My cup is tipped over on the grass. There wasn't much left in it anyway. "Please."
We walk back to the house, trying to stay out of the way of the other games being played.
"This is fun," I say, looking around.
"You say that like you're surprised."
"I've never been to a party like this before. I come from a kind of small city. Most people don't have backyards."
"And I come from a small town where there are yards. And gossip. And status. I've always admired the anonymity of a city actually, even a small one."
"Feeling judged?" I ask light-heartedly.
"Feeling the weight of expectation," he says seriously, opening a cooler on the porch to pull out a bottle of beer.
We continue into the kitchen and I look at him from across the island, pouring the vodka-lemonade from the pitcher, minus the extra shot. "Do you feel pressured to be perfect? You kind of have a reputation for being a good guy."
He chuckles and his neck flushes slightly. "You say that like it's a bad reputation to have. I actually hope that I am a good guy, but I'm far from perfect. What about you? I know you must feel the pressures of expectation being a student at Blackwood. It's not an easy school to get into."
I want to laugh, and bite my tongue to keep from saying, easier than you think--all you have to is majorly screw up, or in my and Lance's cases, cover for someone who has. "Yeah, I guess. But fuck their expectations. I'm going to do whatever I do."
Grant smiles wide. "Not sure I completely understand, but I like it."
Somewhere between Grant going to the basement for more ice and me having to use the bathroom, we lose each other for a while. I meet up with the girls who are floating in chairs on the water, choosing to sit on the dock with my feet hanging off instead of going in. Up until Lance sneaks up from behind, scoops me up and jumps off the end with me in his arms.
I peel off my tank top and cut-offs and let them dry on the dock while I join the girls in a floaty chair. We kick water at Lance and a few other guys who playfully try to tip us over. Eventually, we make it back up to the house to grab some food when the late afternoon drifts into the evening. The kiss of the sun can be felt in the tightness of my skin, and I'm hoping it doesn't turn into a burn despite the multiple applications of sunblock. Thankfully my jean shorts are dry from baking on the deck, and I pull them over the hot pink bikini bottoms, choosing not to cover up the strappy bikini top.
"Receive any more love notes?" Brendan asks, sitting next to me on the blanket we laid out, while the others are loading their plates with food.
And just when I thought I could spend a day without having to worry about
who's out to ruin me, Brendan has to remind me of my reality. "Not unless you've hidden one for me that I haven't found yet."
"I'm telling you, it wasn't from me," he says, holding his hands up in innocence. "Doesn't it concern you a little?"
"Maybe if I knew what the hell it's was about." Which reminds me ... "I'll be right back." I stand, leaving my plate of food on the blanket and walking through the house in search of my bag that I tucked under the porch on the driveway side of the house.
Because it provides more privacy, I stay on this side when I pull the phone out of my bag and turn it on. Joey's is the only contact listed. I think about texting, but know we really need to talk.
He picks up on the second ring and answers like he's been expecting me. "Hi, Lana."
"Hi," I say quietly.
"I'm glad you called," he says, the low tone of his voice shoots right through me with a shiver. I shake it off. "I've been worried about you."
I close my eyes, fighting the urge to hang up because just hearing him speak is affecting me, and I hate it. "Where's Vic?"
"He's in Europe for the summer. He left last weekend."
"Will he be returning to Printz-Lee?"
"I don't know. Are you worried?"
"Only about Allie," I tell him.
"I know," he says quietly. "Me too. She's still in a coma."
"How do you know?"