Hiya Readers
At last, the New Year’s Eve party! If you enjoy this, make sure to preorder the book for 99 cents at the bottom of the page. It releases tomorrow!
xoxo Dana
Chapter Five
Noah
Dad’s dressed in a tux when I reach the bottom of the stairs. It’s nearly eight o’clock—the start of his annual charity party—but Ethan and Cliff are upstairs, getting dressed.
And me?
I’m wearing a T-shirt and flannel pajama pants. This party is the last thing I’m interested in.
Dad’s eyes darken when he catches sight of me. “Why aren’t you dressed? This is an important night.”
I’m not sure what’s so important about this night—providing a food bank with the funds to keep its doors open or keeping up appearances. Being a commercial real estate developer in a small town means he’s on all the time, and half the guests are his clients.
To be fair, he doesn’t know how to turn off.
“Dad, can we talk about February again?”
How can I focus on some stupid party—even one that benefits a local charity—with this on my mind? How can I care?
Dad checks himself in the mirror at the base of the stairs and straightens his gold bow tie. “We don’t have time to repeat this conversation, Noah. You need to go upstairs and get dressed. Guests will be here any moment.”
“I know, Dad.” I clasp my hands behind my back in concentration. “This will only take a minute.”
“No, you need to spend every minute putting on a suit—at least a dress shirt for god’s sake.” He shoots me a glare through the mirror. “You’re well aware of how important this event is. You cannot mess this up for our family because you want to go to the most expensive school on the East Coast. Get dressed.”
“At least let me say—”
He spins toward me, brown eyes narrowed into slits. “Noah, we do not have time for you to throw a tantrum right now.”
This is hardly a tantrum, but there’s no point arguing about semantics. I clench my teeth and jut out my chin. “Can we talk after the party?”
The doorbell rings.
“You can certainly talk.” Dad marches toward the door. “That doesn’t mean I’ll listen. Go get dressed.”
The dismissal is final.
I bite back my retort and trudge up the stairs.
That doesn’t mean I’ll get dressed.
I lean toward the monitor, my fingers tapping rhythmically on the desk. I have three months to perfect this software, to impress the judges at the New England STEM Fair this April. I can’t do that if my math is wrong.
The music throbs downstairs as the song transitions.
My eyes narrow. The last thing I need to think about is Dad’s idiotic party.
Even still, my attention drifts toward the clock at the bottom right of the screen. It’s almost ten thirty. The party has been in full swing for maybe an hour.
Thump!
I nearly jump out of my seat.
What was that?
Slowly, I rise from my swivel chair and crack my door. That was decidedly closer than any revelries downstairs.
Outside, the hallway is dark. The music is louder now—classically styled party music—but it doesn’t account for that particular noise.
What does account for it?
That would be Ethan with his lips suctioned to a girl in a shimmering silver dress.
“Jesus, Ethan, didn’t you and Meredith just break up?”
They pull apart, and the girl—whoever she is—blushes a fierce red before stumbling backward. She’s down the hallway and out of sight in record time.
Ethan shoots me a glare. “Wow, you’re a hit with the ladies.”
I turn on my heels back to my room, but he follows me inside and leans by the light switch, arms crossed. “So this is where you’re hiding.”
“I’m not hiding.” I drop onto my chair and throw myself back into my computations.
“What’re you working on?”
My jaw clenches in irritation. “My project for the STEM fair.”
Ethan chuckles. “When are you ever going to grow up? You do that stupid thing every year, and you never win.”
“I’ve been a finalist the last three years, thanks.”
He scoffs. “You only placed fifth last year. At least, the year before that you got to the international one—even if you only won a measly five hundred bucks.”
To be fair, I’m impressed he remembers. He spent most of my past STEM fairs flirting with other guests and visitors. If he made it.
“I’m not going to justify that with a response.”
“Of course you aren’t.” He clears his throat. “Why are you hiding anyway?”
“Not hiding.”
“Did you and Dad have another fight?”
For someone completely idiotic and ridiculous and insanely busy, he’s good at hitting the nail on the head.
“We don’t fight.”
Ethan pushes away from the wall. “Then you shouldn’t have any problem coming downstairs, right? Let’s get you dressed. Lots of people to entertain, you know. We’re hosts.”
There’s an insult in there somewhere about him and that girl in the hallway, but I have no patience to come up with it.
He flips through my closet and pulls out a shirt and vest. “Wear something nice for a change. Anything’s better than shirts with jokes no one understands.”
“I’m not the only person who gets jokes about the Fermi Paradox.”
Instead of responding, he rolls me closer to the bed by the back of my chair. “Time to get dressed, Noah. You need to make an appearance.”
I slowly assess the clothing he laid out: a blue dress shirt, a gray vest, and a pair of dark-blue jeans. I wasn’t expecting jeans, but it’s a nice incentive to dress up.
He glares, impatient.
“Ugh, fine.”
Like every year, Dad hired a local decorating company—one he conveniently helped build from the ground up—to deck the halls in the colors of the New Year. Gold, black, and silver adorn the walls, tables, and light fixtures.
He went all out for tonight. More than normal.
Ethan, his arm hooked firmly around my shoulders, drags me down the stairs with a devious grin. “Let’s get you a drink, String Bean. Lots of champagne to be had. Dad won’t notice.” He steers us toward the drink station, where Cliff is standing with a bottle of fancy beer in hand. “See, Cliff’s already had three beers—nobody’s said a thing.”
