I grabbed my forehead and squeezed. “There’s still a dent. What if they say I can’t drive anymore? That will hella suck!”
“Dorito?” Jim asked with a smile, offering me the bag.
“This definitely calls for something stronger.” Not my wisest decision perhaps, but I was totally spazzing and needed to calm down.
“Allow me,” Jim said. He twisted the top off a beer and handed it to me. He flicked the aluminum cap into the air using his thumb and middle finger and it sailed about thirty feet before falling into the chasm.
“Nice one.” I couldn’t flick bottle caps to save my life, but everyone else had it down. They frequently competed to see whose could fly the farthest.
“You, too.” He winked.
I curled my lip at him in response. I would never live down this car business.
Jaime pulled me off to the side. “You alright?”
“No. Yes. No.” I inhaled some air. “I might be dead later, once I get home.”
“I’m talking about last night. Were you tripped out?”
Oh, that. “My night didn’t exactly go as planned.”
“You left in such a hurry, we thought you and Pete had a fight.”
I shook my head. “Didn’t that weed make you feel strange?” Was it just me?
“Nope. I got a nice buzz off it.”
“Not me. It screwed with my head…in a bad way.”
“Lightweight,” she said.
“I guess so.” There was more to say, but I couldn’t find the words.
“What are your parents going to say about the car? They won’t really kill you, right?”
I bit my lip. “It’s not going to be good.” I finished my beer and opened another.
“Ladies, we’re making a Giant Burger run,” Pete said. “You in?”
Giant Burger served up big greasy hamburgers, salty thick fries, sodas and shakes. It was an armpit of a place, but the food rocked. Pete took my order and left to get the chow. In the meantime, I put away another couple of beers. Upon their return, I wolfed down my meal, hoping it would sober me up enough to face the music.
“Explain to me again how this happened,” said my father, his dark eyes boring into mine.
Even though the mood was tense and I’d screwed up, irritation welled up inside of me. I had explained it twice already. “The car was parked on a slight hill. I had it in neutral and thought I’d depressed the emergency brake at that time, but clearly, I did not engage the brake fully. Then I got back in the car to grab something from the passenger seat—”
“And what was this important item you took from the car?”
“Um…Doritos?”
“Are you asking or telling me?”
“It was a bag of chips.”
“I see. Are you clear why you cannot leave the car in neutral?”
“Now I am.” I would never repeat that mistake.
“And what gear will you park it in from now on if—and it’s a big if—I let you even drive my car again?”
“First,” I whispered.
“Now, once this happened, what did you do?”
I swallowed. What I did was drink a beer, followed by three more. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
“I was scared and—”
“So you came directly home?”
“No, I didn’t.” Sweat trickled down my torso from my armpits.
“Don’t you think crashing my car is serious enough for you to come immediately home?”
Of course. Yes. Duh. “I should have.” My forehead pounded and I reached up and pushed on it.
“But you were more concerned with having a good time with your friends and boyfriend, is that it?”
“No,” I said, my voice meek. I only wanted to delay my imminent death or dismemberment.
My father sighed, and shook his head at my mother. “I think you are far too worried about, what’s it called? Popularity. Everything is all about you and your friends or you and that boy. And now you’ve gone and crashed the family car. Where is your focus, Anna? I’ll tell you—it’s lost.”
“Dad, the car thing was a total accident.”
He came closer, pointing his finger at my chest. He stopped abruptly and his nose wrinkled. “What’s that smell? Is that beer?”
Holy mother of St. Busted.
“Answer me. Have you been drinking?”
“No,” I lied.
“Then why do you reek of beer?”
“My friends had some,” I admitted, trapped. “And someone spilled a little on my pants.” That sounded plausible. I think.
“Your friends drink beer?” His voice escalated with each word, his face turning scarlet and getting puffier by the second.
“Sometimes.”
“Sometimes?” he shouted. “You’re underage. It’s illegal for you to drink alcohol. You say this as if it’s fine. What else are you and your friends doing? Smoking pot? Doing heavy drugs? What?”
“Nothing else.” More lies.
My father’s face hovered two inches from my own, full of menace. He pursed his lips together before shouting. “Let me make something clear: you’re on very thin ice with me, and you’re screwing up. I think now is a good time to reprioritize your responsibilities. Do you hear me? That means you’re grounded, little lady. Grounded. And while you’re on restriction, you will do anything your mother or I request of you, and you will focus on your studies. You will not go out, you will not talk on the phone, you will not watch television. You will either work here or work at school. Is that clear?”
I nodded. It was perfectly, miserably clear.
“And one other thing. You will think about your life. Specifically,” he said with special emphasis, “whether these so-called friends of yours are good for you. Because they don’t sound like they are. I will not have you around alcohol. Do you hear me? Now get out of my sight, and get that filthy stink off of you.”
I sprang to my feet, seeking the solace of
