Back the Truck Up

A flash of memory from last night drifts into my head.

. . . Aiden's fingers tangled in my hair, his lips hot on mine, his breath the fluttering rhythm that made me want to dance . . .

Mom huffs a heavy breath, but Dad just looks skeptical.

I roll my eyes and lean in. "Look, Dad, I'm sorry, but you missed that bus a long time ago, okay? If I was sleeping with someone, I'd just tell you."

Mom gasps and Dad's eyes bulge. "Well, that's . . . reassuring," he murmurs. The trace of a smile curls the corners of his mouth.

"Hardly!" Mom pulls out the chair next to Dad and drops into it. "You are grounded, young lady. And I don't care what you think you know about men, we're scheduling a very serious talk. People may be more . . . flippant about sex these days, but that's no reason for you to turn yourself into the town tramp."

"Excuse me?!"

"Lynn, I don't think that'll help—"

Mom whirls on Dad. "You always take her side! Always! She plays you like a violin. Well, teenage girls and hormones are something I understand better than you, so let me handle this!"

"Mom, I'm not—"

"I'm not finished!" Mom screws her eyes up and shrieks at the ceiling. If Amy was still asleep, she won't be now.

I shake my head, letting it rest in my hands while Mom takes off again—about how she got pregnant at nineteen with me and it ruined her life.

Yeah, I get it, Mom. Thanks.

Well, I may be clear-headed and sober as a saint, but I didn't get any sleep last night. I'm so tired it's hard to focus. So I drop my head in my hands and wait for my cue, tuning in every minute or so to see how far there is to go.

". . . It was easy to think I was in love because I didn't know what love was . . ."

Nope, still a while.

". . . Seems like all your friends are doing it, but most of them are making it up. And the ones that aren't usually aren't doing it as much as they say they are . . ."

Still have to cover the health risks.

". . . You know unprotected sex can literally kill you? The way you were living before played roulette with your life. Not to mention if you get pregnant . . ."

Still a few minutes to go.

". . . Lose your childhood if you have a baby when you're young. Even though you'll love anyone who comes into your life, you'll look back and wonder what might have been . . ."

Getting closer. I sit up and try to meet her eyes without rolling mine.

" . . . When you arrived you were worth all the pain. But if I had the choice . . . " Her glance at Dad is apologetic. I've often wondered how he feels about how their road to marriage is her greatest regret.

The fact that she points to me as the reason everything in her life went wrong cuts deeper than I'll admit out loud.

Dad watches me. Looking sad, not angry. It makes me squirm. I want to leave.

Then the silent room registers. Mom's finally wound down. I turn to make peace, but find her bladed eyes, fixed on me.

If looks could kill . . .

Between Mom's tension, and Dad's weariness, I just want to get out of this room.

"I get it, Mom," I sigh. "I dodged a bullet. I know. But I'm not sleeping with anyone. And I'm not planning on it. If that changes, I promise I'll tell you, and I'll be safe." I meet her eyes.

She isn't satisfied, of course, but Dad heads her off before she can start up again.

"Kate, thank you for being honest. You're growing up—almost as old as we were when we got married. Maybe it's time for us to reconsider your boundaries. But for now, you're grounded. If you settle down for the next couple weeks, keep going to group, and don't make trouble, we can talk about extending your curfew."

I gape.

"Are you insane?" Mom rounds on Dad. "She stays out all night and you reward her?"

Dad gives her a flat look. "No. She's grounded, like you said. But I'm willing to reward her honesty – if she shows some maturity and accepts her punishment without causing problems." His eyes flip to me.

I nod, more shocked that he's being reasonable than I am concerned about being grounded. A part of me is relieved that the choice of whether to see Aiden again has been taken out of my hands.

Mom shakes her head, muttering, but it isn't about me anymore.

My eyes drift closed and I have to force them back open. "Can I go to bed now?"

Dad nods and flaps a hand at me. Mom snaps at him and I don't have the energy to back him up, so I scoot back my chair and head out of the room, across the living room and up the stairs.

As soon as I'm away from them, all my feelings bubble to the surface. The euphoria's still there, strong enough to make me laugh. But there's a darkness too. It's heavy. Not like a hangover. More like . . . nerves. Or shame. It makes me wish I'd never gone to that bonfire. And makes me wonder . . .what happened when I was spellbound?

The thrill rides up my throat again.

I reach the stairs and haul myself up to the landing. Amy's room is the only other one up here. Her door's cracked open, so I figure she's probably been listening. But I'm too tired to talk, so push my door open and shuffle in, pulling off my jacket.

My room's light and growing brighter because it's dawn, and I never shut the curtains. The window's open a hair—I don't remember doing that. Internally shrugging because I'm too tired to care, I take off my jeans and crawl into bed in my tank top and underwear.

I'm sliding under the blankets, sighing with relief and trying to tune out the rising voices downstairs when something crackles under my arm.

I dig around and pull out a piece of yellow notepaper. One of Aiden's notes. I must have left it there.

Suddenly nervous Amy might have come in here last night and found it, I unfold it.

My mouth drops open.

Beautiful,

We're getting together again tonight.

Same time, same place.

I know what went wrong. It won't happen again.

I'm a very responsible driver. Promise.

Come?

-Aiden

I sit bolt-upright. But the room's empty. Isn't it? I push up to my knees and yank the window netting back to look outside. I can't see anything except the lawn and the big tree between us and our neighbor. Can't hear anything except birds welcoming the sun. The neighborhood is dead, uninhabited. It's still early on a Saturday.

I'm about to give up and retreat back into my room when the sound of an engine roaring to life breaks the tranquil scene. I lean out to look out onto the street.

Sure enough, Aiden's car is parked in the deep shadow of a tree across the road. I can't see in the tinted windows, but the turn signal starts to blink, then the car pulls away from the curb and rumbles down the street.

I watch it go, stomach sinking because I wish I was in the car too.