I roll my eyes. “A drink is the last thing I want right now.”
Although, to be fair, attending this party is the last thing I want.
Dad’s New Year’s Eve party is usually a hit, especially when there’s a gambling room set up in the basement, where all proceeds benefit his annual charity of choice. But this year, we have double the guests, and I doubt this many people want to support our local food bank.
Everyone wants to creep on the family without a mother.
I stand beside Ethan and Cliff, hands deep in my pockets, while Ethan tries to push a flute of champagne my way.
The party is lively, but most people who look our way slow down enough to shoot us sad looks. Dad wants this party to demonstrate to the community that we are strong, ready to move forward, but this is only an opportunity for people to gawk. No one cares; it’s schadenfreude.
An older woman in a gold evening gown, her lips in a tight smile, steps forward and clasps my hands. “Noah, you poor dear. How are you holding up?”
She’s familiar, but I don’t recall her name. Have we ever been introduced?
I clear my throat. “I’m fine, thanks.”
Of course, it doesn’t end there. It never does.
“I was so sad to hear about your mother, dear.” Her eyes flit to Ethan and Cliff, and she sends them a sympathetic smile. “All three of you without a mother—how awful.”
Ethan offers her a tight smile. “Yup, awful.” His words are dismissive and short.
She squeezes my hands one last time. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.”
“Right,” I say as she retreats into the crowd.
Moments later, she’s chatting and grinning with her companions. She cares so much.
I turn toward the buffet. My hands quiver as I fill a cup with punch.
Pull yourself together, dammit.
My eyes study the room again. The guests are mostly Dad’s contacts—people I only meet at these annual events—plus our neighbors and a few people from school. Kelsey Valentine, who lives across the street, fiddles with her yellow-painted nails as her dad marches her into the living room. At least I’m not the only person who doesn’t want to be here.
“Thank god I have a drink,” Cliff murmurs.
Ethan nods. “It’s been like that all evening.”
“The hot girls are a nice reprieve too.” Cliff waggles his eyebrows with a grin.
All I can do is roll my eyes. “You’re disgusting.”
But the two of them laugh.
“You only say that because you couldn’t get a date to save your life.” Cliff laughs at his little joke. “I’d love to see you actually flirt with one of these people.”
I purse my lips. Obviously, engaging in this conversation is making it worse.
“Like her…” Ethan’s words are quiet, almost distant.
“Damn,” Cliff adds.
And I let my curiosity get the better of me.
On the other side of the large room, a girl my age stands, her shiny thick hair pulled into a tight ballerina bun. The black locks shimmer under the twinkling holiday lights, as does the tight, iridescent-white dress that ends well above her knees. Despite the cold, the dress is sleeveless—though with a high neck—and all she wears otherwise is a long beaded necklace and painful-looking stilettos.
I can see why my brothers might find her attractive.
“Is that little Eden Prince?” Ethan takes a long drink from his beer bottle. “When did she get hot?”
If only I didn’t know her.
“Seriously.” Cliff’s nod is emphatic.
I roll my eyes. “She’s seventeen. Don’t be a creep.”
Cliff merely shrugs. “Seventeen’s legal.”
I pull a face—quickly followed by their laughter. “Legal doesn’t make it not creepy. And Eden Prince would never be remotely interested in you.”
In the distance, Eden looks tense while her mom and a guy I don’t recognize chat amicably. She stiffens, freezes, when the guy slides his arm around her waist and guides her away.
“Besides,” I add, “looks like she’s already on a date.” My brow furrows, my lips tighten, as Eden inches away from his grasp and his grip only tightens.
With a little smirk, Ethan turns his gaze on me. “Do I detect a hint of jealousy, String Bean? You like her or something?”
I blanch. “That’s not possible. Have you met her? She’s conceited, pigheaded, and completely insane.”
“Okay, but you still want to tap that, right?” Cliff shrugs. “I’d do her. She’s fine.”
Unease settles in my stomach. “You can’t say stuff like that,” I say quietly. “Even if she were pretty, it wouldn’t matter.”
Eden and her “date” sit at a nearby table. He scoots his chair closer, but she blocks his advancement by crossing her legs
Ethan snickers. “Right, sure.”
To be fair, she didn’t have legs that long or smooth during the formative years of our acquaintanceship. Or the particularly nice curve that traces from her back to her round butt. Or you know, boobs.
Because we were seven.
“She’s hated me since the third grade when I beat her stupid biogas project.” I turn my attention elsewhere—anywhere else. “She thinks I’m a threat. As if I’d want to be class president or that anal. I definitely don’t have a thing for her.”
Cliff takes another sip. “Well, it’s not like you have anything to offer her anyway. Not like us.”
I snort. “What could you two offer someone like Eden?”
“I’m going to play pro ball,” he reminds me. “Scouts are coming to my next game, you know.” He nods toward Ethan. “And this badass, who already fights for our country, is training to become a Marine Raider—the elite of the elite. You can’t compare to that.”
“She wouldn’t go for either of you.” I sip the fruity punch. “She has good taste.”
It’s Ethan’s turn to snort. “You think awfully highly of her for someone you consider annoying.”
“She is annoying.”
“Then it wouldn’t matter if I talk to her.” Ethan finishes his beer and sets it on the edge of the buffet. “Looks like she could use a little assistance getting rid of her current annoyance.”
My mouth drops open as he walks away. “Wait a minute. This isn’t a game. Leave her alone.”
Being Ethan, he doesn’t listen.
