Friday Night Alibi Read online

She sticks her tongue out at me as she parks the car. Her high shimmer lip gloss and eye shadow catch the light bouncing off the lot, making her look like she’s taken a face bath in glitter. I love the girl, but she needs to pull back on the makeup. Step one of moving from high school to college. Go with the “natural” look. And since she seems to be determined to start our college days early, I may try to steal that makeup bag from her and stock it with only mascara and eye shadow that doesn’t glitter up her entire face.

  “Trust me, Kel. No one we know will see us here. This is not exactly the most church-friendly place.”

  “I’m fresh out of fake ID’s, so if I need one—”

  “You don’t.” She pulls down her own visor to glob on more gloss. “But it may not be a smart idea to tell these college guys how old we are. Let them assume we’re campus girls.”

  Running out of excuses . . . sigh.

  “I’m not flirting with anybody. I’m just here so you’ll leave me alone.”

  She cocks her head back and forth. “Yeah, yeah.” Her lip gloss thumps back into her purse when she tosses it. “Let’s snag me an überbabe!”

  I’d bolt right out of this car and hitchhike home if I thought she was serious, but Sades is all talk, no show. Seriously. We had this whole plan a couple years ago to hook her up with Declan Pisser—that’s pronounced exactly how it’s spelled. Poor guy. Anyway, she was totally crushed out on Declan, and we did this Mission Impossible–type dealio where she had an earpiece and everything while I pretended to know more than I do about how to bag a fella. (That’s how Mom says it.)

  Sadie got as far as the door to the country club before puking her entire stomach out. And the unlucky boy who happened to be walking right by her got a vomit bath, and then returned the favor. By the time Sadie got back to the parking lot where I was, she was crying and covered forehead to belly button in little-boy stomach chunks. If she wasn’t my best friend, I would’ve run from the sight. But good person that I am, I pulled her in the back of my car where she stripped off the ruined shirt and I gave her mine. Driving home in a bra was a-okay with me because my parents aren’t around enough to care and I wasn’t the alibi then, but Sades . . . yeah, her ’rents would’ve freaked if she was shirtless or if she was messy. Best friend gold star for me that day.

  You’d think she wouldn’t put me through this torture after that, but heck, here we are, walking through the doors of this bowling alley slash pool hall.

  Okay, I’m not some sort of pariah, but I think the world must’ve changed since the last time I went out. Or I’ve been hanging around Sunny Sundale too much. Probably the latter. The smell is a mix of burnt pizza, heavily frosted cake, popcorn, and weed—I think. I’ve never smelled the stuff, but there was this one dude who came to church one week as a visitor and he stunk the entire congregation up. Sades did that smokey motion at me and I figured, oh, so that’s what weed smells like. Gag.

  The people here are totally college people. Loud, hanging all over each other, laughing like Goofy (yuk-yuk-yuk), and lots—I mean a crapload of goatees and beards. It’s like high school to the hairiest degree. Apparently, there are only a few differences between high school guys and college guys. Hair, height, and how many condoms I’m sure they have in their wallets. My eyes widen as I take in what I’ll be experiencing this fall.

  I turn to Sadie, ready for her to pull me right back outside and apologize a million times for thinking this was a good idea. But the “little kid in a candy store” look on her face shoots that hope down the flusher.

  She latches onto my arm and yanks me under the black lights. Her teeth shine as she smiles at the guy behind the counter. His face perks up as he leans toward us, his own grin half hidden by a crumb-filled beard.

  “How can I help you two beautiful ladies?”

  Oh heaven save me from this gagworthy place of pheromone sprays! Sades giggles and the acid that’s been bubbling in my stomach slides up to the back of my throat.

  “We need an hour table. How long is the wait?”

  Crumby Beard wrinkles his entire face, his chubby cheeks pushing his eyes closed as he shakes his head. “The pool hall is pretty backed up tonight. I’ve got about twenty people in front of ya.”

  “That’s too bad,” I say, already walking toward the door. “Looks like we’ll just need to—”

  Oh crap it all. Is that . . . ? Yes, it’s Jaycee Pisser. Sitting over by lane twenty-seven, sipping her drink through a straw all dainty-like, as if she’s not smack dab in the middle of a bunch of pervs who are looking right at her perky boobs Mommy paid good money for.

