Emmy & Oliver - Robin Benway Page 0,28
my seat to look at him. “Please do not blow this for me.”
“I won’t, I won’t,” he said. “And, wow, you’re good at lying.”
“We aren’t lying, per se,” I said as I unbuckled my seat belt. “We’re just protecting my parents from the truth that would kill them.”
“We weren’t anywhere near a movie theater,” Oliver protested, but stopped talking once he saw the look on my face. “Sorry, okay. Zipping it now.”
I narrowed my eyes at him, then got out of the car. “Lying is relative,” I whispered after he slammed his door shut. “And what people don’t know won’t hurt them.”
“I have ten years’ worth of experience that says otherwise,” he replied.
“Shit, sorry, that’s not what I meant—”
Oliver winked at me. “Partners in crime, I got it.” He held his fist out and I bumped our knuckles together. “Get home safe.”
“I’m literally ten feet away from my door,” I said, glancing toward the front window to see if my parents were still peeking out between the blinds. (I wouldn’t have been surprised if they had set up camp with comfortable chairs and some snacks.)
“Well, you never know.” Oliver shrugged. “Accidents happen closest to home. You could trip over a sprinkler head, a loose brick, anything’s possible.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” I told him. “I appreciate it.”
“Later, gator,” he said, jogging off toward his front steps, and I watched as he clicked the lock open and then disappeared into the light.
My own house was quiet, deceptively so. My dad was sprawled on the couch watching an infomercial for a vacuum that cleans up pet hair, but my mom was nowhere to be found. “Hey,” I said to him.
“Hey,” he said without looking up from the TV. “You hungry? Your mom left dinner.”
“No, we ate,” I said. “What are you watching?”
“It gets rid of pet hair.”
“We don’t even have a goldfish.”
“You’ve got to think toward the future.” My dad smiled at me. “Maybe one day you’ll move out and your mom and I will get a golden retriever to replace you.”
“We can only dream,” I said. “It’ll probably be more loyal than me. Where’s Mom?”
“At a thing with some friends, I’m not sure. A fund-raiser thing with Oliver’s mom, maybe.”
“Good thing you’re not an investigative reporter,” I replied, then went into the kitchen for a drink.
“Hey, how was the movie?” my dad yelled.
“Dumb!” I called back. I didn’t actually know, but I had seen a few previews online and they didn’t hold much hope.
“How’s Oliver?”
“Fine!”
“Are you eating?”
“Maybe!”
“Bring me something.”
I tossed my dad a package of Goldfish crackers as I went up the stairs.
An hour later, I had showered and washed my hair, which kept dripping all over my history work sheet. I was listening to music, so loud that I didn’t hear the knock on my bedroom door.
“Come in,” I said, half hoping it was my dad with more Goldfish crackers.
“Have fun?” my mom asked, poking her head in.
I nodded and shut my laptop before she came any closer. Not that there’s even anything interesting on there, but I didn’t want her to get any ideas about violating my privacy. Best to keep the parents guessing. “Yeah, it was cool.” The silence was suddenly very loud in the absence of the music.
“Care to offer up any details for your old mom?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. We went to the movies, it was dumb, and then we went to dinner and hung out.”
She sat down on the edge of the bed. “Did you talk?”
“About what?”
“About anything. Maureen said that Oliver doesn’t really talk to her.”
“We . . . talked,” I said, trying to figure out how much to tell my mom before she would tell Maureen. Oliver hadn’t said that I should keep any secrets, but I felt like it wasn’t my information to share. “Sometimes it’s just weird to talk to your parents, y’know? Maureen’s overreacting.”
My mom nodded slowly, the way she always does whenever she disagrees with me but doesn’t want to say so for fear that I’ll stop speaking to her altogether. “Well, I’m glad Oliver has you for a friend.”
“Oliver’s always had me for a friend,” I replied.
“Did you have fun?”
“Yeah, sure. He’s funny. He’s really smart, too.”
“Funny?” my mom repeated. “How so?”
“Spanish Inquisition,” I said to her, which made her smile. “I’m sorry, you’ve exceeded your maximum amount of questions today. Please try again tomorrow.”
She stood up and kissed my forehead. “Don’t stay up too late, okay? You need your rest.”
The jury was still out on