Page 22 of Never Ever Getting Back Together
With that, she dashes out of the room, and the rest of us are thrown into an awkward silence. I make accidental eye contact with Kim, then Francesca, and tear my eyes away immediately before they pull me into small talk. Once again, I have the urge to pull out my phone to scroll through while we wait for her to return. How long is it going to take forthathabit to fade?
Luckily, it doesn’t take long after her footsteps fade away for them to thump against the staircase again, and moments later she bursts into the room bearing bottles of alcohol and a stack of plastic cups.
“We’re all over eighteen, right?” she says.
I look around, then nod. “Yeah.”
“The drinking age in Chalonne is eighteen. The kitchen’s got a whole cabinet full.”
The others perk up and grab cups.
“I forgot you lot can’t drink until you’re twenty-one,” Kim says. “This must be weird for you.”
“I’m Canadian,” I correct her. “It’s eighteen for us. Where I live, anyway. The culture shock was definitely a little odd when I got to Europe two months ago, though.”
“I heard you’ve been backpacking,” Francesca says. “That would’ve gotten you used to drinking fast.”
“That’s one way of putting it.” I grin. To say the drinking culture is different here would be a slight understatement. It’s not as though teens back home never drink. But here, many eighteen-year-olds drink often and hard. Sometimes, I wonder if my dad knew how things are here when I announced my travel plans.
I scan the selection, then have an idea. “Hold on,” I say, hopping to my feet.
I rush back to my room, and pause in front of the door. Will Maya be inside? Will she be annoyed with me for bursting in? Or could she be napping the nastiness away?
I give a gentle knock, and when no one says anything, I peek in. Empty.
Well, good. The less time I spend in her orbit, the better. With any luck, she makes herself scarce and stays that way for the rest of the night.
I dig through my suitcase and grab what I was looking for: my dad’s old iPod and portable speakers. He gave them to me when I complained about the ban on phones, and, therefore, music. It’s filled with songs from the eighties and nineties, mostly, but old music is better than no music.
I return victorious with my prize. “Ambiance!” I declare, setting up the speakers. Moments later, Billy Joel’s voice bursts through at top volume, and I hastily turn it down.
“Was Maya in your room?” Lauren asks. “You can invite her to come join, if you want. Only if you want.”
“Nah, she wasn’t.”
“Good,” Francesca says, ignoring Lauren’s reproachful look. “We don’t want a mood-ruiner right now. Speaking of, what did she say to you, exactly, Skye?”
“Yeah,” Kim says, her eyes glinting with curiosity.
Well, Iwouldlike a second opinion as to how wary I should be of Maya tonight. So, keeping my tone as measured as I can, I pour myself a glass and tell them.
When I finish, Kim and Francesca look outraged. Finally, something they can agree on.
“You know,” says Kim, “I knew there would be some weirdos here who wanted to make enemies because we dated the same guy.”
“I think,” Lauren says primly, “we should give her a chance to explain herself.”
I nod. “Right. It could be anything. Maybe she gets crabby when she travels.”
Francesca scowls. “Doesn’t sound likethat’swhat it was.”
Frankly, I agree with her, but I’m happy to keep that opinion to myself for now.
“We don’t know, because we don’t know her,” Lauren says.
“Jordy knows her, though,” Kim points out.
“Look, I’ll just see what she’s like tonight,” I say. “If she’s normal, I’ll pretend it never happened.”