  It’s not like I’m friends with Jaycee, but here’s the thing. I’m supposed to be an alibi tonight. And I have to think about all possible trails. First it starts with Jaycee, who tells her mommy and daddy sweet and innocent Kelli Pinkins was hanging with frat boys on a Friday night, then the gossip train starts. Mrs. Pisser tells Mrs. Hammond at the book club. Mrs. Hammond tells Mr. Freestone during their tennis lesson. Mr. Freestone tells Mr. Levington during a golf session, who tells Mrs. Levington over dinner, who then goes to Mrs. Finnigan and blabs the whole thing.

  Thing about Sundale, the adults pretend to have lives, and exaggerate everything through the gossip train. So by the time Mrs. Finnigan hears about me being here, it’ll be contorted into this weird orgy fest in the back of a bowling alley.

  And poor Alex will have to come up with some other excuse about where he was tonight, and I’ll lose any future business.

  I do the first thing that shoots through my brain. Hide. I duck into the arcade room and land on all fours under the air hockey table in the corner.

  Gross, gross, gross! Never again will I let Sadie drag me out of the comfort of my California King and personal bathroom. I could’ve been slaughtering some major zombies or shaking my booty to Just Dance. But no, I gotta be stuck to the floor at some weird smelly arcade, choking back the tears I want to shed over ruining my four-hundred-dollar jeans. If I move my knee out of whatever goo I knelt in, I’m sure the fabric will tear right off.

  Sadie must not have seen me dive and hide, even though I was midsentence when I did. She’s nowhere to be seen, so I can’t even ask her when the coast is clear.

  I let out a major sigh, and stick my hand out from my hiding spot, just as a big honker of a foot lands right on top of it.

  My “Youch!” comes out at the same time as a deep voice says, “What the . . . ?” and the foot stumbles back as I slam my head on the bottom of the table.

  Right into a fresh wad of gum.

  My lip juts out and I yank my hair free from the table, but I take the gum with me.

  Just freaking fabulous.

  “Uh, you okay?”

  I freak out for a second because that voice is superfamiliar. If it’s another Sundale resident I’m going to claim someone had plastic surgery to look just like me, and it was them they caught under the air hockey table at college beard town.

  But the huge foot’s face isn’t familiar, so I let that momentary panic out in a big breath of air.

  And hello . . . it’s not a bad looking face, even though it’s got the typical college scruff. At least it’s not like Crumby Beard. His eyes are bluish greenish grayish, but that’s gotta be the crazy lighting in this place. His brown hair is short, like Joseph Gordon Levitt’s. Oh, JGL is freaking fine. I fell in love when I saw that one bike show he was in. He’s just got that cute baby boy face even though I’m pretty sure he’s totally oldville. And slap on some scruff and heck, you got the guy in front of me.

  Not that I’m thinking he’s cute or whatever.

  “Hello?” He smiles and taps his fingers against the edge of the table. “Did my charming opening line sweep you off into silent fantasies?”

  Wow. If I thought he was cute, (I didn’t!) I totally don’t anymore. He may as well have said, “Look at this big crack down my body. That’s right, I’m a talking butthole.”

  “I don’t talk to people I don’t know.” Or people
who step on my fingers. “Sorry to burst that ego bubble.”

  He smiles even bigger, and for some odd reason, I find it irritating. I want to smack it off his face.

  “Do you need help out?” He extends his hand, but I swat it away.

  “No, I’m fine here, thanks.”

  “You always hang out on disease-infested floors?”

  I give him a “hardy har” look. “No, I’m avoiding someone.”

  His eyebrows go up. “Boyfriend?”

  Like it’s any of his business, but I answer anyway. If he keeps talking to me, someone’s going to see me under here. “No.” With a laugh, I add, “Just a Pisser.”

  He chuckles and nods. “You’re avoiding Jaycee? Didn’t see that one coming.”

  Of course he knows who she is. And now I’m kicking myself in the rear. At least this college bighead can tell me if she’s still out there.

  “Do you see her?”

  He stands upright and I see his feet go farther and farther away, and yes, I check out his butt when it comes into view, but that’s only because . . . oh, heck, I don’t know. This place is messing with my ability to think straight. Must be the essence of weed.

