Page 234 of Mad Girl

Michael’s eyes drifted closed as he muttered something under his breath. Then Bree, who’d just arrived home from school, joined us in the study, where we talked about the disturbing situation with our parents some more. She shot Michael a look. “Be honest, Michael. Tell Elliot what you told me.”

Michael hesitated a moment. “I might have…” He drifted off, wincing. “I’ve known about this as long as Bree has.”

“Are you kidding? You just tried to convince me Bree had it wrong.”

Michael closed his eyes. “I know.”

“Well?” I nudged him in the shoulder. “Tell me how you knew.”

Michael sighed. “At the beach last summer? Right after I got back from England? I went to my parents’ room, needing to ask my mom a question, but the door was shut. And behind it, I could hear…some disturbing sounds.”

“What sounds?” I asked.

“Sex sounds, Elliot—like moaning and stuff,” he said with a grimace. “Just take my word for it, the sounds made it obvious what was going down in there, and it was horrifying. So I shoot back down the hall and jog downstairs and try like hell to forget what I heard—but I’m not doing too great. I’m freaking out. I’m frantically searching for my earbuds so I can somehow—I don’t know—neutralize those other sounds and get them out of my head. Then a door slams,” Michael said, looking as if he might be sick, “and my dad walks in.”

“No,” I said, clapping a hand over my mouth.

“Yes,” Michael said, rapidly nodding. “My dad, who I could’ve sworn I’d just heard doing shit to my mom.”

“No.” Hand still clamped to my mouth, I shook my head, unwilling to believe it.

“So I’m standing there, like, completely stupefied now—and I have no idea what’s going on. I mean—I obviously—I have an idea.”

“No,” I groaned.

“I’m thinking it had to’ve been, you know, your dad I heard with my mom. Which is somehow even worse.”

Way worse. Why did I have to ask about the sounds? Some things, I could’ve gone my whole life without knowing.

“I start mumbling something to my dad,” Michael said, “but he throws up one finger and says, ‘Hold that thought. I need to take care of something real quick.’ He hurries off upstairs, and I’m thinking this can’t be good, right? There’ll be yelling and fighting—Nic’s getting hit for sure. But nope.” Michael stopped to frantically shake his head. “About an hour goes by, and all three of them come downstairs together, and they’re acting normal. They’re calm and happy. They’re smiling at me—like they didn’t just completely rock my world. My dad asks if I’m okay. He wants to know what I needed to tell him earlier, and I just—I got the hell out of there and never spoke of it again. Until Bree told me what she saw over the summer.”

“I can’t believe this,” I said. “Where were we when this happened?”

“You all went to that ice cream place—to get açaí bowls or some shit—and I wish like hell I’d never chosen to stay behind.”

Collectively, the three of us shivered.

Thirty minutes later, Michael walked me back to the house. I found you sitting with Garland, reading a book for school. But when I plopped down next to you, Casey, you wouldn’t acknowledge me.

My dad strode in and took a seat on the coffee table, directly across from us. He had this uneasy look on his face as he handed me my phone.

I cocked my head. “Find anything interesting on there?”

“Over three thousand dollars, Elliot? On sex toys and underwear?”

I smirked at him. Beside me, you shifted on the sofa.

“It’s all going back,” Nic said. “We’re sending it all back.”

“You can’t return sex toys,” I said, lifting my phone. “Here, let me pull up the return policy.”

“Oh, God. Stop. Just—stop,” Nic said, rubbing at his forehead. “The toys are going in the garbage. You don’t need that stuff.”

“You can’t be serious,” I told him. “I’m nineteen. Who are you to decide what I need—or don’t need, as the case may be—to explore my own body and discover what feels good?”

My dad pinched the bridge of his nose.

Next to me, you mumbled “Jesus Christ” under your breath.