Heavenly (3 page)

He's sixteen, I thought.
He can take care of himself. Just like I can.


THREE


I pulled up next to Britt's house and texted her that I was outside. She was never ready on time, and I waited, the

heater and music blasting. Her parents liked to think they were progressive allowing Britt and her friends to come and go

whenever, but I'd lived long enough with my parents and the fragile situation with Abria that I never assumed an open door

really meant walk-in-any-time. Every family had stuff they didn't want the world to witness.

Soon, Britt came out, her tall leggy form in glove-fit jeans, baggy sweater with fringe on the arms, her long straight

blonde hair swinging to the rhythm of her runway model stride.

She stopped, posed and laughed. I laughed, too, realizing how good it felt—the first laugh I'd had all day.

"I'm so ready for tonight," Britt said, once inside the car. She tossed her retro suede bag into the backseat and brought the door closed.

"You?" I pulled out onto the road. "I'm ready to kill somebody."

"Your mom again?" Britt pulled down the visor. The mirror lit and she gazed at her angular face in the mirror.

"Everyone. Mom was sulking around like someone was going to die if she didn't die first. But I'm totally disgusted

with Luke. He's hanging out with Sam Penrod."

"The drug guy?" Britt looked at me.

"Yeah."

She slapped the mirror shut. "Man. What is it with Luke, anyway?"

"Who knows? I'm sick of trying to figure him out." "Sorry you've had a lousy day, hon." She patted my shoulder. "I know just the thing to cheer you up."

I doubted anything could blast me out of my foul mood. "Is it male? Cause that's what will cheer me up, that's what I

need right now. Where am I going, anyway?"

Britt laughed and cranked up the music so we'd have to shout. "Weston Larsons house."

My eyes met hers. I grinned. "No way." She nodded, pleased to have delivered good news. "How did you swing that?"

"Apparently Weston's wanted to meet me for some time now." She batted her lashes.

"See? I told you he had it for you. I saw the way he watched you at the assembly. Still, how did you get us into his

party?"

"I got sick of waiting for him to get up the nerve to talk to me, so I cornered him outside his locker yesterday. You

should have seen his face. I swear he swallowed his tongue." We laughed.

She had someone for the night, but that didn't help me any. My mood still reeked. I drove up Mt. Cherry Drive toward

the sprawling white brick house every girl at Pleasant Grove High School knew belonged to Weston Larson and his world-

traveling parents. I suppose Weston's jock-player-partier good looks and money made him famous.

The house sat even closer to the forest than ours did, cradled deep in aspens and pines. A large, semi-circular

driveway made the grounds grandiose. Every light was on and music pounded from windows open in spite of chilly winter

temperatures.

Even though dozens of cars lined the street and the circular drive, I pulled my silver VW right up onto the grass and up to the front door. Britt grinned. "Love the way you park, girl." "That's the beauty of driving a bug." I got out and locked the doors.

We hooked arms and entered the pulsing place. Lights were low. Candles made everything smell like fruit and

cinnamon, the flames creating flickering shadows on every wall. A shiver sent thrills through my body, thrills that

reverberated with the pounding bass beat.

Couples stood locked in corners, kissing. Hands groped. I watched, jealous it wasn't me being ravished, more

determined to be ravished before the night was over.

A deep male voice plunged through the loud music, and Britt came to a stop next to me.

"Hey." The voice belonged to Weston. He stood in a tight white tee shirt skimming every hard curve of his chest,

back and arms. Jeans hugged his built legs. In his right hand, he held an amber bottle. His dark eyes smiled at Britt.

"Hey, Weston. Nice party."

"Now that you're here," he said.

I rolled my eyes.

Britt's arm slipped from mine and I was on my own. She inched toward him, lit up from head-to-toe. "How about you

show me your house?"

His All-American grin deepened. "Can I get you something to drink on the way?" He slid his arm around her waist

and was about to usher her away when she turned back toward me. "You going to be okay, Zoe?"

I gave her a confident nod. "Yeah, of course. Go."

