Kate paused. She had no idea how she could make her mother proud; she wasn't like Tully. Kate had no rare gift.
The thing was, though, her own mother should think she did and should point it out. Instead, her mother—like everyone else—was caught in the gravitational pull of Tully's sun.
"We're both going to be reporters," Kate said, more harshly than she intended. At their startled looks, she felt like an idiot. "Come on," she said, forcing a smile this time. "We should eat before everything is ruined."
The party was a bad idea. Taunting-Carrie-at-the-prom bad.
Tully knew it but couldn't turn back. In the days since Gran's funeral and Cloud's encore abandonment, her grief had been slowly replaced by anger. It darted through her blood like a predator, puffing her up with emotions that couldn't be tamped down or contained. She knew she was being reckless, but she couldn't change her course. If she slowed down, even for a moment, her fear would catch up with her and the plan was in motion now. They were in her mother's old bedroom, supposedly getting ready.
"Ohmigod," Kate said in an awed voice. "You gotta read this."
Tully marched over to the poorly decoupaged water bed, grabbed the paperback novel out of Kate's hands, and threw it across the room. "I can't believe you brought a book."
"Hey!" Kate tried to sit up; waves rolled around her. "Wulfgar was tying her to the end of the bed. I have to find out—"
"We're going to a party, Kate. Enough with the romance novels. And just for the record, tying a woman to a bed is S-I-C-K."
"Yeah," Kate said slowly, frowning. "I know, but—"
"No buts. Get dressed."
"Okay, okay." She shuffled over to the pile of clothes Tully had laid out for her earlier—a pair of Jordache jeans and a clingy bronze halter top. "My mom would die if she knew I was going out in this."
Tully didn't respond. Truthfully she wished she hadn't heard. Mrs. M. was the last person she wanted to think about right now. She focused instead on getting dressed: jeans, pink tube top, and navy platform lace-up sandals. Bending over, she brushed her hair for maximum Farrah volume, then sprayed it with enough Aqua Net to stop a bug in flight. When she was sure she looked perfect, she turned to Kate. "Are you—"
Kate was dressed for the party and back on the bed reading again.
"You aresopathetic."
Kate rolled onto her back and smiled. "It's romantic, Tully. I'm not kidding."
Tully grabbed the book again. She wasn't sure why, but this really pissed her off. Maybe it was Kate's glossy idealism; how could she see Tully's life and still believe in fairy-tale endings? "Let's go."
Without waiting to see if Kate was following, Tully went out to the garage and opened the doors and then slid into the cracked black driver's seat of her grandmother's Queen Victoria, ignoring the way the stuffing poked into her back. She slammed the door shut.
"You have her car?" Kate said, opening the passenger door and poking her head in.
"Technically it's my car now."
Kate slid onto the seat and closed the door.
Tully popped a Kiss tape into the eight-track player and cranked up the volume. Then she put the car in reverse and eased her foot onto the gas.
They sang at the top of their lungs all the way to Karen Abner's house, where at least five cars were already parked. Several of them were tucked into the trees and out of sight. When someone's parents left town, word spread fast; parties sprouted like mushrooms.
Inside, it was a smoke-fest. The sweet smell of pot and incense was almost overpowering. The music was so loud it hurt Tully's ears. She grabbed Kate's hand and led her down the stairs to the rec room in the basement.
The huge room had fake-wood-paneled walls and lime-green indoor-outdoor carpeting. In the center was a cone fireplace surrounded by an orange half-moon-shaped sofa and several brown beanbag chairs. Over to the left, some boys were playing foosball and screaming at every turn of the handle. Kids were dancing wildly, singing to the music. A couple of boys were on the sofa, getting high, and a girl was over by the door, shotgunning a beer beneath a huge painting of a Spanish matador.
"Tully!"
Before she could respond, her old friends surrounded her, pulled her away from Kate. She went to the keg first and let one of the boys give her a plastic cup full of foamy gold Rainier beer. She stared down at it, jolted by the memory that came with it:Pat, pushing her to the ground . . .
She looked around for Kate, but couldn't see her friend in the crowd.
Then everyone began chanting her name. "Tu-lly. Tu-lly."
No one was going to hurt her. Not here; tomorrow, maybe, when the authorities caught up with her, but not now. She chugged the beer and held the cup out for another, yelling out Kate's name as she did.
