Absinthe

by Winter Renshaw

  “Yeah,” I call out. “One sec.”

  I graze my palm along a pressed wave. Tabitha insisted we get our hair done at her salon today. While my hair looks soft and bouncy and neatly done, it’s hard as a rock and covered in hairspray.

  A gold sequined bodice hugs my waist and lifts my breasts, and the peach tulle skirt hits just above my knees.

  I look like Peaches-n-Cream Barbie.

  I look exactly like the kind of girl who goes to homecoming with Thane Bennett.

  The squeal of my aunt and uncle downstairs tells me Bree went on without me, which is fine. Grabbing my matching sequin bedazzled clutch, I head downstairs.

  Nobody makes a big deal out of my entrance … except for Thane. His face lights as he stands there in his suit, holding a corsage in a plastic box and wearing the biggest grin I’ve ever seen.

  “Halston,” he says, brows lifted. “You look beautiful.”

  I wave my hand, brushing off his compliment. “Anyone would look beautiful with this much hair and makeup and a dress that shines like the top of the Chrysler building.”

  “Don’t be so modest, you look incredible,” Aunt Tabitha says, and it just might be the first compliment she’s ever paid me.

  Glancing out the front window, I spot a black limo in the driveway, and a man in a black tux and white driving gloves standing beside the passenger door.

  “So, dinner reservations are at seven at Maestro’s Little Italy, but they want us to check in ten minutes early,” Bree says. Leave it to her to be the mother hen of the group tonight, though I’d expect nothing less. “I have our tickets in my bag. I also have gum and a phone charger if anyone needs it.”

  Rolling my eyes when no one’s looking, I loop my arm through Thane’s and pull him toward the door.

  “No, no, wait,” Aunt Tab says. “I want to get some pictures. And you need to do the flower thing.”

  Exhaling, I turn back toward the group and suffer through no fewer than a hundred snapshots, smiling and posing and pretending to gush over the pink rose and baby’s breath corsage Thane chose for me. By the time we’re done, my cheeks are stretched and my jaw aches.

  This very well may be the longest night of my life.

  But I’ll get through it.

  Always do.

  Chapter 31

  Ford

  “I’ve always loved homecoming.” Sara Bliss clasps her hands, watching as students begin to fill the gymnasium. Music pumps from the speakers, a mix of songs, some new and unfamiliar, some nostalgic. “There’s just something magical in the air. The weather is cool, the leaves are changing. Everyone’s excited for a new school year.”

  Her small talk is like a splinter, slivering its way beneath my skin.

  “I was homecoming queen my senior year, believe it or not,” she says, leaning closer and bumping me with her shoulder. If she’s trying to impress me, she’s wasting her time.

  A Black Eyed Peas song comes on next and she starts dancing some weird, dorky little dance, and I don’t know if she’s trying to be funny and quirky or if this is just how she is, but I can’t take my eyes off the door.

  Any minute now, Halston’s going to wander in on Thane’s arm, and while I have no intentions of stoking the fire that took all the self-control I had to put out last weekend, I want to make sure she’s okay.

  All week, she avoided me.

  She’d see me and she’d walk the other way.

  Clearly, I hurt her, and while I’m sorry, I did what I had to do.

  If only I could find the chance to tell her that.

  The song changes, something slow and unfamiliar, and couples filter toward the dance floor, wrapping their arms around each other and trying to pretend their moments are more enchanting than awkward.

  Hate to break it to them, but one of these days, they’ll barely remember this night. All they’ll have are their filtered-to-death Instagram posts and saved Snap Chats.

  The crowd is thicker than it was a moment ago, and the students begin to stir a bit.

  “Elvis has entered the building,” Sara says.

  Peering across the gym, the sea of well-dressed high schoolers parts and Thane Bennett struts, peacock proud, with Halston Kessler in tow. His crown rests on his head, cocked to the side, and he wears the proudest smirk I’ve ever seen.

