Don't Touch by Rachel M. Wilson Page B

shakes me, not hard, but I’m so stiff it jars me. His face is so close. His eyes are so green.
    I say the first thing that comes to mind, “My phone,” and slip out of his grip, pretend I’m checking a message. “Sorry,” I say, avoiding Peter’s eyes by looking at Hank. “I got a text from my mom. She has to come get me earlier than she thought.”
    â€œOh no!” Mandy says. “Here, let me text her. One of us can give you a ride.”
    â€œNo, she’s already almost here,” I say, “and we’ve all been drinking. . . .”
    â€œI’m sober,” Drew says, but I remember how fast he took those curves when he wasn’t under the influence.
    â€œYou’re going to miss all the fun,” Mandy says. “After we practice, we play games.”
    â€œNext time,” I say. “Okay?” I go for my bag.
    â€œYou’re leaving now ? Don’t you want to at least wait till she’s actually here?”
    â€œI have to meet her at the bottom of the driveway.”
    â€œThat’s crazy,” Mandy says. “It’s a super-steep walk and it’s dark out.”
    â€œShe gets scared of backing down it.”
    â€œFine.” Mandy untangles herself from Drew and stands. “I mean, if you have to go, you have to go.”
    â€œI’m sorry,” I say.
    She’s not looking at me, but she leads me toward the front hall.
    â€œBye, everybody. I’ll see you Monday.”
    They all mutter good-byes, but nobody other than Mandy seems particularly concerned that I’m leaving. I’m afraid Peter sees through my lies. He waves the stack of scripts at me and smiles as if to say it’s too bad I’m such a scaredy-cat.
    Or maybe that’s all in my head.
    â€œWait here,” Mandy says in the entrance hall and ducks into the kitchen, coming back with a pack of gum. “We don’t want your mom to freak out.”
    â€œRight,” I say. I didn’t drink much, but I’m sure Mom would smell it.
    Mandy opens the door and looks glum as she says, “Do you want me to wait with you?”
    â€œNo, I don’t want to take you away from things,” I say. “I’ll be fine.”
    She looks toward the ceiling, almost an eye roll. “I thought this would be a good chance for you to bond with everyone.”
    â€œAnd I got to,” I say, “a little bit.”
    â€œBut Caddie,” Mandy says, “it’s not cool to watch everybody else put themselves out there and then leave.”
    â€œI know, but my mom—”
    â€œI know, I know,” Mandy says, sounding exasperated. “Look, it’s not you. I’m just worked up about auditions.”
    â€œYou were great,” I say. “You’re going to do great.”
    â€œThanks,” she says, but she’s looking at the floor. “Hey, do you remember the last time you spent the night over here?”
    â€œUm, I don’t know.” That’s another lie. I remember it too well.
    â€œYou had to go home early then, too.”
    â€œI did?”
    Mandy leans on the door, pausing a second before opening it. She looks out into the dark. “This is old, stupid stuff. I’m sorry I’m being weird.” She turns back to me and there’s the smallest reassuring smile. “You can’t help if your mom says you have to go.”
    â€œThanks for understanding,” I say. I should squeeze her arm or give her a hug.
    But I don’t.
    As I make my way down the hill, I turn to wave and see Mandy shutting the door.
    At the base of the drive, the trees mostly block the light from the houses, which are set far back from the road. Stone columns with lamps mark the end of Mandy’s driveway, but that light blinds me to what’s farther off in the woods.
    The creepiness isn’t enough to send me back to the house, though. Being scared of the dark is so normal.