Under the Lights by Dahlia Adler Read Free Book Online

now, so I basically just drank piss.
    I put the bottle down before I can hurl it at the concrete.
    â€œI fucking hate her,” I say quietly. “I hate them both.”
    He frowns. “I know. Trust me, I know all about parental douchebags. But you’ve got a kickass party set up, and people are gonna get here soon, and that guy’s just gonna get lost in the crowd. Let’s let the fact that Ally’s leaving be the only thing that blows about tonight, okay?”
    It’s such a childish, Liam pep talk, but it works; his Yoda shit always does. I take a deep breath and look around. “Yeah, let’s go get another beer.”

Chapter Four
Vanessa
    It’s so weird to be looking at sweaters,” Ally muses for the third or fourth time that afternoon. “I can’t believe I’m gonna need
sweaters
.” She says it as if it’s awful, but there’s a reason I’m the actor of the two of us. She can’t wait to wear itchy wool and cashmere cable-knit. And she eyed eight billion pairs of boots when we were in the shoe department. Girl’s clearly already an East Coaster in her mind.
    â€œThat one’s cute,” I say, trying to get excited about it. It
is
cute—a gray thing with a black Peter Pan collar that’ll probably look nice with jeans—but it’s hard to get psyched about
why
she’ll need sweaters. Not that we don’t wear sweaters and boots plenty here in LA, but they’re not exactly the wardrobe staples my jean cutoffs or cropped tops are.
    â€œYeah.” She fingers the fabric lightly before moving on, her eyes seven shades of dreamy. “I hope it’s nice when I get there. There are so many things I wanna do outdoors! I need to spend at least half a day just sitting and reading in Central Park, obviously. And I didn’t really get to see much of the city when I was there for Liam’s birthday last summer. I need to just walk around—SoHo, the Village, the Upper East Side…”
    I smile and nod and occasionally chime in as she talks about her soon-to-be home, but the moreshe talks about the things she can’t wait to see and experience, the bigger the lead ball in the pit of my stomach gets, and not just because my best friend’s going to be in a different time zone.
    She just sounds so…
old.
I mean, she sounds like the Ally I know and love—the one who can spend a billion years planning every detail of a trip to the freaking mall—but these things she’s talking about doing, she’s talking about doing
alone.
Her best friend will be in LA, her family will be in LA, even her boyfriend will be here. So why isn’t she freaked out at the prospect of going and exploring all by herself?
    I’d be freaking terrified.
    Don’t you realize you’re gonna be living with strangers?
I wanna shake her and ask.
Don’t you realize you aren’t gonna be eating home-cooked food? Or seeing your parents every day? Or grabbing Pinkberry with me just because it’s a Saturday?
    But of course she knows. And she can’t wait.
    â€œSo when do I get to come out and visit?” I ask, trying to get on board with the excitement.
    â€œWhenever you want, Vanny!” she says gleefully, though she keeps her voice down so as not to attract any attention with her mention of my name. I’m wearing a purple wig and (prescription-free) glasses, but that hasn’t stopped a few people already today from asking for my autograph. “I mean, as long as I don’t have orientation. Or mid-terms. Or finals.” God, even those words seem to excite her.
    No wonder my parents would swap us in a heartbeat.
    As she keeps talking, oblivious to the fact this entire conversation makes me feel like someone is squeezing my ribcage with pliers, I sneak a glance at my phone. Phew—definitely time to text the guys andget us over to that party. I could drink my freaking weight in