“Hey, chick,” she said, and Ellie raised her head a little.
“Hey, I love your hair!” Ellie straightened right up with excitement and stepped away from me, stumbling a little. “It’s so pretty!”
Anna ran her fingers through it and wore a smug look. “Thanks,” her lips pursed. “I like your . . . T-shirt. Walmart, right?”
Ellie flinched, but she still smiled.
I bit the inside of my cheek with frustration and slipped a hand into my pocket. “Hey, Anna, how’s summer school going?”
Her mouth fell open, Kevin and Murray sniggered, and that was all the attention that we gave her. The line moved forward, and it was our turn to order. We got a burger and drink each and sat in a booth at the front of the diner, out of sight so that we could eat in peace. Ellie seemed a bit more put together by the time she was done. She was still drunk, but not to the point that she couldn’t keep herself upright. We went back out to the car at quarter to one and I drove home to Ellie singing “Ray of Light” by Madonna, which was on the radio at full volume. It amazed me how she seemed to know the words to every single song that she heard. No matter how old or new it was, how popular or fast or slow, she knew every lyric.
I parked the car in the drive, and as feared, the living room lights were still on. “Shit,” I said and looked at Ellie, who was blinking so slowly that I thought she was about to fall asleep right where she sat.
“Els?”
She swiveled toward me so fast that her forehead almost collided with mine. I gripped her shoulders and looked into her unfocused, wandering eyes.
“Listen, when we go inside, head straight upstairs. You follow? Straight upstairs. The last thing we need is Mom calling your mom and telling her that you got smashed.”
“M’kay!” She nodded so forcefully that all I could do was hope like hell that Mom didn’t want to talk to her tonight. I probably shouldn’t have let this happen.
When we got out of the car, I held her hand, led her up the footpath, and shoved her inside as fast as I could. “Upstairs,” I whispered. “Go.”
Her eyes grew wide and she nodded, spinning around and taking off with so much speed that she put her foot, with force, straight into the leg of the hall table and knocked the vase off. It shattered on the tile, ear piercingly loud. My blood ran cold at the sight of shattered vase fragments and a frozen Ellie. Her stumbling feet crunched pieces of ceramic and each little noise was the knife digging in deeper.
“What on earth is going on in here?!” Mom appeared from the living room in her robe and slippers, her hair rollers creating an evening crown on her head. Her curious stare darted between the floor, Ellie, me, and the floor again. “Is she drunk?”
“Nope,” I grabbed Ellie and pulled her in tight beside me, giving her a light pinch in the side in the hopes that she would get the hint and put on the best damn performance of her life. “It was just an accident. A normal, sober accident.”
Mom tilted her head, eyes narrow, lips pursed.
The tension while she waited for me to cave was unbearable. The last time I had been challenged this hard was when Noah and I dabbled in pot last summer, ate the entire Fourth of July food preparations, and refused to confess. Mom knew, but she didn’t know, and we stood solid. Sort of like now, how it was obvious that Ellie was rolled, but I was hoping that she’d mistake it for tiredness and let us be.
“I was drugged!” Ellie suddenly shouted, the quiet snapping like a rubber band. I groaned. “I mean—what?”
“Leroy Lahey,” Mom seethed.
“It’s not his fault, Mrs. Lahey,” Ellie slurred, and I knew we were screwed. “I’m a lightweight, I didn’t realize how much I could handle. I only had two!”
“You’re holding up four fingers, Ellie,” my mom said.
“Oh.”
Mom closed her eyes, took a few deep breaths, and pointed at the staircase. “Upstairs. Water, bed. Both of you.”
Ellie stepped forward. “I’m so sorr—”
Her sentence was interrupted by an abrupt stream of projectile vomit that coated Mom’s slippers, the bottom of her robe, and the floor. My jaw dropped, Mom’s jaw dropped, and Ellie slapped a hand over her mouth, bursting into tears.
“Fuck me,” I mumbled so quietly that no one heard.
“Upstairs,” Mom ordered. There was no hesitation on my part. Ellie didn’t protest either when I grabbed her arm and dragged her up the staircase. As soon as we were out of earshot, I laughed—quietly, because if Mom heard me, I might as well ground myself.
“Stop laughing,” Ellie blubbered, tears streaming down her face. “What have I done? I’m horrible, Leroy, I’m horrible. I threw up on your mom. What the heck?”
I almost doubled over with another burst of laughter as I led her into the bathroom and closed the door behind us. She clearly wasn’t coping with the fact that she’d just humiliated herself, but she’d thrown up on my mom and that was not something that I was likely to see again in this lifetime. The situation was a mess, but I had to laugh—it was also hilarious.
She sat on the edge of the tub and sobbed while I wet a facecloth to clean her face. It was a team effort: she pulled her hair into a bun, I wiped her neck, and the mood was quiet while she brushed her teeth, elbows on the counter because she couldn’t stand upright. In her bedroom, she had laid out her little sleep set. Keeping herself organized was one of those little things that I loved so much about Ellie: everything in its place, and a place for everything. Somehow, it made how drunk she was even more amusing. There was nothing organized about someone who couldn’t dress themselves.
Kneeling in front of her, I pulled her dress over her head. It wasn’t until I pulled up the T-shirt underneath that I noticed she wasn’t wearing a bra. I inhaled and watched her face while I finished and carefully set her dress aside, never letting my eyes lower, her throat rolled, and her swollen lids fluttered slowly while she let her gaze move over my face. There was no chance that I was going to perv on her at a time like this, so I tugged her sleep shirt and shorts on and kissed her nose.
“Leroy!” Mom’s voice came from downstairs and Ellie watched the door, lips parted in concern. “Come here, please.”
“Lie down,” I told Ellie. She did and I pulled the sheets up and over her. “I’ll be right back.”
Downstairs, Mom was standing in the living room in a new robe, no slippers, though. It was too hot for slippers anyway—what was she thinking?
She said nothing, just stared, nostrils flared, arms folded. I couldn’t even look at her.
“Explain to me,” her voice broke the silence. “How did this happen? There were only a few rules, Leroy. Curfew, no sharing a bed, no sex, no drinking. She’s been here for about twelve hours. Did I mistake your character judgment?”