Two hours later and Whit is still getting ready. During the school year I can’t even count how many times she’s been late when we have to go somewhere. And every time she’d always come up with a believable excuse like; my mom needed the car or she’d gotten a flat tire on the way over. But after sitting here and watching her for the last hour, I know the real reason. She’s applied the same coat of lip gloss ten times, at least.
“Are you ready yet?” I whine. I’ve been ready and waiting for her for the last hour.
Whit pouts her lips and blends her lip gloss in with her finger. “Just about.”
I’m glad I don’t like to wear a lot of make-up. It makes the whole getting ready process take ten times longer. Plus, when I do wear it, even after I wash my face I still feel like I’m wearing it.
Whit blows herself a kiss and winks at her reflection. “There. All ready.” Then she turns to face me. “Now, let’s go over the plan one more time.” I let out a frustrated grunt and Whit’s gaze hardens. “We have to go over the plan again, Robs. Like you said earlier, you’re a terrible liar.”
“Fine,” I grumble and repeat the lie Whit came up with. “We’re going to a late movie in town.” When we got back from the beach, Whit pulled out her laptop and googled the closest theater. There was one ten miles away. “It doesn’t start until almost eleven so we might not be home until after two.”
At first I was a little leery of the time frame, then Whit reminded me that most movies came with at least twenty minutes of previews. So if the movie started at five to eleven, it wouldn’t actually start until 11:15. The one we selected Love on the Run, lasted for two hours and twenty minutes. By the time the movie started and finished and we drove home the whole trip would last over four hours, giving us plenty of time to party.
“Very good,” Whit says wearing a devious grin. “And what will you do if your dad throws you a curveball?”
Meaning, what will I do if he throws in a random question and catches me off guard. “Call you in for back up,” I answer, warily.
I’m nervous about this plan we’ve concocted. I can’t help the terrible feeling in my gut that tells me we’ll get caught. But Whit seems to have faith in it. I’m glad she does because I think that she might have to do all of the work. I have a feeling when I get in front of my dad, I’m going to choke.
“Uh…Dad?” The words come out shaky and I swallow hard, standing in the living room, in front of my dad. He’s propped up in the reclining chair reading the newspaper. I say a silent prayer that he keeps the newspaper in front of his face. That will make this so much easier. But I’ve learned earlier on in my life that nothing ever seems to go my way.
Dad lowers the paper and smiles, admiring my attire. Wrinkles crease around his ocher eyes and he folds
up the paper, setting it on the coffee table. “You look nice, sweetheart,” he tells me. “Going somewhere?”
“Um. Yeah… About that.”
Before I know it he’s tossing me the car keys and I stare at them puzzled. “Wait a sec.” I look up. “Aren’t you going to ask me where I’m going?”
Dad picks up the paper. “Where are you going?”
“To the movies.”
He opens the paper and stares intensely at an article. “You’re not going to the movies.”
“Uh. Yes. We are.”
“Do you think I was born yesterday?”
I glance over my shoulder for Whit. I need back up like a needle needs a vein. Whit is nowhere in sight. Looks like I have to wing it. “No.”
“I know you’re going to that frat party.”
How did he find that out? Shit. Shit. Shit. “What frat party?”
“Don’t play clueless with me, Robin. I know you’re going to that party so there is no point in lying about it.”
I sigh, defeated. “How did you find out? And wait a sec…Are you saying you don’t care if we go?”
Dad peaks out from the side of the paper. “Sadie is going. We were over the Marshall’s and she was talking about it. I figured if she knew about this party, you would too.” He exhales and glances at me earnestly. “You’re a good, responsible kid, Robin. I trust you to make smart decisions. Besides, you’re eighteen years old and going off to college in a few months. I think you’ve earned a little bit of freedom, don’t you?”
Whit walks into the room and flashes dad her fake ‘I’m an angel’ smile. “Hey there, Mr. Mason, we—.”
“Save it, Whit,” I tell her. “It’s cool.”