Late to the Party - Kelly Quindlen Page 0,38
my watch and forgot about everything other than the paper girl in front of me.
Then, all of a sudden, someone was peering over my shoulder.
Grant.
“What the hell!” I yelled, ripping my headphones out.
Grant was unfazed. “Who’s that?”
I flipped the drawing over, my heart hammering. “No one.”
“Is that someone you know?”
“It’s no one, Grant. Go away.”
“You’re being weird.”
“You smell like BO. Go take a shower.”
“I was outside,” he snipped. “That’s the place where normal people go.”
He said it with a mean edge to his voice. My heart was still pounding from his sneaking up on something so private, so revealing, but before I could say anything to shoo him away, he shocked me with another question.
“Do you have a boyfriend?”
His tone had changed to nosy curiosity, almost like we hadn’t been picking at each other only seconds before. I froze, a feeling of dread creeping over my stomach.
“I’ve seen you go out with that guy,” he went on. “The one with the truck.”
My heart pounded faster. Grant knew about Ricky, which meant he might tell my parents I had a boyfriend, and that would lead to a labyrinth of conversations I wasn’t ready to navigate; or, worse, he might let something slip to Maritza and JaKory, and I wasn’t ready to explain why I’d been hanging out with a new friend without them.
“Have you been spying on me?” I growled.
“It’s not spying if your room looks out over the driveway. What kind of truck does he have?”
“I don’t know, Grant. Stop asking about—”
“You don’t know what your boyfriend drives?”
“He’s not my boyfriend, dumbass,” I said harshly. “He’s just a—he’s a coworker from Totes-n-Goats who picks me up for work sometimes.”
It was a good lie that would hopefully prevent him from mentioning Ricky to my parents and friends, but he raised his eyebrows like he didn’t believe me. “Do Mom and Dad know him?”
“Of course they do,” I snapped. “Now will you get out of my face? Seriously, you smell. I hope you don’t hang around your girlfriend like this.”
In a flash, his expression soured. He stepped away from the table, smacking his hands against the chairbacks. “You used to be nice, Codi,” he said, his tone acidic again. “Now you’re an asshole.”
He loped out of the kitchen, shaking his hair out of his eyes. I tried to refocus on my sketch, but his words kept replaying in my head. I checked the texts Maritza and JaKory had been sending instead.
JaKory Green: What am I supposed to pack for this Florida trip? The father figure will want to bro out with sports-ball activities but I don’t own a single pair of those godforsaken athletic shorts
I had forgotten about JaKory’s upcoming visit with his dad. He was going to Florida for four days, like he did every summer, and he wasn’t exactly thrilled about it.
Maritza Vargas: Pack allllll the gay outfits. Troll that man haaaard
Maritza Vargas: Codi what should we do while he’s gone? Wanna stay over Friday night?
I stared at my phone, my stomach pinching uncomfortably. Friday night was Samuel’s party, and even though I hadn’t confirmed with Ricky yet, I was pretty sure I was going. More to the point, I wanted to go. But what was I supposed to tell Maritza?
Can’t dude, sorry, Mom wants to have a family movie night.
It was a weak lie, and I prayed she wouldn’t overthink it.
Maritza Vargas: You guys and your damn family values
I set my phone down, a mixture of guilt and relief settling over me.
* * *
On Thursday afternoon, Ricky and I met at our neighborhood pool, both of us fresh off work. There were tons of little kids there, shrieking and jumping and running around, so we grabbed chairs in the far corner of the lounge area and threw our clothes on the free chairs so no one would bother us.
“Of course you’re invited,” Ricky said, after I mentioned Lydia’s invitation to Samuel’s party. “I texted you that last night.”
“Yeah, I know, but I wanted to make sure it’s not, like … a pity invite.”
“Were you not listening when my friends made you promise to hang out with them again?”
“No, I was—”
“So stop second-guessing yourself. Tell me more about the portrait party.”
I filled him in on how Natalie’s portrait had turned out, including how Lydia had suggested I could paint hers sometime.
“And you said yes, right?” Ricky said, staring me down.
I winced, already knowing how he’d react. “I sort of left it open-ended.”
He sighed and dropped his head back like I