  His face pops back under the table and I shake my head to get out of my bizarre thought patterns.

  “All clear.” His irritating grin is back. “Now would you like some help?”

  I swat his hand away again—’cause the guy can’t take a hint—and crawl out on my own. Sweeping my body, I do a very depressing inventory of all the money I just lost by crawling under there. Four-hundred-dollar jeans, hundred-dollar shirt, and my purse and shoes will get proper burials and memorial services. I don’t even want to see my hair, but if I have to cut any of it, and if I ever see this arrogant dick again, he’s going to wish his fat foot never crossed the threshold of this place.

  “Hey,” he says, leaning against the air hockey table and sort of swallowing me in my personal bubble as his eyes graze over my body, “did you ruin your space pants?”

  My what? “Excuse me?”

  “Your space pants.” He grins again. “Because your butt is out of this—”

  “No!” I point a finger right in his face, almost stabbing his weird colored eye. “If you finish that lame pick-up line, I will make sure those pants”—I point to his crotch—“have a lot more space in them.”

  He laughs. “Talking about my balls on the first date. I like that.”

  Ew, ew, ew!

  I don’t even give him the response I have on my tongue. It’d only turn him on. Perv. Flipping my hair over my shoulder, I march out of the arcade and straight into Sadie.

  “There you are. Geez, I’ve been looking . . . ” Her eyes bug out. “Oh, Kel! What happened to your hair?”

  I knew I didn’t want to look at it. Before I realize what’s going on, tears well in my eyes and I slap my hands over my face to hide it.

  “What happened?” Sades rubs my back and freaks out over me, while I try to keep my composure. I’m normally not such a boob, but then again, I’m usually in my room on Friday nights, not ruining my million-dollar outfit, my long and perfect hair, and dealing with pervy older guys.

  “She bumped it on the bottom of that air hockey table. Gum lodged itself right in there.”

  Speaking of pervy guys.

  I peek through my fingers at the stupid boy who won’t leave me alone. He tucks his hands in his black hoodie and smiles at Sadie.

  “Oh!” She drops her hand from my back and it goes right to her hair. Her long, luscious, brown locks—with no gum in it. She does her flip thing she always does when she’s trying to flirt. Her voice gets all high and sweet, too. “What was she doing under there?”

  Okay, I am. Right. Here! Don’t talk to that walking ego like I’m not. I give her a look, but the best friend censor must need new batteries. Or doesn’t work when testosterone is around. I grunt out a “meet you at the car” and turn to leave, but a death grip lands itself on my wrist.

  “It was nice meeting you, Kel.” He shakes his head back as if he had hair up there to flop around—which he doesn’t—then whips out a marker from his baggy black jeans. He scribbles down something on my arm while I struggle to get out of his hold. “Till next time.” He winks, drops my wrist, and I fly out the door before the übercreep touches me again.

  What a freaking night. I wonder if my online buddy will still be on Xbox. I could use someone to trash talk to. I slump in the passenger seat, whipping down the mirror. It’s worse than I thought. My hair. The gum is strung throughout over half of my head, and not just the first layer, but down to my scalp. Looks like a peanut butter shower for me tonight.

  Bringing my arm down from the disaster on my head, I catch the big black streaks guy-who-doesn’t-have-a-clue wrote on my skin.

  Chase Moroney

  Find me in the book, Sweet Legs.

  Oh total barf. I grab wipes from my purse and scrub the life out of my arm.

  Ten minutes goes by and I send Sadie a text telling her to get her butt outside right now. Another ten minutes later and she’s finally in the driver’s seat, taking me home. I don’t bother with the blanket, since it’s after midnight and Alex should be home.

  “Chase is so hot.” Sadie swoons behind the wheel. She’s got scribbles on the back of her hand. “He looks like Joseph Gordon Levitt.”

  I roll my eyes and huff out the window.

  She nudges me. “You don’t think so?”

  “Are you talking about the bonehead who hit on both of us?”

  “He didn’t hit on me. He totally had his eyes on you.” She sighs. “And he was not a bonehead. He was superfunny and sweet.”

  He has split personalities, then.

