Midnight Sun Read online

  “It’s all Morgan,” I tell him with a wave of my hand, trying to shoo away the compliment and all the embarrassing blushing that accompanies it.

  He shakes his head. “Nope.”

  I’m about to protest again when Garver bursts onto the porch. He’s holding two bowls of chili. I don’t want to hurt his feelings, but I also don’t want to have chili breath around Charlie.

  “For you, good sir,” Garver says, handing one to each of us. “And for you, mademoiselle.”

  “Oh, thank you so much, but I can’t. I’m… allergic,” I tell him.

  “I’m allergic to your dead cat, but that doesn’t stop me from hanging out with you, right? Try it, you’ll like it,” Charlie says with a wink.

  He takes a bite, swallows, and gives Garver a thumbs-up. “Top shelf, buddy.”

  Garver tries again to hand off the bowl to me, but I put my hands up. “No. Thanks. Really.”

  “You sure?” he asks.

  I nod, so he starts chowing it down instead. Charlie makes a face, leans over, and whispers, “Wise decision. It tastes like ass.”

  I’m still giggling at Charlie’s assessment when Morgan walks outside. Garver stops midgobble to stare at her. A blob of beef teeters precariously on his chin.

  “I really thought we’d have a bigger turnout,” Garver comments. “But more beer and chili for us, right?”

  One of Garver’s friends sticks his head out the front door and says, “I told you not to go up against a cheerleader!”

  “What cheerleader?” Morgan asks.

  “The mean blonde one with the big Cadillac,” Garver says through a mouthful of food.

  “Zoe Carmichael?” Morgan yelps.

  Thank God we’re here and not there, I think.

  “Yeah. Zoe.” Garver nods. “She’s also having a party. Must have dinged our turnout.”

  “Should we just go there?” Charlie suggests.

  Adrenaline shoots through my body. There’s no chance I’m going to Zoe’s party. But there’s also no chance I’m not going if that’s where Charlie’s headed. What a conundrum.

  Garver’s shoulders slump. Anyone can see how important it is for him to impress Morgan. Which he’s not, but at least he’s trying. If we all leave, it’s not even a possibility anymore. “Whoa. You’re gonna bail on me, brah?”

  “Nobody’s bailing. I just thought we could move this whole scene over to her house.” Charlie looks over at me to gauge my reaction.

  I avoid his stare and look at Morgan like What am I supposed to do now? She looks at me and shakes her head. I look back at Charlie and shake mine.

  “You know how I told you my dad is superstrict? Well, I can’t go anywhere but where I said I’d be or I’ll be grounded for the entire summer.”

  “Couldn’t you just, like, text him and say your plans changed?” Charlie asks.

  I shrug. “That’s not how it works with my dad. Like I told you, he’s pretty overprotective.”

  “Let me drive you home and we can explain it to him together,” he offers.

  More emphatic head shaking from me. My dad doesn’t even know Charlie exists. The last thing I want to do is have to explain who he is, how we met, and that now we want to hit a rager together.

  “Okay then, staying here it is,” Charlie says, and he doesn’t even seem mad about it.

  After a half an hour, the keg is still untapped, the chili’s been eaten, and we’ve all demolished sundaes from Garver’s elaborate sundae bar. Charlie and I are left staring at each other, the conversation petering down to nothing. I am desperate not to let my first real date with him be my last one. And if this night gets any sleepier, I’m pretty sure that’s a distinct possibility.

  “Let’s just go,” I suddenly blurt out. “To the other party. What my dad doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

  Morgan gives me a look like Have you completely lost your mind? I wince. Desperate times call for desperate measures.

  “Okay, cool,” she says, giving me the hairy eyeball. “Lemme just get my passport, because Zoe Carmichael is Satan and her home is most likely the portal to hell.”

  Garver lets out a laugh.

  “Shut up, Garver, that wasn’t even a good joke,” she says, trying to act like she doesn’t love that he totally appreciates her humor. “And, Katie, you do realize we’re talking about Zoe Carmichael here? You know, the girl who basically ruined—”

  I cut her off before she can say “your life” or utter the words “Vampire Girl.” “I’m sure it’ll be fine,” I say quickly.