  Everyone cheers for him, even Sara. But I just stand here, arms folded, watching their every move.

  I swear there’s a halo around Halston. She radiates, her skin warm and tan, her dress glimmering under the flashing lights. He places his hand on her hip and pulls her close just as the song changes, and then he kisses her.

  He kisses the sweetest lips I’ve ever known.

  And in this moment, I’m sunk.

  Being jealous of an eighteen-year-old means I’ve officially hit rock bottom.

  I stand behind the refreshments table and observe the two of them, ensuring his hands don’t travel lower than they should while nonchalantly watching for any cues that suggest she’d rather be anywhere else but here, with him.

  But she’s acting as if I don’t exist, pretending not to feel my penetrating stare from across the room.

  They dance to another song before a crowd of brawny football players surround him. He wears the limelight like couture, basking in his moment. Guys like Thane tend to peak in high school, but I won’t be the bearer of bad news. He’ll find out someday. The second he leaves Rosefield High, no one’s going to give a rat’s ass how many track records he’s shattered or how many girls he fucked before he even knew how to properly fuck.

  Halston squeezes away from the crowd, heading toward the punch bowl … toward me.

  We lock eyes, and I wear a solemn expression, though my heart is thundering harder with each step that brings her closer.

  When she stands on the other side of the table, maybe two feet from me, I want to tell her how beautiful she looks. How radiant and stunning. But I can’t.

  “Principal Hawthorne,” she says, filling her cup. “Had no idea you were chaperoning tonight.”

  I’m not sure how to respond with Sara beside me, but I know what Halston’s insinuating.

  “I’m filling in for someone,” I finally say.

  She takes a sip, staring up at me through thick, dark lashes. “Okay.”

  Either she doesn’t believe me or she doesn’t care. I’m not sure which is worse.

  “Are you enjoying yourself tonight, Miss Kessler?” I ask.

  “Wouldn’t you like to know.” Halston lingers for a second, and then she’s gone, disappearing into the crowd.

  The DJ asks the king and queen to take the dance floor while he spins some God-awful pop medley, and the second it’s over, I spot Thane and Halston slipping out the side door.

  It’s only nine. They weren’t even here for a half hour.

  Pulling in a deep breath, I force it through my nostrils. Every muscle in my body tightens. I don’t know where she’s going or what his intentions are with her tonight. Not being able to talk her out of it is killing me.

  “Uh, oh. I think I see a flask.” Sara taps me, pointing toward a girl with wild red hair and a purple dress that goes to the floor. “You want to take care of it or do you want me to?”

  Storming off, I do my fucking job.

  And the second the dance is over and the last student has left the building, I sit in my car and message Halston. I’d promised myself I’d leave her be. I swore on my life that I’d never contact her again, but in this case, I’m truly concerned for her safety. Leaving the dance early with Mr. Popular can only mean one thing: the pencil-dicked douche wants to get her drunk and fuck her.

  Not on my watch.

  Pulling out my phone, I tap on the Karma icon and shoot her a message.

  Kerouac: Where’d you go?

  Absinthe: Seriously??

  Kerouac: You left after twenty minutes. I assume you went to a party?

  Absinthe: WTF is wrong with you?!

  Kerouac: ???

/>   Absinthe: You tell me to leave you alone. You kick me out of your house after we kiss. You watched me like a fucking hawk at the dance—which made an already unenjoyable evening that much more unenjoyable, so thanks for that. And now you’re messaging me like it’s any of your business what I’m doing?!

  Kerouac: Just because I can’t be with you doesn’t mean I can’t care about you.

  Absinthe: Yes, it does. That’s exactly what it means. You don’t get to care anymore.

  Kerouac: I’m trying to do the right thing. Morally. Ethically. Professionally.

  Absinthe: How valiant.

