Turtle Bay (8 page)

"Duck and cover. Incoming," Steve yelled. Pretending his bottle was a grenade, he made a show of pulling the pin and ducking for cover after he threw it. He laughed at himself like it was the funniest thing anyone had ever seen. What a tool.

"This is mature," I muttered.

Evan grinned at me. "I'm telling you, you gotta try it," he laughed, handing me an empty beer bottle before lobbing one of his own over the rail.

Everyone pressed against the rail as much as possible, eager to join the idiocy. Surely the neighbors could hear what was happening. I was surprised the cops hadn't shown up yet. As much as I knew Buttercup would expect me to be some voice of reason in this situation, this was exactly the kind of scene I couldn't afford being caught up in. I needed to leave.

"I'm out," I told Evan, who had taken a long pull from a half-empty bottle of Cuervo Gold before chucking it over the side. "This isn't my idea of a good time," I said, backing away with the beer bottle held loosely in my hand.

"That's because you haven't tried it." He snagged my wrist and dragged me toward him, using his body to keep me pressed against the rail. Nothing like a drunken creep with dominance issues. "Come on. Give it a try. Trust me, there's something freeing about it. It's like telling the world who's fucking in charge."

"Knock it off," I said, attempting to yank my arm out of his grasp. Shoving off the rail, I was able to squirm enough to free up my leg to stomp on his foot. He staggered backward until landing in a heap on his backside. "God, Evan, what the hell is wrong with you?"

Either he was too drunk to feel the pain or I hadn't stomped his foot as hard as I thought because he remained on the ground laughing with everyone else who had found humor in our exchange.

I could have punched them all in their smug, drunk faces. "This is your big rebellious way of sticking it to the man—littering?" I said sarcastically, waving the bottle I was holding in the air.

He bobbed his head, grinning at me like he didn't have a care in the world. "Sticking it to the man," he hooted hysterically.

I rolled my eyes without any further comment. There was no point in arguing with someone drunk off his ass. It was time for me to leave. I forced my way through the group of people who had encircled us when suddenly everyone began scrambling like an alarm went off. Anyone who had been in the house was now frantically pushing and shoving to escape through the patio doors as if they were being chased.

"Remain where you are and put your hands in the air," a loud voice demanded through a bullhorn.

Great. Just great.

Chaos erupted as everyone tried to get the heck out of Dodge. Farrah, who was standing next to me, shot me a worried look, debating whether we even had a chance to run. The decision was taken out of our hands when a dozen uniformed cops ascended the steps to the pool deck.

I spun around to see Evan jump to his feet, trying to fight his way back inside the house. I knew he had weed on him and was probably panicking to get rid of it. Obviously the cops had taken control of the front of the house too because he was hauled back out to the deck a few minutes later, screaming belligerently and cursing at the officers who handcuffed him.

"My father will hang your asses for this," he hollered, fighting as they wrestled him to the ground. A female officer appeared in front of Farrah and me, shining a flashlight in our faces.

"Is that your beer, young lady?"

"What? No—I mean, I don't know." Damn it. My heart sank. Amidst the chaos I had forgotten I was still holding an empty beer bottle. Maybe that particular bottle wasn't mine, but the two others I had finished would show up in my blood, so the logistics were the same.

"You don't know?" the officer questioned. "I suppose you also know nothing about all the broken bottles on the beach? Let me clue you in. Underage drinking is against the law, along with drugs and littering."

"Wait, no. I didn't throw any bottles. I was trying to stop them," I pleaded. Farrah said nothing, looking like she was on the verge of crying.

"How convenient. I'm going to have to take you both in. You'll have your chance to tell your story," she said, gesturing at us to where the other partygoers had been corralled. Glancing around, I noticed that Paris, Leslie, and the twins must have managed to slip away in the confusion, along with more than a third of the other party guests. Those of us left were either cussing like Evan or shaking like Farrah.