  “Zoe’s harmless,” Charlie assures us both. “She’s like a gnat with a really expensive car.”

  Morgan grabs my arm and pulls me up off the swing. “We’ll be back in a second, guys,” she says, and drags me into the house.

  I follow, glancing over my shoulder at Charlie as we walk away. He has a totally confused look on his face. I shrug like I don’t know either.

  “You do not have to go to Zoe’s just because you think that’s what Charlie wants to do,” she says when we get inside.

  “I know that.” I stare down at my feet and shuffle them around a bit. “I kind of just want to see what an actual high school party is like. No offense to Garver. He’s nice. The ice cream was good. But even I think it’s kind of lame here. This party is only slightly more exciting than watching Netflix with my dad.”

  Morgan grabs my chin and pierces me with an intense stare. “You’re sure?”

  I nod, gripping her hands in mine and taking a deep breath. “I’m sure. Dear Gabby inspired me. I can’t let XP hold me back anymore.”

  Morgan sighs and sticks her hands on her hips. “You are so full of shit.”

  “I’m not going if you don’t go,” I add.

  “You suck, Katie,” she says.

  “I’m not trying to,” I tell her. “I can’t help it. I found out I like being normal. Sorry.”

  Morgan gives me an exasperated look and walks out onto the porch. I follow her back there.

  “So?” Charlie asks when he sees us.

  “Still undecided,” Morgan says. “I mean, Garver put out such a nice spread…”

  Garver hops to his feet. “Um, Charlie and I discussed it, and we think it’s in all of our best interest to move this thing to another venue.”

  “You don’t have to put on a front, Garver,” Morgan tells him. “If you’d rather we stay here, we’re all down. Seriously.”

  Garver shakes his head. “No, honestly. Let’s roll.”

  Morgan still looks unconvinced.

  Charlie starts chanting, “Mor-gan. Mor-gan. Mor-gan.”

  Garver and I pick it up a beat later, so now we’re a chorus of encouragement. “MOR-GAN! MOR-GAN! MOR-GAN!”

  “Fine,” she finally concedes. “But don’t come crying to me when Zoe condemns you all to an existence of eternal fire and brimstone.”

  We all cheer. I throw my arms around her.

  “You’re the best friend anyone could ever ask for,” I whisper in her ear.

  “I honestly hope you don’t live to regret this,” she whispers back. “But just know I’ll be there even if you do. To throw down with anyone who dares to mess with you—and also to tell you I told you so.”

  It’s such a classic Morgan thing to say. I pull back and grin at her. “Got it.”

  Garver whistles, and yells to his friends, “Let’s go, boys! We’re mobilizing!”

  Before I have any more time to reconsider my impulsive decision, we pull up to a huge waterfront mansion. There’s a shiny white Escalade parked in the driveway. Its license plate reads 2LIT4U. It’s got to be Zoe’s. Clearly, she hasn’t changed a bit. I’m really starting to have second thoughts, but it’s too late to turn back now.

  Charlie easily lifts the keg out of Garver’s friend’s trunk and places it on the ground. The guys stare at him like he’s Superman since it took all three of them to get it in the trunk, and they start rolling it awkwardly toward the impressive home, which is buzzing with
loud music and even louder people. The closer we get to the front door, the slower they roll until everything’s at a total standstill.

  Garver clears his throat nervously. “This may not be a good idea,” he says. “We’ve never even talked to Zoe.”

  “I have,” Morgan says. “And you’re not missing anything except a brush with evil.”

  “Relax, guys,” Garver’s friend with the bowl cut and bow tie says. “I talked to Zoe just last week.”

  “Do you mean when she almost hit you with her SUV and called you a douchebag?” Garver asks, his mouth hanging open like even he can’t believe how clueless his friend is. “That’s not an actual conversation.”

  “Yes it is!” Bowl Cut and Bow Tie protests. “I said ‘Sorry’ to her. It was a back-and-forth. We were talking.”

  “It’ll be fine,” Charlie assures them. “Let’s do it.”