  Kerouac: I think about you all the time. I go to bed, you’re on my mind. I wake up, you’re the first thing I think about. Seeing you in the halls drives me fucking insane because all I want is to have you to myself, for you to belong to me. You’re right there, so close, and I can’t go anywhere near you. I may not be able to control my thoughts, but I can control my actions. I’m not going to touch you. I’m not going to cross that line.

  Absinthe: You could’ve had me, but you’re too chicken shit. I thought you were like me, but turns out you’re nothing but a fucking coward.

  Kerouac: I’m a professional, not a coward.

  Absinthe: You’re a big, fat fucking coward.

  Kerouac: Where are you right now?

  Absinthe: LOL

  Kerouac: Are you drinking?

  Absinthe: Duh.

  Absinthe: And don’t worry. I won’t come a-knockin’ on your door tonight.

  Kerouac: I just want to make sure you’re safe and that you have a ride home.

  Absinthe: I’ve got it covered. I’m a responsible adult … too bad you don’t see me that way.

  Kerouac: That’s not true. I think the world of you. And I see you as an adult, just not one that I can be with at this point in time.

  Absinthe: I’m so bored with this. You sound like a broken fucking record. And you know what the worst part is? I’d still come over and fuck you if you asked me to. I’d leave right now.

  Kerouac: Don’t say that.

  Absinthe: It’s the truth.

  Absinthe: And that’s the difference between you and me … I’m not afraid of the truth.

  Absinthe: You want to be with me, Kerouac. And it terrifies you. And because of that, you lost the one chance you had. The only chance you’ll ever have.

  Absinthe: I have to go.

  Kerouac: Wait.

  Absinthe has signed off.

  Chapter 32

  Halston

  “Oh my god.” The hotel room is dark as midnight, the blackout curtains drawn tight with a hint of daylight around them. The sensation of cool sheets against my naked body mixed with the pounding throb in my head wasn’t exactly how I planned to wake up this morning. “Thane. Wake up.”

  He’s out cold, but I shove him until he begins to rustle, and when he rolls closer, he wears a dreamy smirk.

  “You were supposed to take me home last night.” I wrap the sheets around me, climbing out. “And where the fuck is my dress?!”

  “You said it was uncomfortable. You took it off.” He sits up, clicking on the bedside lamp and running his fingers through his messy hair as he watches me scramble around the room.

  “I don’t remember saying that.”

  “You were plastered last night.” He chuckles. “Never seen a girl put it down like that before. You didn’t get sick once. We were shocked.”

  I tug my dress on, thinking back to last night. All I remember is leaving the dance, climbing into Thane’s brother’s car, and heading to the hotel to party a little.

  “You were pacing yourself at first, then you were outside on your phone. When you came back in, you slammed a couple more shots of tequila and passed out.”

  I don’t remember any of that.

  He climbs out of bed, and the first thing I notice is the fact that he’s not completely naked. “We didn’t screw. Just so you know.”

  Thank god.

  Although I wouldn’t know for sure, I suppose.

  “You have to take me home,” I say. By some miracle I manage to find my phone buried under a mountain of empty beer cans.

  Twelve missed calls.

  All of them Uncle Vic, and all of them spanning one o’clock in the morning until as recently as fifteen minutes ago.

  Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

  I may not have screwed Thane, but I’m still screwed.

  The silence of the house when I step inside Sunday morning sends a chill to my veins. There’s no television humming in the background. No clinking or clamoring coming from the kitchen. Not so much of a hint of Aunt Tab’s Sunday morning cinnamon rolls in the air.

  Sliding off my heels in the foyer, I reach for the stair railing and begin my quiet ascent to my room so I can change out of this scratchy dress.

  “Halston.” Uncle Vic’s voice booms, echoing off the two-story ceiling and sending a quick shudder through my body. Turning, I see him standing at the bottom landing, arms folded and mouth bunched tight.