  The car pulls into my drive and I hop out, holding my ruined heels in one hand and my sticky purse in the other.

  “Never again, Sades.” I give her my pout lip. “I don’t think I’m cut out for the ‘normal’ Spring Break bashing.”

  She laughs, then puts more lip gloss on. I swear, people must think she makes out with it. “See you tomorrow.”

  I wave, then book it inside straight to the kitchen. I grab the peanut butter, and race to my room, letting out a huge breath of relief. Safe at last!

  The clothes are off, and in the trash. I wish I could kiss my jeans goodbye, but I don’t want to catch anything by putting my mouth on the same things that touched that floor. Standing buck naked in my bathroom, I slop the peanut butter on my head, sit on the toilet and wait.

  I’m not crying. I’m past the point of crying. Now I’m just superpissed. At Sadie for dragging me out. At me for going along with it. At Jaycee Pisser. But mostly, and don’t ask me why, but I’m mad at that idiot, Chase. Stepping on my hand and making me bang my head. It’s his fault I’ve got this gum in my hair. And his fault I’ve got a big black smudge on my forearm.

  He had the nerve to make a move on me, then did the same thing to my best friend. Are all college boys this cocky? Or is it just him?

  Not that I care. Because I don’t! I’m just, I dunno, recapping the darn night.

  And long story short: Chase Moroney is a freaking manwhore.

  Chapter 3

  It’s gone. All fifteen and a half inches of my beautiful, totally jealousworthy blond hair, gone. I’m left with something I have to style with putty and buttloads of hairspray in order for me to pass as a girl from the neck up.

  My eyes are permanently bloodshot from leaking all the fluids in my body out through those tiny holes called tear ducts.

  Pout.

  When I slump onto the tennis court for my midmorning practice match, Sadie’s eyebrows nit together, then they shoot sky high as she realizes that, yes, the short-haired sad girl is her best bud.

  “O. M. G.!”

  I put up a hand to stop her from saying it. “I know. It’s awful.”

  “What?” Her big eyes won’t leave the top of my head. “It looks amazing, Kel!”

  She’s a big fat liar. But she’s my B
FF, so I give her a smile and a hug, ’cause she said what I needed to hear.

  “Thank you.”

  She giggles as she pulls back. “Seriously, I’m totally jealous. You think it’d look good on me?” She wraps a hand around her long chocolate hair I wish I had right now, and tucks it up in a weird looking bun. “Yes? No?”

  “Don’t you dare cut your hair!” I slap her hand down. “We don’t both need to suffer.”

  “Really, it’s hot, Kel.”

  “I want extensions.”

  “Yuck! You did not just say that.”

  My lip juts out again.

  She shakes her head and wraps an arm around me. “No fake hair. This . . . ” Her fingers tuck a strand behind my ear, but it falls right back in my face. “ . . . totally suits you.”

  I open my mouth to argue some more, but a deep voice from behind me interrupts.

  “I’ll say.”

  Chase, Chase, the sleazeball Chase walks around to face me, crossing his arms over his pitch-black—and supertight—T-shirt. “Matches that short temper.”

  I blink a few times to make sure I’m not having one of those really bad nightmares when everything goes to crap and you wake up feeling totally blessed to be back in the real world. You know, the new-outlook-on-life kind of dream. Um, yeah. I wish. There’s the guy who made all my hair disappear and he’s staring at me like he wants to shove his tongue down my throat. Bleck.

  And his eyes are still freaky colored. I’m trying to decide if they are more blue, green, or gray.

  “What the heck are you doing here?” I say through my teeth as I take a step back. This is a freaking Christian Country Club. How did he even get past the gate, let alone on the tennis court?

  He shrugs, the big nasty grin on his face. “Felt like a swim, and Sadie was awesome enough to invite me to the sweet pool here.”

  My eyes flick to his black swim trunks before they land on my supposed best friend. Sadie goes pink in the cheeks and stumbles over her words. “Uh, yup. Thought it m-might be good to learn some water polo.”

  “Water polo?”

  She nods, then nudges Chase with her elbow. “Chase played in high school. So, I invited him to show me some stuff.” Her cheeks are smoking. And Chase’s dang smirk won’t leave his stubbly face.