  His hand reaches for mine. I take it and we start heading up the stairs to the front door. We all stand on the porch as Charlie takes the heavy brass door knocker with a giant lion’s head carved into it and gives the door a few loud raps. With my hand in Charlie’s, I feel safe and cared for, like nothing bad can happen. Even if we were actually approaching the gates of hell, I think I’d go there with him.

  9

  When Zoe appears at the door, memories of all the times she gave me crap hit me hard, and I have to bite my lip to keep from gasping out loud. She looks just like I remember, only, of course, age progressed and even more beautiful.

  Her eyes scan past me like I don’t exist, lighting up when she sees Charlie. An odd pang of jealousy hits me, which is dumb, because it’s not like I have any claim on him. This is our first date—for all I know, it could also be our last.

  “I was wondering where you were!” she exclaims in a sweet voice that’s probably not the one she uses on a regular basis. She’s clinging to Charlie’s arm like they’re on the Titanic and it’s sinking.

  “Hey,” he replies, carefully removing his arm from hers. “Yeah, sorry I’m late. We were pregaming at Garver’s.”

  Zoe wrinkles her nose as she assesses who Charlie just admitted to hanging out with rather than her: me, some chick she most likely thinks she’s never seen in her life; Morgan, who glares back at her, ready to rip her eyeballs out if she makes the slightest rude comment; and three boys she’d never give a second look. “Sorry, who are these people?”

  “My friends,” Charlie says with a shrug. Zoe hovers in the doorway, her face registering something close to disgust. She looks like she’s ready to slam the door shut in our faces when Charlie adds, “We brought a keg.”

  Garver goes to lift it up as proof; it barely moves. Then he and his friends try together and finally get the thing as far as waist high.

  Zoe scowls but finally steps aside to let us in. I exhale a long, slow breath. Crisis averted, at least for now. She seems to have zero idea I’m actually the Vampire Girl she tortured all those years ago.

  Garver and his buddies somehow manage to get the keg into the kitchen, and I hear a loud cheer. The geek brigade are now beer heroes, welcome to stay as long as they can keep the party going.

  I follow Charlie into the living room. Kids are packed into every corner, drinking from red plastic cups, laughing, flirting, screaming to one another over the music, spilling drinks all over what I’m sure are expensive couches and carpets.

  It’s like a scene from one of those John Hughes movies from the ’80s that I’ve watched over and over with my dad. For once, I’m actually doing what everyone else my age is doing. It’s awesomely cheesy and cliché and wonderful.

  Charlie is high-fiving people as we make our way into the thick of things. Everyone seems to know and love him. And if they’re wondering who the mystery girl is trailing behind, no one says anything about it.

  Excitement fades into anxiety once we’re in the middle of the party. My thoughts start to race. I am so clueless about how I’m supposed to navigate these people and their inevitable questions about where I’ve been hiding all these years.

  Charlie seems to sense how uncomfortable I suddenly am and puts a gentle hand on the small of my back. I relax and my brain stops its crazy whirring. Morgan, who misses absolutely nothing, ever, sees what’s happening.

  “I’m gonna… go do a lap. Or something. Away from you two,” she says. Then she leans in, gives me a hug, and whispers in my ear, “I’m proud of you for being so brave—it took gigantic cojones to come to this party. And to reiterate what I told you yesterday: He really likes you. But just remember, if you need anything, flicker the lights and I’ll burn this place down.”

  Morgan walks away, grabbing a red cup from a random guy and taking a swig as she goes. I wonder if there’s any other option than beer here, which just the smell of makes me gag, and if I should push my luck by having some. The one and only time I drank before was at Morgan’s house. Her parents went out, and we decided to do shots of crème de menthe, which is this weird mint-flavored liqueur. I ended up barfing, and I haven’t been able to eat her mother’s formerly awesome grasshopper pie since then. Apparently crème de menthe is the secret ingredient that makes it taste so good. Make that used to taste so good.

  I stare up at Charlie. He stares back at me. We walk toward a table set up as a bar. Shyness washes over me like a tsunami.

  “Morgan’s hilarious,” Charlie’s saying over his shoulder. “How long have you guys been friends?”