They took off. I tried not to be annoyed by the fact that he hadn't even looked at me, not said hello or acknowledged

my presence. I'd been friends too long with Britt to be jealous other. Besides, she'd been collecting boys since ninth grade.

Determined to ditch my bad mood, I decided to find myself a guy and headed into the crowd. Faces eyed me and heads

leaned into whisper as I passed. The game was so trivial, yet here I was, once again throwing the roulette wheel into motion.

But the game was the only way I knew to really ditch my worries, even temporarily, of Luke, my parents, and the losing

battle of Abria, not to mention my own rollercoaster ride. These people had no idea how heavy my shoulders were. Part of

me hated them because they had such easy lives. Another part of me knew everyone had their problems, but surely none

crushed as deeply as mine.

I crossed to one of the ice chests propped invitingly open, packed with bottles and cans of beer. I plucked an icy

bottle, twisted off the top and drank. Though beer wasn't my drink of choice, it worked fast enough, deadening what I didn't

want to feel inside anymore, enabling me to slip into sludge mode. I could handle one drink.

Unlike Luke, I wasn't addicted.

I cruised the place, greeting those I knew. Eyeing couples locked together, my own hungers intensified. I'd done this. I

knew what I was hunting for: hot, easy and fast. Names were fine, but bodies were all that mattered. Within minutes, the beer was gone. I was still empty inside. I got another, closed my eyes, and forced the sharp bubbles down. "Whoa there. You

thirsty or what?"

I opened my eyes and looked into the pudgy face of a guy I didn't know. "Or what," I answered.

He laughed and his rounded belly jiggled underneath his blue plaid shirt. "Okaaay. Is that your first or fifth?"

"Neither." He looked like Santa’s son—definitely not my type and I faked a fat yawn, looking around for a trash can.

"Want to talk about it?"

I lifted my lip and glared. A nice buzz dulled my compassion. "Um... not right now." Then I passed him, tossing my

bottle into an overflowing waste basket and I stumbled into the living room where I could search for hotter prospects.

Here, the music broke my eardrums, the pulsing beat resounding through my body in a guttural rhythm that made me

search each single guy with the urgency of a cat in heat.

I'd always been partial to guys with dark hair and a cluster of mop-heads stood next to the fireplace with bottles in their

hands. I made my way over, nearly tripping on some chicks leg as she lay prostrate on the couch with some dude, her left leg

blocking the only clear path.

The guys in the huddle all seemed to twitch when they saw me heading their direction. I grinned. "Hey," my voice

had dropped a few octaves, and sounded like a rusty engine, just starting up.

"Hey," they said.

"Anybody wanna dance?" One was totally my type: dark hair, dark eyes, white teeth and lanky build. I brushed up

against him. "How 'bout you?"

He appeared taken aback, but he shot his buddies a smile then lifted his shoulders. "Sure."

I took his hand and we wove through dancing bodies until we found a tiny spot open and wedged in. I slid my arms

up around his neck, snuggling close, taking a deep breath. "Mmm. You smell good," I said against his neck.

He was like dancing with a surfboard. I didn't care. Most guys softened up after a while, I was sure he would

eventually. Then we'd find a nice, cozy corner and ravish each other.

"Tell me your name." I looked up at his face. Nice face. He glanced at me.

"Tyler."

"Ty—ler. Mmm. I like that."

I laid my head against his chest, wanting to hear his heartbeat but couldn't over the pounding music. Then I jerked

back. "Don't you wanna know my name?" I never gave my real name at these hunting parties. Anonyminity was crucial to saving face. Besides, what teenager doesn't like to pretend they're somebody else?

"Sure. Okay"

"Clementine." He nodded. "Say it," I said. "I wanna hear you say it."

"Clementine." Good. See? It wasn't hard to say, was it?"

He shook his head.

I rested my head on his chest again and held on tighter. He felt so good, so strong. Male. I wanted him to kiss me. I wanted to feel his hands on my back, not stuck—like they seemed to be. His grip hadn't relaxed any. I was pricked by his lack of

interest. I lifted my head and looked at him. He stared off over my shoulder.

"Don't you wanna dance with me?"

