Bloodlust (7 page)

No response.

Jason opened the door and stepped into Dani’s room, taking in the totally still form huddled beneath the duvet. “Dani!” he said, more loudly.

He still didn’t get a response, so he reverted to his eight-year-old sibling warfare tactics. He leaned over his sister and flicked her ear. “Danielle! Now!”

She ignored him, pulling the covers all the way over her head. “Go away,” she muttered. “Do not come back until…ever!”

“Mom is making pancakes,” he told her. “You love them. You have to get up and eat them.”

“I’m not hungry,” his sister said. “I just need to sleep.”

“Fine. But don’t come crying to me if Mom and Dad don’t let you go to any more parties anytime soon,” Jason declared, and turned toward the door, waiting for the reaction.

“What do you mean?” Danielle demanded, sitting up slowly, worried.

“I mean that not coming downstairs for your favorite breakfast is like wearing a sign that says, ‘Hello, my name is Dani. I have a hangover and can’t be trusted to behave responsibly until I’m at least eighteen,’” he explained.

“But I hardly even drank last night,” Danielle protested. She looked down at herself and frowned. “Why am I still wearing these clothes?”

“That is not the question of someone who barely drank,” Jason told her. “And you’re still wearing those clothes because I had to haul you up here and throw you into bed last night. You passed out in the car.”

“Not possible,” Danielle said, yawning.

“And yet true,” Jason answered. “I hope Van Dyke didn’t have anything to do with your beverage intake or I’m going to have to kick his ass.”

“Van Dyke?” Danielle crawled out of bed and gave a catlike stretch.

“Michael. You know, the guy you were playing pool with. We’re on the swim team together.”

“Oh.” Dani frowned, clearly searching her memory without success. “Yeah. Him. He was, uh, cute.”

Absurd. She obviously had no idea who he was talking about. “Do you remember
anything
about the party?” Jason asked.

“Damn straight.” A big smile broke across his sister’s face. “I remember it was the best night of my young life!”

“Dani actually said it was the best night of her life!” Jason told Adam as they slid their trays down the cafeteria food line at lunch on Monday. “I’ve been hearing stuff like that from people all morning.”

“People at DeVere do love the parties,” Adam answered. “And that one was especially wild. Not that I’ve gone to many of them before. I mean, I go to lots of parties—and not just ones with paper hats and Pin the Tail on the Donkey, either, thank you—but I don’t get asked to many soirées taking place behind The Gates.” He added a salad to his growing collection of food. “By the way, thanks for, uh, inviting me.”

Jason laughed. “Thanks for,
uh,
letting me know that I did before you showed up and all.” He grabbed a pomegranate-blueberry juice. He felt the need for some antioxidants before swim practice. The fight at the party had been seriously debilitating. His neck still hurt every time he turned his head. He’d actually had to find a turtleneck to wear yesterday to hide the bruises from his mom so she wouldn’t freak.

“I can see why you, a near decent-party virgin, thought it a ten on the grand scale,” Jason said, grabbing a turkey sandwich. “But I still don’t know why everyone else is acting like it was Mardi Gras and the Super Bowl all rolled into one.”

“Hey, I got to hang with Carrie Smith. A girl who is hot and actually attainable. Unlike you, who was busy being friends with Sienna and Belle.” Adam led the way over to the cashier. “Not to mention your lame showing with the two babes you actually managed to dance with. No wonder you didn’t think the party rocked the Casbah. You were basically there as a eunuch.”

“Rocked the Casbah?” Jason repeated.

“You have a problem with The Clash? They’re on the
Royal Tenenbaums
soundtrack, and nobody knows music like Wes Anderson.” Jason’s face must have shown he had no idea what Adam was talking about, because Adam shook his head sadly. “Wes Anderson, pretty passable director of
The Royal Tenenbaums,”
he explained.

“Never heard of him,” Jason said. “However, I believe that The Clash—and I only know this because of the younger sister factor—was also on the soundtrack for
What a Girl Wants.
”

Adam stumbled backward, a hand on his heart. “I’m not sure that our budding friendship is going to survive this conversation,” he said, mock-hurt. “At the very least, I’m taking you to the Blockbuster in the mall right after school. It’s no Mondo Video A-Go-Go—the best video store in L.A., by the way, and a true videophile’s paradise—but with your level of ignorance, it’ll do. We’ll start with a few Wes creations, then move on to David Fincher.”

