screwed up. Again. Thanks for having my back.”
“Anytime,” Matty says. He sounds relieved. We should all aspire to be Mattys.
“But I need my space until Saturday, got it?”
“Got it.”
“No watching The View on our couch.”
“I got it. I got it. You’re gonna thank me for this.”
“Don’t get carried away.” I hang up.
I’m drained from the family drama, but I still can’t sleep. Pony is sacked out on my twin bed anyway. He has his head on my pillow and he’s making these cute mini-yelp noises while his feet twitch. Aw, poor guy. Doggy nightmare. I gently stroke the top of his head between his ears until he settles into a quiet slumber. I sigh. Maybe my dog-walking business will still work out when I get back, but who knows what will happen when I call the bridal shop tomorrow. I can’t expect them to hold my job.