  “Uncle Vic. I’m so sorry. I fell asleep and—”

  “This is completely unacceptable.” He doesn’t give me time to explain. “We trusted you. We extended your curfew. We gave you a chance to show that you could be respectful and responsible. We’ve opened up our home to you, Halston. We want to see you succeed and become a productive member of society. The last thing we want is for you to end up like your parents.”

  I glance away. He didn’t need to bring them into this.

  I’ll never be like them.

  “You know, I was so proud of you this past summer when you started working,” he says. “And then you just quit one day. For no reason.” He shakes his head, but if he only knew … “And then school starts. You get this new boyfriend.” He says boyfriend like it’s a dirty word. “It’s like that’s all you care about now. Going out on the weekends. Messing around with boys. This is exactly what I was afraid of.”

  I’m not half as bad as he’s making me out to be, though I suppose if he’s comparing me to his virginal prodigy, Bree, I’m going to come out looking like the devil himself.

  “I’m sorry,” I say again. “It won’t happen again. I swear.”

  “Damn right it won’t happen again.” His face is red, his nostrils flaring as he steps toward me. I’ve seen my uncle get worked up about things in the past, but I’ve never seen him like this. “Give me your phone.”

  “What?!”

  “And your computer.” He holds his hand out, eyeing my clutch.

  “Why are you doing this?” It’s not like he’s crossing some line. He gave me the phone. He bought me the computer. He has every right to take them from me.

  “What’s the passcode to your phone?” he asks.

  I freeze, unable to speak. If he logs onto my phone, if he digs deep enough into everything I do, he’ll find my activity on Karma. All those opportunities I had to delete our conversations … I never wanted to because I loved going back and re-reading them, especially on the days when I missed him.

  “Your passcode, Halston.” His voice is louder this time. He has zero patience, and there’s not a chance in hell he’s going to calm down and change his mind anytime in the impending future.

  “Eight, two, nine, six, two, eight,” I whisper the numbers, it’s all I can do to force myself to speak.

  “And the password on your laptop?” he asks.

  “A farewell to arms,” I say softly, adding, “All one word.”

  “Bring it to me.”

  Turning, I take the steps, biding my time. And when I make it to my room, I close the door, crack open the laptop, and drag the Karma app to the trash. If I’m lucky, he’ll shove my phone in a drawer and never look at it again, and no one will know about the Kerouac and Absinthe saga.

  Wrapping the charger around the computer, I carry it down in my arms and hand it over.

  “When will I get these back?” I ask. “I have homework due this week.”

  “You’re
not getting them back, Halston,” he says. “Where you’re going, you won’t need these things.”

  “Where I’m going?” I squint.

  “Pack your things. We’re leaving first thing in the morning.”

  “Wait. You’re kicking me out because I came home late after homecoming?” I’ve never spoken back to my uncle before, but I can’t keep my mouth shut this time. He’s overreacting.

  “It’s a culmination of several things,” he says. “There’s a place that’s better equipped to handle girls like you.”

  “Girls like me?” I spit his words at him. “Uncle Victor, I’m your niece. I’m not some wayward soul, some problem child.”

  He exhales, head tilted. “I see you going down the same path your mother did at your age. I’ll be damned if I let it happen to you. You have a future, Halston. But if you continue on this path, defying authority and abandoning your responsibilities and obligations … you’re going to end up just like her.”

  “You won’t give me another chance?”

  “We’ve been giving you chances all year.” He shakes his head. “You’re family and we love you, but having you here has been a big adjustment for everyone.”

  My jaw falls. “I sit in my room ninety-nine percent of the time. I don’t make a sound. I clean up after myself. I do my chores. You’re making me out to sound like some kind of heathen, Uncle Vic, and it’s not fair.”

  Vic’s nostrils flair, and he squares his shoulders. “I wasn’t going to say anything. I promised Bree.”

  “What?” My brows twist. Oh, god.

  “Bree told us you were working at an adult restaurant,” he says.

  That fucking traitor.

  “It wasn’t an adult restaurant,” I say with air quotes. “Not the way you’re making it sound.”