When I was three, I used to chase Billy Tubbs down the block, and if I caught him, I tackled him to the ground and bit him all over his back. My dad says he cried every time he saw me.
YET ANOTHER GODFORSAKEN VALENTINE’S DAY
My alarm went off and I hurled the phone across the room.
“Noooooooooooooooooooooo!”
“Walking on Sunshine” kept playing after the phone hit the wall and landed somewhere in the dark, but instead of retrieving it I just buried my face in my pillow and full-on screamed until I was out of breath.
I was in hell.
How could that day not have changed the course of events?
I grabbed my robe and went into the bathroom to shower. Again. I started the water and stepped in, knowing what was coming. I counted to five and then—
“Em, are you almost done in there?”
Bingo. Lisa was going to press her mouth against the doorjamb and tell me that my little brother needed to use the bathroom. Just like every other day, I yelled, “I just got in here.”
“Joel needs to go potty. Bad.”
“There is a bathroom upstairs.” I poured shampoo into my hand and rubbed it on my head. I knew what her answer was going to be, but it somehow seemed important to play the game.
“Your dad’s in there.”
This time I yelled, “Douse him with ice water and he’ll jump right out.”
There was a pause before she murmured through the wood, “You’re seriously not going to get out?”
I thought about it for a second and came up with, “I don’t think so. Sorry.”
Whoa. I rubbed my hair harder as one thought suddenly overtook all others in my brain.
I. Had. Immunity.
Yes, being stuck in an eternal Valentine’s Day purgatory was the worst, but what I hadn’t considered until now was that I could do whatever I wanted and not face any of the fallout.
I could absolutely use Nick Stark’s words as my mantra for the day.
Fuck ’em.
I took an extremely long shower in honor of that fact, and by the time I got out and dried myself, I had an epiphany.
I could say whatever I wanted to anyone, and it would be erased the next day. I couldn’t get grounded or suspended or even arrested, because the next morning I’d be back in my bed at my dad’s house, walking on freaking sunshine, and no one would remember my transgressions.
Let the games begin.
I got out of the shower and went straight to my planner.
To-Do List—February 14: DAY OF NO CONSEQUENCES
WHATEVER I FUCKING FEEL LIKE
Instead of rushing to free up the bathroom like I usually did, I dragged a stool in front of the vanity. I cranked the volume on my phone and blared the new Volbeat album while I spent far too long making on-point eyeliner tails. I went full-on good makeup and straightened my hair so I could put it in the perfect high ponytail.
“Not too shabby, Em.” I looked at my reflection. Interesting. As it turned out, if you spent an entire hour on your appearance, you looked pretty good. I leaned forward and blotted my red lipstick against the mirror, leaving a perfect mouth print.
Next, I went into my closet and dug, knowing exactly what I was going to wear to school. I had the cuuuutest black leather pants, but I’d never had the guts to wear them to school because they were tight with a capital T-I-G-H-T.
And so not me. Or at least the me that everyone thought I was. But the pants made my butt look killer, so I was going to wear the hell out of those bad boys.
I paired them with my softest cashmere sweater and the suede boots I’d only worn once, and I hopped down the stairs with my backpack, humming in anticipation of what was destined to be a Top Ten day.
I’d heard my dad leave while I flat-ironed my hair, so it was just Lisa and the twins left at home. I walked into the kitchen and went straight for the last leftover slice of French silk pie.
The twins were in their little kiddie seats at the table, jamming pieces of pancakes into their pouty mouths and looking disgustingly adorable. I laughed as Logan pushed his sippy cup off the table and watched it land on the floor.
Little turd.
Lisa picked it up and set it beside him. Her face was tense, so I knew she was pissed about my refusal to get out of the shower for Joel.
But I didn’t care—not today.
Normally I bent over backward to be the perfect houseguest. I made a huge effort—all the time—to make my dad and Lisa forget how much tidier their new life would be if it were just the four of them.
Today, however—screw it. Screw the guilt and the bending over. I grabbed a fork and ate the chocolate pie straight from the tin, and when I was finished, I dumped it into the sink without even rinsing it.
“Hey. Lisa.” I turned around and gave her my biggest smile. “Does my dad still keep the keys to the Porsche in his workbench in the mudroom?”
“Why?” She crossed her arms over her chest and glanced at the pie pan in the sink. Which, to be honest, was bothering me, too. The dishwasher was right next to the sink; why would anyone leave a dish in the sink?
