Page 29 of Mad Girl

“Which boy?” Michael asked.

“The one she was in there dancing with,” you said.

When Michael left us to find Willoughby, I scowled at you, fuming. “I can’t believe you called Michael on me.”

“And I can’t believe you lied to me about where you were earlier,” you said, scowling right back. “That isn’t okay, Elliot.”

I dropped my gaze to the floor—I had to, more bothered than I wanted to be by the look of disappointment on your face.

Michael dragged Willoughby in by the back of the neck. “Who’s this guy, anyway?”

Willoughby winced as he attempted to pry Michael’s hand off him.

“He’s called, like, Barnaby or something,” you said.

Willoughby stopped trying to free himself. “It’s…Willoughby.”

Michael pulled a face. “What kind of name is that?”

“It’s a family name,” Willoughby said.

“It’s a shitty one, too,” Michael replied, releasing him. “Do your parents hate you or something?”

Willoughby rubbed the back of his neck. “Fuck you, man.”

Michael smirked. “Take this party out of here right now, Willoughby, or you’re going to regret letting her rope you into this.”

Willoughby put his hands up. “Look, I don’t want any trouble.”

I chuckled at that. “He’s bluffing, Willoughby. He can’t get his hands dirty or his image—too many phones.” I tossed Michael a smirk of my own. “Plus, he’s scared of his mommy.”

Michael laughed, teeth dragging across his bottom lip. “That’s bullshit, Elliot. I’m going to kick his ass just for you saying that.”

You stepped into action then, Casey. “No, let me. I’ve got nothing to lose. It’s me he’s here to fuck with, anyway.”

I laughed. “He’s bluffing, too, Willoughby. Just look at him—he’s way too soft to hurt anyone.”

You reared back. “Too soft? Are you fucking serious?”

You yanked Willoughby forward by the shirt and he threw his hands up, saying, “Whoa, dude. Hey. I really don’t want any trouble.” He cast a desperate look at me. “I’m sorry, Elliot, but this isn’t worth it.”

Michael snatched the phone from my hand and stopped the music. Willoughby whistled loud, made up some bullshit about the cops being on their way, and told everyone to meet back at his house. The kids quickly trickled out of my house, leaving only the four of us behind.

Tinsley stood nearby, looking sheepish. “Sorry, Casey,” she said, grabbing a dishcloth off the sink. “I’ll help Elliot clean up this mess.”

“No,” I said, snatching the dishcloth from her. “The mess stays until my dad gets home.”

You stepped forward. “Oh, no, it doesn’t. You’ll clean it up tonight, Elliot. You’ll make this place spotless—like nothing ever happened.”

“You can’t tell me what to do.”

“I absolutely can. Your dad left me in charge, remember?”

“I hate you,” I said, fisting the dishcloth by my side. “Why don’t you go back to England? No one wants you here. You are such a dick.”

Anger flared in your eyes—but hurt, too. “And you’re a child,” you snapped back. “You know why your dad can’t leave you alone? Because you throw tantrums when you don’t get your way. You lie and sneak around and screw with peoples’ lives just for sport. You act like a child, Elliot, and that’s why you’re still babysat like one.”

My rage, Casey, soared to an all-time high. My chest heaved with it. You weren’t getting away with calling me a child. I wasn’t going to allow it. Through clenched teeth, I said, “April nineteenth.”