“Sounds cool,” Jason said. He was always up for watching new movies, not that he had the slightest idea who their directors were—and not that he cared. Adam headed over to the usual table. Luke Archer had already staked out his regular seat and was barricaded behind a book.

“So let’s talk about Carrie. She looked somewhat into you, my friend,” Jason said. “Clearly you were managing to keep your true self hidden.”

“She was grooving on the unadulterated Adam,” his friend protested. “She even helped me pro and con the soundtrack picks for my movie. Unlike you, she has an appreciation for the art that is film.”

“Again, I can see why you’re giving the party the big two thumbs up—that’s the movie geek term, right? And I can even see why Dani was blown away by it.” Jason took a bite of his sandwich. “But I was expecting something more. And I’d definitely have thought that your average DeVere High senior would need more than what I saw to label a night ‘wild.’”

“Wait. You didn’t find the true party, did you?” Adam leaned in and lowered his voice. “Dude, you gotta go through the passage behind the bookcase and take the staircase down to the dungeon. That’s where the real depravity takes place. The absinthe fountain, the orgy—”

“You’re an ass,” Jason muttered.

“But I had you going for a second. Admit it,” Adam said.

“Ass,” Jason repeated, smiling. But he couldn’t help feeling that he had missed something at the party. Not a secret room, but something…

Jason winced as he passed a long mirror on his way out of the locker room for swim practice after school. His neck was covered with splotches of blue-black. And his arm, where Dominic had grabbed him, had an impressive dark brown bruise over the bicep.

“Christ!” Van Dyke mumbled when Jason headed out to the pool.

“I second that,” Harberts said from his seat in the bleachers. He took a pull on his POWERade.

Jason suspected it would take Harberts more than a little carb boost to handle swimming—he looked awful. He had dark circles under his eyes, and his skin was waxy and pale.

Harberts must have found something more entertaining than the Xbox at the party,
Jason thought. He’d had at least a day and a half to recover. That should have been plenty of time to recoup from most forms of fun. But the guy still looked exhausted, just like Dani had this morning.

Kyle Priesmeyer, one of the divers, dropped down next to Harberts. He was clearly in a similar state. His skin looked ashy instead of its usual warm brown and he kept yawning. Jason thought he’d been half of one of the couples he had seen rolling around on the Moreaus’ sofa. “Can I have a drink?” Kyle asked, nodding toward Harberts’ POWERade.

“Sorry, man. I need it more,” Harberts replied, and drained the bottle.

Kyle rubbed his shaved head with his fingers. “I can’t wake up today. And I slept half of yesterday!”

“I think I’m going to have to start kicking off my parties on Friday afternoons,” Brad called as he headed over to the group. “You ladies clearly need a little more convalescence time.”

“Ha-ha,” Harberts muttered. Kyle yawned again.

“You probably need some convalescing yourself after that….” Jason let his words trail off. He’d expected to see at least a few bruises on Brad from the fight. Dominic had gotten in some solid hits before Brad subdued him. But Brad looked more like a swimmer on one of Dani’s beloved WB shows. There wasn’t a bruise or a scratch on him. He stood in front of the bleachers, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet. Clearly he didn’t need a POWERade.

“What are you guys waiting for, an e-vite?” the coach yelled as he strode out of the locker room. “Pool. Laps. You don’t need me to be telling you this.”

Jason was in the pool three seconds later. The coolness and buoyancy of the water soothed his body aches. Thankfully Monday practice consisted mostly of laps of all the different strokes—he didn’t feel up to much hardcore relay action today. And, judging from Harberts’ slow-ass laps, neither did he.

But with each different stroke, Jason loosened up different muscles, and by the time Coach Middleton brought them over to do a couple of relays, he felt at least marginally human again. He got himself in position opposite Brad. The coach had kept him in the Moreau, Harberts, Van Dyke lineup.

Brad hurled himself off the block with his usual blast of speed. If he was feeling any pain, Jason couldn’t see it in the smooth motions of his arms and legs. Jason, on the other hand, still felt his muscles protest with every movement. But he refused to let it slow him down.
One fight should
not
make me this sore.
He punched the sensor in the wall hard when he reached it and saw that he’d managed a fairly decent time.

