Dizzy

Chapter 1

~Dylan~

Dad picked the perfect time to go out of town. Of course, I know he chooses this night on purpose. Every year since Mom's been gone, he's bailed on the anniversary. It works for me though. What am I saying? It more than works. Dad's not the only one who knows how to find a distraction. He's not the only one who needs it either.

Party. My house. Beer. Girls. Yeah, I'm definitely down with that.

I hike across our kitchen and start opening bags of ice and packing them around the keg. My brother Derrick taught me the trick of putting a keg in an old trashcan, and it works perfectly. As ice rattles against the thick plastic, I let myself wonder what Derrick's doing today. I mean, I'm sure he's partying because that's what the Gibson Boys do. I learned from the best. But I can't help wondering if he remembers what today is. If he plans on having an extra beer to wash the memory down like I will. Or maybe college has changed him enough that he'll drown himself in work like Dad does.

I shake my head. Nah, this is Derrick. My brother isn't a sellout.

I jump when something slams into my kitchen door. "Open up! It's the Po-lice."

My heart only skips one beat before I realize who it is. Dumbass. I open the kitchen door and shake my head at my best friend Paul.

"The cops don't say po-lice." His lame attempt at a joke slips my mind when I spot the brown paper bags in his hand. "Nice. Your hookup came through? What'd you get?"

He pushes his way into the kitchen, setting the bags down on the marble counter. "Two bottles of Tequila, two of Vodka, and a couple of Rum. That's all I could score."

My lips stretch into a smile. "That's all we'll need. Cooler's in the corner. Put 'em in there. I don't want anyone in the fridge. My dad's only anal about certain stuff, but the fridge is one of them. He'll notice if the hummus is scooted over a quarter of an inch."

"He may notice, but he won't say anything."

Which is true. Dad's always been pretty laid back when it comes to me and Derrick. "Still, it's his thing, so I don't want anyone to screw it up."

My brother and I may have always known how to get our way with Dad, but we're also a team, the three of us—the Gibson Boys against the world. I don't know. Dad used to joke around like that when we were younger. I used to think it was cool, but now I know what's up. He's trying to focus on the good. He doesn't want us to realize what we're missing. Or maybe it's really that he needs to forget what he's missing. Or maybe I'm over-thinking stuff way too much today. I need to chill.

"The flyers went out?"

Paul nods his buzzed head. "You doubt me? Of course. This museum you call a house will be packed. Tonight's going to go down in history as the best no-costumes-allowed Halloween party Portland has ever seen."

Everyone has costume parties for Halloween. This year we decided costumes would be an automatic ticket out of here.

"Museum?"

Paul pops his knuckles. "Museum. Mansion. Castle. Mall. Whatever the hell you want to call it."

"I don't care what you call my house, but I do want to call you a dumbass."

Okay, so my house is big. All Dad does is work, remember? But the rich jokes get old after a while. Plus, it's not like Paul's mom isn't loaded.

He walks back over to me. "Come on, Dylan. Stop your whining and get'cha ass ready. We're partying in T-minus-one hour, and I have it on good authority that Chastity Edwards is coming just for you. And that girl is anything but—chase? Chaste? Whatever the hell the word is, she's not that."