Party Read Online Free Page B

dad. (Clearly, this better opportunity consists of him muttering a lot and being absolutely useless on the weekends.)
    “But they probably will figure it out sooner or later,” Ashley says reasonably. “And then you’re
done.”
    “Ashley, can we seriously forget it? We’re going to a
party
, you know? Can you not be a bummer, please?”
    She pulls into the parking lot of Super Cuca’s. We’re lucky to find a space. Super Cuca’s is a little shop with room for maybe four people at the counter, with a few tables outside on a patio. The parking lot is really tiny.
    Ashley shuts off the engine and turns toward me.
    “I’m sorry he’s a jerk, Morry,” she says. Her big blue eyes are sad and angry all at once, the way only your best friend’s can be when she’s defending you.
    I squish down in the seat and fold my arms. “Not a jerk,” I say, pouting a little. “Just … not there. He only notices stuff like, I got a D in English or yelled at Mom or something. Whatev.”
    “He ever notice the good stuff?”
    I snort. I can do that in front of Ashley, it’s okay. “Are you analyzing me now?”
    “Just asking,” Ashley says. “I mean … it’s been two years and I’ve never seen him, like, hug you.”
    The last time my dad hugged me was when we put our cocker spaniel to sleep. I was twelve. Mom does it more often, these quick little squeezes in the morning if she hasn’t gone to work when I get up for school, but usually she’s already left for her office.
    I remember one Christmas I had asked for this specific Barbie, and to be honest, I don’t even remember which one anymore. But I know that I got it. And I was so happy. I ran over to my dad (sitting on that same damn couch, which we actually
brought with us
from New York) and jumped in his lap and hugged him around the neck and tried to kiss him. He moved his head. I tried again, and he moved again. I could feel one of his hands kind of tugging at the collar of my footie pajamas. Pulling me away from him.
    I got the message. I climbed off him and said, “Thank you, Daddy,” and he smiled and changed the channel with the remote. My mom smiled too, but kinda sad-like.
    That sort of thing stays with you, you know? That must’ve been like ten years ago. A decade. It suddenly occurs to me I’m old enough to say
That was ten years ago
. Think about it.
    But I don’t tell Ash any of that. I don’t tell her the only reason I think they’re still together is me. Like they think they’re doing me a favor by not getting a divorce. Sometimes I wonder. It’s not like they hate each other, or fight a lot. They just …
aren’t there
. At least if I got punished—grounded, or my mom slaps me, or my dad sells the car—they’ll have seen me.
    “On the other hand,” Ashley says, interrupting my mental bitchfest, “maybe he doesn’t know how.”
    “Huh?” I say, and think of my mom and cavemen.
    “Maybe he doesn’t know how to, like … tell you he loves you. Guys are like that.”
    Except he has told me that. A couple times, anyway. But I don’t tell Ashley
that
, either. And yeah, maybe guys don’t know how to tell girls they love them; Josh
said
it all the time but would never
show
it, and I mean—
    You know, who cares. The biggest party of the year is starting! Sitting in this parking lot bitching about my parents isn’t how I want to spend what is probably going to be my last weekend out for a long time once they find out I’ve taken off.
    If
they find out.
    “Hey,” I say, and sit up in the seat. “Let’s
eat
! We shouldn’t get drunk on an empty stomach!”
    “Oh yeah?” Ash says, and smirks. “Where’d you hear that, alky?”
    “Uh, your brother-the-cop,” I sass back. Ashley’s brother James is a Santa Barbara cop, which is kind of funny because he was the one who first got us drunk, got us our first joint, and knocked a guy out once who grabbed Ashley’s ass on the bus. That was all before he became one of S.B.’s finest,