Corollas are Good Getaway Vehicles
“Do you still want to come over?” Liam asks when we’ve made it to his car.
Students are still milling about, some pretending not to watch us and others blatantly staring. Don’t they have lives?
Truthfully, I want to dig myself a hole and curl into it to die. Now that the event is over, humiliation at Liam seeing me like that seeps from my every pore. Here I’m supposed to be the blackmailer, yet he’s the one saving me from humiliation. Also, he’s dropped my hand. I feel a slight emptiness without it.
“Yeah, if that’s okay,” I say, worried that he’s going to revoke his offer due to the aforesaid circumstances involving me and dumpsters.
Stop it, Finley. You have the power. You’re calling the shots here, not him.
Despite my inner conscious’s upbeat talk, I still feel disheartened.
Liam bobs his head. “It’s okay.”
I take that as an invitation to board his vehicle. Liam slips into the driver’s side and starts the car.
Outside the glass windows, students are gawking at me. If they get this worked up about my simply riding in the same car as Liam, they’re going to flip when we start dating.
I relax into the leather of my seat and fold my hands across my stomach.
This is going to be a piece of cake.
“Abort mission! Abort! Abort!”
As soon as Liam opens his front door, two kids come rushing out, running for their lives down the grassy front yard and disappearing around the back corner of the house.
“You monsters!” A girl’s voice shrieks, causing the glass in the windows to shake.
Liam quickly grabs my arm and pulls me inside the house, locking the front door behind us. A wide, curved staircase greets us immediately, bedroom doors clearly visible on the second floor due to the open floor plan. A living room is on our right, color-coordinated furniture sitting primly on cream carpet. A hall is on our left, continuing into what must be a family room.
A slam in heard from above and a girl around fourteen stomps down the stairs. Her blonde hair is a mess, capri sweats slide on her slim legs, and her fists are clenched.
When she glances up at us I see why.
Her mouth is outlined with purple lipliner, her lips then drawn on badly with bright red lipstick. Dramatic black lines circle her eyes and slope back to her ears, meeting her hairline. Sparkly blue eyeshadow shimmers every time she blinks and red, red rouge is high on her cheekbones. Her arms and tops of her feet are covered in sharpie squiggles.
In essence, she looks like a mad woman.
“Wow,” is all Liam can utter.
Personally, I’m stunned into silence. It’s nearly impossible for me to decipher how the girl really looks under all that make-up.
“Where’d the brats go?” The girl demands upon reaching us at the bottom of the stairs.
Liam and I both immediately point to the front door. The girl clomps outside, the front door banging at her exit.