His eyes met mine. Even in my dulled state I didn't miss the Hash of discomfort crossing his face. "Uh. Yeah. I do."

He looked away.

I might not have been Britt, all legs and confidence, but I could hold my own. And I was there to hook up, not baby-

sit. "You look bored."

"Why do we have to talk about it?"

He was right. I was ruining the dance. Still, when I snuggled against him again and he didn't soften any, the

discomfort he was feeling transferred to me.

We continued to dance, like corpses stuck together. Finally the music stopped and without a goodbye or even a thanks,

he was gone and back in the safe circle with his friends.

"That's it?" I shouted over the music, but he was too far away now and the music was too loud. He didn't hear me.

I plunged through the bopping crowd in search of another guy. By this time I was pretty dazed, knocking into people

with the finesse of a bowling ball rolling downhill. I said hi to those I knew, moved on from those I didn't until I found

myself at another cooler of bottles.

Another wouldn't hurt me. I plucked one out, but the top was so tight, 1 couldn't twist it off.

Sticking the metal cap between my teeth didn't help—and I cursed, ready to hit the bottle top against the nearest

surface in order to break it. Turning, I swerved smack into the chest of Santa's son.

He grinned, his rosy cheeks shiny in the dim light. "Want some help with that?" He took the bottle from my hand and easily twisted it open before handing it back to me.

"What're you doing," I mumbled. "Stalking me?"

He laughed. "Yeah, but you're too wasted to notice, right?"

"Not drunk." I shook my head, tilted it back and drank, eyes closed. Then I let out a satisfied sigh. "Well, maybe a teensy."

"Hey, you wanna go upstairs?"

I cocked my head and sneered. "I'm not
that
drunk." After another deep swig I headed away from him. "Creep." He was so desperate.
Pathetic.
I scanned the bopping living room for another potential hook up.

Moving up the stairway was Britt, holding Weston's hand. She didn't see me, too enamored with him to look at

anything but his face. But, host that Weston was, his quick see-if-anyone's-watching-me glance caught mine and held. A

funny feeling trickled through me, one that left me wondering why he was staring at me while he held the hand of the schools

most beautiful girl.

I tossed back the last of the beer in my bottle as if to send him an I-don't-give-a-rip-about-who-you're-with-Weston

look and when I was finished, the two of them had disappeared upstairs.

A lonely echo pounded through my heart. How many times had I felt alone, torn between jealousy and joy watching

Britt get whatever she wanted while I stood on the sidelines? I closed my eyes, forcing back tears of self pity and threw the bottle on the floor before continuing on my quest for a hottie of my own.

My gaze connected with a few single guys but none of them cranked my soused libido. Everywhere I looked couples

were locked together.

The scent in the room thickened to a lusty soup. My gag reflex kicked in. I headed for the front door. I had seconds to

make it outside where I could heave without anyone seeing me.

My puke covered the bush to the right of Weston's front door, turning the green plant into a shimmering, orangey,

sludge-like fungus. The sight made me heave again.

When I was certain my stomach was empty, I stood upright. My abdominal walls ached.

Storm clouds overhead broke, sending hard pellets of water to the ground. I dove for the safety of the covered porch. Light-

headed, I looked for something to wipe my mouth with. There was nothing, so I lifted the hem of my shirt for a fast swipe. I

closed my eyes, sighed, and waited for the stars spinning behind my vision to slow. I'd done this to myself. I really didn't

need to even ask why. The answer always hovered over me — I hated life, had for a long time. Music pulsed into the night

from the open windows. I looked at everyone inside, smiling, laughing, lost in licentious oblivion and wondered why I

couldn't have gone in there, found somebody and done the same. Why did I always end up outside, looking in?

I stumbled back indoors, determined that this night would be different from all the others. Britt wouldn't be the only

one getting what she wanted.

Standing in the foyer, I scanned the place. There was only one problem.

I didn't know what I wanted.


FOUR


I always slept in late enough that Mom and Dad never found out about my drinking. Awake, I lay with my brain in a

puddle of mental mush. What happened last night? I remembered barfing. Going back into the house, looking for an easy