He could tell from the splash he heard as he swung himself out of the pool that Harberts had made a sloppy start. He turned to watch Van Dyke and saw every muscle in his body tense as he waited for Harberts to reach him. “Come on!” he shouted, agitated.

But it was as if Harberts’ limbs were weighted with lead. He was trying, but the guy was just too tired to swim as fast as usual. Jason’s eyes moved to the huge clock mounted on the far wall and watched the seconds click away. Their time was going to be crap.

When Harberts punched the sensor, Van Dyke threw up his hands in annoyance. “What’s the point of me even getting in the pool?” he yelled at Harberts. “We’re past our slowest time!”

“Sorry, man, I’m just beat,” Harberts replied.

“Dude, he’s got after-party. Cut him some slack,” Brad put in, keeping his voice low. Jason figured Brad didn’t want the coach to hear.

“Well, maybe we should think about exactly who gets invited to our parties,” Van Dyke shot back. He glared at Brad as if it were all his fault.

“Look, I’ll get to sleep early tonight and—,” Harberts began.

“I don’t want to hear it.” Van Dyke grabbed a towel, wrapped it around his shoulders, and stalked back to the locker room.

“Come on. Let’s call it a day,” Brad said. “We’re out of here.”

Jason glanced up at the coach. They still had a few minutes of practice left. But Coach Middleton gave them a nod.

“You had a fish taco from Eddie’s yet?” Brad asked Jason as they headed for the locker room.

“I don’t even know where Eddie’s is,” Jason answered. He also knew that Adam was hanging around so he and Jason could hit Blockbuster after practice. “Besides, I’ve got plans today.”

“The sister? Bring her,” Brad said as he dialed the combination into his lock.

“No, Adam Turnball’s decided I’m too film-challenged to be allowed to live this close to Hollywood. We’re hitting the video store,” Jason explained as he toweled off. “He might be up for the taco thing instead, though.”

Brad shook his head. “Nah. I should probably just head home,” he said. “My mom did not have on a happy face all weekend—and it wasn’t just the BOTOX. She heard about the puke in the hot tub. It wouldn’t hurt to put in some face-time.”

Jason nodded. But he had the feeling that if he hadn’t mentioned Adam, Mrs. Moreau’s good son time would have waited. Clearly Adam wasn’t in the same social circle as the DeVere Heights crowd. Although, for some reason, Jason himself seemed to be perfectly acceptable.
Guess that’s the beauty of living behind the gates of DeVere Heights,
he thought.

“Let’s hit Eddie’s after the next practice. It’ll be better after we’ve had an actual workout. We’ll need the fuel more for muscle repair,” Brad said as he tied his sneakers.

“Sounds like a plan,” Jason answered. They headed out of the locker room and into the bright blue and yellow of a Malibu afternoon. Jason still thought it felt unnatural for the weather to be so predictable. But when it was predictable in a perfect-beach-day-everyday way, he figured he could definitely get used to it.

“What’s he doing?” Brad asked, coming to an abrupt stop.

Jason followed his gaze across the quad. Adam had his video camera pointed at the giant football player, Matt, from the party. Even at this distance, Jason could see that Matt’s lip was puffy, and his black eye could probably be seen from space—more of Dominic’s handiwork. “Adam’s shooting something for his work of genius, I guess,” he said.

“But why that guy?” Brad asked, sounding annoyed.

Jason shrugged. “I haven’t quite figured out exactly what Adam’s movie is about. I’m not sure even
he
knows.”

Brad’s eyes narrowed as he continued to study Adam and Matt. “You know what? My mom might still be too pissed to stand the sight of me. I think I’ll hang with you guys after all.” He raised his voice. “Hey, Adam! Mind if I join you?”

Adam shut off the camera and slapped hands with Matt. He grabbed his bag and headed over to them. “Sure. You can help me educate Freeman.”

“You take care of the film stuff. I’m working on his knowledge of fish tacos,” Brad replied. Adam laughed.

Brad flashed him a big grin. “Besides, I don’t know what you’re talking about half the time with the movie lingo. You’ll have to educate me along with Michigan boy.”

“Always a pleasure to help the film-challenged,” Adam told him happily.

“Let’s take my car.” Brad clapped Adam on the back and led him toward a Mercedes convertible. “You want to drive?”

“Are you kidding me?” Adam asked. “My vehicle is a used Vespa. Of course I want to drive the Merc.”