The officers escorted us as a group down the steps of the deck to a cluster of waiting police cruisers in front of Evan's house. Farrah and I were being helped into one of the cars together when I spotted Josh standing off to the side. Our eyes met, but his stare held none of the apologetic glint I had noticed before the party. Watching in disbelief as an approaching officer clapped him on the back, I faintly heard Josh being congratulated for a job well done.

"My parents are going to kill me," Farrah moaned as the female officer helped us settle onto the hard plastic bench seat in the back of the cruiser.

I wanted to reassure her, but my heart felt like stone. I knew Buttercup and Butch wouldn't kill me, but they weren't going to be amused, especially considering my track record. They only approved of getting arrested for good causes like sit-ins or protests of some sort. This was entirely different. Plus, the idea that Josh was responsible for my arrest made the whole thing so much worse. I felt like a complete moron after believing that maybe there had been a connection between us.

The next few hours passed in a blur as we were processed, fingerprinted, and then placed in a holding cell that smelled like piss. The guys were taken to a different area, so I never saw Evan. Farrah and I stood together on the far side of the cell, ignoring anyone else who was inside with us. She cried the entire time, nervously wringing her hands while we waited for our parents to arrive. I had no idea how I let this happen. For once I had gotten into trouble I didn't cause myself. The irony of the situation wasn't lost on me as I pictured Buttercup's disappointed face. For a summer that was supposed to be about starting fresh and being good, I had managed to make it a giant cluster-you-know-what.

Luckily, our parents showed up at the same time, so neither Farrah nor I was forced to stay in the holding cell alone. Buttercup and Butch rushed to my side when an officer escorted me into the waiting area that was busier than normal, judging by the lack of available seats.

"I thought you were done with this whole jailbird thing?" Butch said, pulling me in for a quick hug.

"Me too. I swear I didn't do anything except drink a couple beers." I had no idea what exact charges had been filed against me, but I was sure Butch and Buttercup would find out about the broken bottles. I wanted them to know I hadn't destroyed anything or even pulled any pranks like I'd done in the past.

"You okay?" Buttercup asked, taking stock of my appearance. "You don't look drunk or disorderly."

"I'm neither. I was—" I became distracted by the sight of Evan standing across the room next to a professionally dressed man in a suit. Probably a lawyer by the looks of him. Evan nodded at me and smiled, seemingly unconcerned with anything that had happened. I shook my head in disgust and turned away. He had been such an ass I didn't even want to look at him anymore.

"Wait, drunk and disorderly conduct? Is that what they charged me with?" I asked, suddenly comprehending Buttercup's previous question. We made our way through the herd of worried, impatient parents in the waiting room and out into the parking lot.

"Possession of alcohol by a minor and destruction of public property," Butch said. "At least you're consistent." I could read Butch like a book, and his words were laced with disappointment.

"I didn't destroy anything," I insisted, climbing into the back of the van. "I promise. I was in the process of putting my beer bottle down when the cops showed up. You know me. I wouldn't trash a beach. That's not a prank."

Buttercup turned to look at me, her eyes searching mine like only a mother could. She had always said she could tell if I was lying by looking into my eyes. This time I didn't need to turn away. I had nothing to hide. After a moment she turned back around, satisfied with what she had seen. "The breathalyzer test you took showed small traces of alcohol in your system, and since you're a minor you'll get no leeway there, especially since you were holding the evidence. We'll have to see about the other charges. You go in front of a judge on Monday."

Great. I was supposed to start work at Tasty Freeze in the morning and I was scheduled again on Monday. What would my new boss say when I told him I needed the day off? "I wonder if I'll lose my job," I asked, gnawing on my bottom lip. I could see my new school wardrobe for the fall circling the drain.

"You might have to give it up anyway if the judge hits you with community service," Buttercup said nonchalantly. Ever since I mentioned wanting new clothes, she seemed to be against me getting a job. It would be icing on her cake if I had to quit my job before it even started.