  “God, for as long as I can remember,” I reply. “I mean, that’s not true. I remember some things from before. Like fuzzy memories of being a toddler and eating an entire pad of paper while telling my doll it was a very, very bad thing to do. Ended up in the ER for that one. Also the time I was zoning out to The Powerpuff Girls while my mom was cooking dinner for me and I got a high-heeled Barbie doll shoe stuck up my nose. That was my second ER trip. Aaaaaaand I’m babbling again. Sorry. I babble when I’m nervous.”

  “So I’ve noticed.” Charlie grins and hands me something pink and fruity-looking in a cup. I take a sip. It tastes a jillion times better than crème de menthe.

  “Why are you nervous?”

  I give him the simplified version. “I don’t know anyone.”

  “Well, I know all these idiots, and you have nothing to be nervous about,” he tells me.

  “Come on now,” I say. “You can’t know everyone.”

  Charlie looks around the room before pointing discreetly at a loud, tall, red-faced boy doing shots. “See that guy?”

  I nod.

  “He pretends he’s a dumb jock but he’s in, like, every AP class. He’s going to Yale, but he wants everyone to think he’s a moron.”

  Yale. He wants people to think he’s not going there? “That is moronic,” I say. “I mean, it’s Ivy League. The best of the best. I’d be wearing the sweatshirt to school every day. I’d love to go there.”

  “You should, then,” Charlie says. “How could they pass up the valedictorian of your strict solo home school?”

  I lean into him slightly. I love how warm but unyielding he feels. Soft yet strong. It’s a nice combination.

  “It’s… complicated,” I begin, thinking for all of a millisecond about telling him how college is not even a possibility because of my XP. I’m considering making a joke of it, saying maybe I could go to night school. But then something tells me not to ruin what is turning out to be a great night. There’s enough time for reality later.

  I nod over at a girl in a supertight, super-low-cut dress. “What about her?”

  “Wore headgear to school until tenth grade, clearly trying to make up for lost time,” he says, then motions to a short, acne-ridden boy. “Peed his pants on the sixth-grade field trip. And that girl over there, she has a prescription drug problem. Now see that dude? He has the longest fingers I’ve ever seen. He’s also, like, one of the top ten cellists in the state. He’s cool.”

  Charlie’s saying this stuff like it’s no big deal, but the whole time I’m thinking two
things: (1) I have missed out on so much, and (2) People never really outlive their pasts. There will always and forever be the shorthand Headgear Girl and Wetpants Boy, and kids who graduated in this class will know immediately who that is, even at their fiftieth reunion. I decide to indefinitely postpone the conversation that will out me as Vampire Girl.

  A guy jumps on Charlie’s back out of nowhere. Charlie is startled and stiffens up like he’s ready to throw down. Then a look of recognition crosses his face and he smiles instead.

  “He’s back!” the guy whoops. “Charlie’s back! Why didn’t you pregame with us? We had—”

  Charlie’s friend notices me standing there and stops talking. Another guy comes toward us trying to carry way too many drinks in way too few hands.

  “Whoa, who’s this?” the first guy says.

  “Owen, Wes, meet Katie,” Charlie says, gesturing to each boy as he makes the introductions so I can tell them apart.

  Wes kisses my hand with wet, beery lips. “Katie, you’re a magician. Teach us your ways,” he says, giving me a deep bow.

  I look at Charlie, then back at Wes. “What do you mean?”

  “It means you got this guy to come to a party and make a smilelike feature. Our boy hasn’t looked this good in a long time,” Owen says, throwing an arm around Charlie.

  We all start chatting and laughing like old pals, and it doesn’t feel awkward in the least. But my newfound social comfort flies away when Zoe saunters over. Of course, she immediately starts hanging all over Charlie. “I’m sooooooo thirsty,” she coos, staring up and batting her fake-feather eyelashes at him. I seriously don’t understand how she doesn’t just fly away. “Get me a drink?”

  Charlie extracts himself from her grip and moves closer to me. “I can’t right now; I’ve gotta give Katie the party tour.”

  Zoe plants herself in front of us so we can’t move.

  “Katie,” she says, eyeing me suspiciously. “How come I’ve never seen you around before?”

  “I—” I start to say, but Charlie jumps in before I can even begin to formulate some sort of lie.