The Boy Who Lives In My Garage > jariana (COMPLETED)

ten

It's happening. We're getting caught. My own panic is reflected in Justin's wide eyes. His gaze darts to the side door that leads outside, but it's too late for that.

"...go to Rosalinda's first, then to Misty's. Either she's with them or they'll know where she is. Those two. I swear." It's my mom's voice, and she sounds pissed. With a rush of noise that drowns out my mom's words, the motor on the garage door springs into action.

I'm frozen in place, but Justin slides quickly and carefully under the Trans Am. Our eyes meet right before he disappears from sight.

When the door stops, my dad is speaking. "...find her first, and then we'll worry about..." The rest of his sentence is cut off by two doors slamming.

They're leaving. My parents are heading out of the house at three in the morning to find me. They're going to wake up Rosalinda's mom and Misty's parents. They might even call the police. I have to stop them.

As the Trailblazer's engine starts, I stand, wincing at drunken dizziness. I rush over to the car and wave my arms in my parents' direction. My mom stops so suddenly the brakes screech, then swears so loudly I can hear her over the running engine.

She throws the car into drive, and I back up fast. With the amount of anger in her eyes right now, I wouldn't put it past her to run me over and call it an accident.

"Where in the world have you been?" she asks as she gets out, slamming the door behind her. "Do you know what time it is? Haven't you learned your lesson about sneaking out in the middle of the night?"

Even if I was sober, I wouldn't know which one of those questions to answer first. "I...couldn't sleep. I was going to go for a walk." The lie falls smoothly from my lips. I fight to keep my gaze on my mom's sleep-rumpled hair so that I won't look over at the Trans Am.

Mom rolls her eyes and puts her hands on her hips. And oh my god, my parents were going to go to Rosalinda's and Misty's in their pajamas. "Ariana, do you really think we're that stupid?"

Thank goodness Dad jumps in, because I'm close to answering that question with a yes, which might not be a good decision. "Let's not overreact." Dad leans against the car. The engine clicks as it cools. He studies me with tired eyes. "You're having trouble sleeping?"

Leave it to my dad to cling to some shred of hope that I'm telling the truth, that everything's okay. "Yes," I say, but before I can expand the excuse, my mom takes three quick steps over to me. And sniffs.

"You're lying." The tone makes it sound like she takes pleasure in my mistakes. "She smells like smoke and alcohol. Not only is she lying, but she's also drunk."

"But I..."

"Save your breath," Mom says. "You're only making the alcohol stench worse. Inside. Now."

Mom heads for the house first. Dad follows, but only after giving me a look that stings with disappointment. He presses the button to put the garage door down and turns off the light. As I glance back at the Trans Am, I wonder why he didn't notice that the light was on in the first place.

...

The conversation inside is quick and predictable:

Mom: "When did you start drinking again?"

Me: "Tonight." (Lie.)

Dad: "Where were you?"

Me: "Rosalinda's house." (Lie.)

Mom: "Do we need to put you back into therapy?"

Me: "No." (TRUTH.)

Dad: "You're not going to do this again, right? You'll learn your lesson this time?"