What's Broken Between Us by Alexis Bass Read Free Book Online

It’s such a relief, for once, to have the right lines.

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
    HarperCollins Publishers
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CHAPTER
EIGHT
    L imos drop us off at the after-homecoming party at a rented house twenty miles north and remain “on call” the rest of the night. The drivers give us handfuls of their cards. Ride free tonight! is written in purple block letters above the phone number. This arrangement was organized by the school and parents—they raised donations to cover the cost of renting all the limos for the night. Most parents were probably very generous. I know mine were. And it’s great publicity for the limo companies, thanks to an article that made the Saturday edition of the Chicago Tribune .
    The ride was full of shh, be quiet , as everyone got on the phone with their parents to check in, which in most cases involvedreinforcing the lie they’d told. I’m sleeping over at Lacey’s, that’s right. My parents never required lies, as they never set curfews. I heard my mother say once, “At least he wasn’t on his way home,” about Jonathan on the night of the accident. Her absolution, twisted into a nod to her no-curfew policy. They know I’m not coming home tonight, and they didn’t ask for details.
    We pull up to a monstrosity of a house with a wraparound porch and big windows, at the end of a long driveway, with tall, thick trees surrounding it. It’s the kind of house that looks like it should be backed up against a lake.
    “There are, like, a million bedrooms,” one of Graham’s soccer buddies informs us.
    Graham blushes.
    I smile at them, nodding, so they’ll know I understand the excitement. Really I’m praying that whatever room we end up in, it’s far away from Henry and Imogen. Tonight marks another failed attempt at keeping Henry off my radar.
    After just twenty minutes of exploring the giant house, we all end up in the kitchen. There’s enough pizza to feed an army, and an entire refrigerator full of soda. There’s a lot of beer, too, purchased at a mini-mart fifteen miles away that is known to never card. Someone’s older sister hooked the party up with vodka. It’s in a bottle that’s three times the size of a regular bottle and made of plastic. If my brother has taught me anything, it’s that you don’t drink the liquor that comes in plastic bottles. He gave me this advice while resting his head on the toilet in theupstairs bathroom. It’s not to be taken lightly.
    Graham tries to score me a wine cooler, but they’re gone in a flash, downed by the girls’ soccer team, if their dark-red lips serve as a tell.
    There’s a Ping-Pong table in the basement. I get a few games in with Graham before it’s turned into a beer-pong table. Though it’s his first time playing beer pong, Graham is actually very skilled, and people fight to be his partner. He’s got a spot at the table all night, as he remains undefeated. Everyone is bouncing off the walls—so many people to talk to, so much to talk about. I can’t keep up. I shut myself in the room with my stuff, and no one comes after me. It’s sort of a relief. I’m a little afraid that people, drunk, with all inhibitions off duty, might have things to say about my brother.
    The room Graham and I chose is at the very end of the hall on the lower level. It’s far away from the family room, and from the bathroom—which sounds inconvenient, but will actually help us sleep better, since we won’t be woken up every time someone has to vomit in the middle of the night. It’s a small, narrow afterthought sort of room, with round windows, wood paneling, and an exposed lightbulb on the ceiling. There are denim duvets and red throw pillows on the matching twin beds. I joked with Graham that we’d be like Lucy and Ricky Ricardo. He didn’t hear me. He was too busy pushing the beds together.
    I changed out of my dress and into yoga pants and a T-shirt earlier, like