I forced myself to ignore the pan.
“I’m running late and need something with a little more kick than my car.” On the Day of No Consequences—which I would henceforth refer to as the DONC—a Porsche would serve me better than the van.
Without bothering to wait for an answer, I ran into the mudroom and pulled open the drawer. “Sweet—he does.”
“Now wait just a minute. Did your father say you could take his car?”
He would never. He loved that car. Adored it. Would tongue-bathe it if that were guaranteed to forever protect the shiny black paint. My dad had bought the crappy old Porsche from a junkyard when I was a kid and spent countless hours fixing it up with my Uncle Mick. It didn’t look that cool, but it was fast and sleek.
And also not an Astro van.
“Don’t worry about it. You guys have a great day, ’kay?”
“Emilie, you are not taking that car, do you hear me?”
I tilted my head and turned my lips downward. “I hear you, hon, but I’m afraid I am taking the car. Toodles.”
I left and closed the door behind me, half expecting her to chase me out into the driveway. Toodles? I giggled as I realized what I’d just done and said.
I hummed as I went into the unattached garage and got the Porsche before Lisa could stop me. That baby purred to life, and I pushed my aviators up the bridge of my nose and squealed out of the driveway faster than you could say Bitch got it goin’ on.
Wow. I stomped on the gas and flew down Harrison Street, hugging the road and stretching the legs and doing all those amazing car-things that amazing cars were said to do on TV commercials.
Translation: I hauled ass.
Gone were the Valentine’s Days that started with crappy cars and car accidents. Gone were the Valentine’s Days that left me crying in the school bathroom. Gone were endless days of borrowing Nick Stark’s old jacket, and gone were the days that’d felt important but obviously were not. This new-and-improved Valentine’s Day was beginning with fast cars and Metallica on blast, and I dared the universe to dump on my parade.
Not this time.
I glanced in my rearview mirror just as the cop turned behind me and flipped on his lights. My stomach clenched for a second until I remembered—no consequences. Technically, I could lead him on a high-speed chase that would make it on all the national news channels if I wanted to, but that seemed like more trouble than I was interested in.
Especially since I wanted to get to school. I had a lot to do that day. I pulled over, got out my license and registration, and rolled down my window.
When the cop appeared, he looked grumpy. “License and registration, please.”
I handed it to him and said, “I know I was speeding, by the way, and I’m sorry.”
“You were going ninety-six miles per hour in a forty-five zone.”
Oops. “I’m really sorry.”
“You’re going to need a lot more than an apology, young lady. I’ll be right back.”
He went back to his car and I turned up the radio a little. I started singing along to “Blackened,” my not-at-all random musical selection for the DONC, and then I amused myself by waving at every person who gawked at me when they drove by.
Was this how it felt to be a rebel? Because I kind of liked the way this felt. I kept cackling to myself, giggling uncontrollably, when I thought about the wild fact that I’d been pulled over in the car I’d stolen from my dad without permission for going thirty miles over the speed limit.
Who even was I?
I started to get nervous when it was taking so long, and especially when the tow truck showed up, but then I had to remind myself that it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. Whatever happened, I would wake up tomorrow, free and clear.
The officer finally came back to my window. He handed me the registration and insurance card, but he kept my license. “You’re getting a citation for reckless driving. You’ll have to go to court for this. Because you were going so far above the posted limit, this is not a ticket you can pay without seeing a judge. Do you understand?”
I nodded and squinted up into the sun that was shining behind his big head.
“Your car is being impounded because of the high rate of speed. Here is a pamphlet listing all of the information about how long it will be impounded for and how you can get it back at that time.”
“My car is going to jail?”
“Better it than you, don’t you think?”
“Of course.” Jail would totally mess up my plans for the day.
“Your license is also being revoked until your court date. At that time, the judge can make the decision on whether or not it’s possible for you to get it back.”
“Wow—you guys aren’t playing out here today, are you?”
He took off his glasses and looked at me with his eyebrows all screwed together, like he couldn’t believe my nerve. “Young lady, this is a big deal.”
“I know. I was just joking, you know, to try to lighten the mood.”
“Do you have someone who can come pick you up?”
Since my parents sucked at taking my calls and I wasn’t in the mood for their buzzkill lectures anyway, I said, “My parents are both in meetings this morning so I know they can’t answer their phones. I have a really important assignment due in first block that I don’t want to miss, either. Would there be any way that you could maybe just drop me off at Hazelwood whenever you’re done here?”
