Page 12 of Wrecked

I stand up and walk over to my dresser where I take out an outfit. I look down at my nails. I was going to get a manicure today and then go to the mall. There’s a really cute denim jumpsuit at Forever 21. Guess I’ll just have to go later.

“I have to do what he says or else the OVI charge will stick, and I won’t get my bar.”

Luke whistles through his teeth. “Damn. Mom and Dad will freak.”

I point a finger at him. “I know. That’s why they cannot know about any of this.”

He tilts his head, his red hair flopping in his face. “Do you really think I’d tell them?”

“Your friend who lives by the park had better keep his mouth shut, too.”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t worry about him. I have way too much dirt on that kid.” Luke rises and walks over to me, placing a hand on my shoulder. Somehow, he managed to grow taller than me by a good three inches. “Don’t worry; your secret’s safe with me.” He smiles and then adds, “Under one condition. You convince Mom and Dad to let me buy a motorcycle.”

I swat his hand away. “You’ll kill yourself.”

“Just like you almost did last night.” He winks, knowing full well that I was not driving. “Where’s your car by the way?”

My stomach churns. I haven’t thought of what I’m going to tell my parents about my car.

“Luke? Leah? You up? I made cinnamon rolls,” Dad calls from downstairs.

“Be right there!” I shout. Then, I turn to Luke. “Fine. I’ll try my best, but I can’t make any promises. Now, go shower because you stink.” Placing my hands on his shoulders, I turn him around and escort him out of my room.

“You should talk, jailbird. You go first.”

I close the door behind him. I only have forty-five minutes to get ready. I reply to the text from the unknown caller who said I had to be ready at nine and ask who it is, followed by asking where I’m supposed to go.

While I wait for a reply, I shower, dress, and spritz myself with coconut body mist. When you grow up in a house with one full bathroom, you learn how to get ready in a flash.

Wearing a floral romper and wedges, I come downstairs and am hit with the scent of Dad’s homemade cinnamon rolls. As I walk through the living room, a pretty Persian kitty comes prancing over to say hello. I pick up my baby boy and nuzzle him to my cheek.

“Hello, Eddie. Did you have a good night’s sleep?”

He purrs into my skin as another feline wraps its furry body around my ankle. I bend down to scratch the top of the calico’s head. Mr. Wooderson doesn’t like to be picked up.

I’ve named all our cats after Matthew McConaughey characters. These two loves are Steve Edison from The Wedding Planner and David Wooderson from Dazed and Confused. Three more little guys are hiding somewhere.

My mom is obsessed with cats. And by obsessed, I mean she’s a balls-to-the-wall groupie over them. I love cats, but Pam Paige is a little cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs, if you know what I mean.

Case in point, the kitty city takes over half of the living room. You’ve heard of a kitty condo? Well, there is an entire world dedicated to her fur babies, including a wheel for them to take their daily laps and seven towers for them to scratch, pounce, and play. There’s even a bed for each cat. You might not think that’s so crazy, but over our fireplace mantel is a collage of every cat we’ve ever had—dead and alive.

The only person who has more wall presence in this house is Luke. He’s the favorite, being the only boy and all. Next is Emma. She’s the perfect one. Photos of her playing the violin since she was ten years old are spread around the house. As for me, there’s a picture or two around. I don’t take it personally. I know they love me.

“Morning, sunshine!” Dad says as I enter the kitchen and put Eddie on the floor.

“Morning, Bob.”

Yes, I call my parents by their first names. It’s not out of disrespect. It’s quite the opposite. They’re real people who have lives other than being my mom and dad. I think that should be acknowledged.

I grab a roll off the oven pan. It’s hot and gooey. I kiss his cheek and take a seat at the table.

Mom walks in through the back door, her gardening tools in hand. She’s wearing a sun visor and a pink T-shirt with a cat on it. It says, My prayers are said in CATholic. I bought it for her for Mother’s Day.

She looks surprised to see me. “Hi, baby. I didn’t know you were home. Your car’s not in the driveway.”

I stuff my mouth with a burning hot cinnamon roll and mumble, “I drank last night, so I asked Victoria for a ride home.” One of my best features is my inability to lie. Talk around the truth? Sure. Lie? Never.

“That was very responsible of you. I’ll drive you to get it later.”