"That would suck. I'm actually more worried that they might throw me in juvenile hall or something." The judge in Huntsville had threatened it after my last stunt. The idea of going to jail, even if it was juvie jail, was enough to twist my stomach into knots. Butch and Buttercup tried their best to reassure me, but their faces did little to hide their real concern.

I woke early the next morning and headed out of my room feeling groggy from a lack of sleep. Butch was in the breezeway cutting wood for my new bathroom when I staggered past him in search of coffee.

"Did I wake you?" he asked, looking up from his saw.

"Yeah, but I'm glad you did. I'm supposed to be at Tasty Freeze by nine. Are you going to be in my room all day?" I asked, looking longingly back toward my bed.

"Pretty much. Tim plans on installing your toilet while I get the walls up."

"Yay, I can't wait," I said, trying to sound enthusiastic. I really was glad, but I had a splitting headache that had more to do with stress than the couple of beers I had the night before.

"Will you put Player in flower puke room before you get in the shower?" Butch asked, starting his saw.

"Sure," I said loudly so he could hear me. The screaming sound of the saw pierced my head. It felt like someone was pounding nails into my skull with a hammer. After three trips to carry Player, his litter box, toys, and a few other items I needed, I was able to get into the shower. The warm water was just what I needed to wake me up and ease my throbbing head. Well, that and the two cups of black coffee I drank afterward.

A little more than an hour later, I walked the short distance to the Tasty Freeze gripped by a terrible case of nerves. I'd never had a real job. Working farmer's markets and street fairs with Butch and Buttercup wasn't the same thing. What if I screwed up or didn't know what to do? Would I be expected to jump right in like I knew what I was doing?

Fred, my boss, turned out to be nice enough. He introduced me to Jennifer and Melissa, two of the other part-timers who worked for him. Both were my age and very easy to talk to. They took turns showing me the ropes around the small ice cream stand. Nothing about Tasty Freeze was as complicated as I had feared. The seating area for customers was under a covered patio in front of a long counter with a sliding window where customers placed and picked up their orders. After a few initial hiccups, I quickly caught on and by midday I was helping to fill orders while Jennifer and Melissa took turns on the register. Fred spent the majority of the day in his minuscule office in the storeroom watching SportsCenter. A steady stream of customers made my shift fly by, and before I knew it I was hanging up my apron. I headed back to Fred's office to hit him up about needing Monday off. I had already decided to remain vague about the details until I knew what kind of punishment the judge would give me. Fortunately, Fred was pretty easygoing about the news and made me promise to give him more warning in the future for time off. My stomach dropped like a stone, but I nodded in agreement. Hopefully I wouldn't have to come see him again just to let him know I could no longer work for him.

"You look tired," Buttercup observed, greeting me with a kiss on the cheek when I got home.

"I never really fell asleep last night, so I am pretty tired," I answered.

She nodded. "That's understandable."

I wanted her to reassure me that everything would be okay. That I was worrying about nothing. I knew she wouldn't though. Buttercup never liked to sugarcoat matters.

Butch joined us in the kitchen and turned on the faucet."I thought you'd be in a rush to check out your bathroom," he said, grinning at me.

"It's done?" I asked, feeling happy for the first time since I headed off to the party the night before. I took off for my room so I could check it out with Butch and Buttercup following behind.

"Don't get too excited. There's still work for me to do." The entire space was framed out with wood studs waiting for drywall to be hung. Inside the soon-to-be bathroom was a brand-new shiny porcelain toilet.

"Does this work?" I asked.

"Sure. I figured you'd want to give it the maiden flush. Go ahead," Butch said proudly.

I pushed the handle and the water spun around and drained like it was supposed to. My parents and I stood appreciating the new commode like we were admiring an expensive piece of artwork. "Turned out that whoever built the garage was a visionary like you. They planned ahead and all the necessary plumbing and whatnot for a toilet and full bathroom was already there. We lucked out," Butch said. "Your mom and I talked about it and we figured we'd take out the utility sink there and install a vanity sink and one of those ready-made shower stalls. After I do that, we'll throw on some drywall and paint and you'll have a nice little setup in here."