Forever Summer | Justin Bieber

Chapter 5

"Can we, we keep, keep each other company?"
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                                       Lily

I woke up to the sound of a persistent high-pitched ringing. Assuming it was there to accompany the incessant drumming in my head (it was beginning to sound like a really bad garage band in there), I lay in my new bed with my eyes shut tight, promising to whoever might be in charge of these things that if they would just put an end to the incessant pounding, the cotton mouth, and the nausea, then I would never, ever drink red wine (or anything else, for that matter) again. Ever!

I wasn't just saying that. When the ringing abruptly stopped, my eyes popped open. Could it be? But when it resumed a moment later, I realized it was the phone, not my head, that was making all that racket.

Tossing the covers aside, I stumbled out of bed, wondering where the phone was located. In my old room in Connecticut, I'd had cordless with my own private number, a cell phone with different number, a laptop, two e-mail addresses, and a iPhone that they could all be forwarded to. And it was all within easy reach of my big, comfortable canopy bed. Communication with everyone who mattered had always been right at my fingertips.

But here, in my dad's strange new digs, I didn't even know where to start. Since I've had fallen asleep not long after finding my room the day before, the rest of the house had so far remained a mystery. Sprinting out of my room, I headed down the hall and toward the kitchen, partly because it seemed like the logical place to start, and partly because it was the only other room I was familiar with.

"Hello?" I said, picking up the receiver of a brand-new silver colored phone designed to look retro, but with all the modern conveniences.

"Did I wake you?" My dad asked from god-knows-where.

"Kind of. Where are you?" I settled onto a teakwood stool at a long, narrow table, the kind of design magazines always refer to as a "breakfast bar."

"Still on set. Sorry I wasn't there to greet you yesterday. Things got a little hectic around here. But I should be back tonight," he said, not sounding very convincing.

Should be?  "Oh, okay," I said, feeling completely annoyed with him, yet cringing at the high-pitched whininess in my own voice.

"See you then?" He asked, obviously in a hurry to hang up.

"Dad, wait. What exactly am I supposed to do here? I mean, I feel kind of stranded," I said, looking around the unfamiliar kitchen, feeling like I'd broken into my own house.

"Call Justin if you need anything. His number is on the pad next to the phone. Or ask Christina; she should be there by noon."

Christina? Jeez, he was freshly divorced, new to the neighborhood, and he already had a girlfriend? What was with my parents? The way they played musical partners, they were worse than the kids at school! I shook my head and rolled my eyes, but it only intensified the throbbing.

"Dad, do you think you could...?" I stopped, noticing the absolute silence on the other end. Oh my god, did he already hang up? "Hello? Hello?" I said, staring at the receiver. He was gone. Just like that. No goodbye, nothing. How's that for a warm welcome? I'd thought, slamming down the phone.

Hopping off the stool, I opened the fridge and peered inside, searching for something to cure what appeared to be my very first (and definitely last) hangover. I grabbed a carton of soy milk and swigged straight from the container. But I didn't get as far as the swallowing part before running straight to the sink where I gagged and spit and rinsed my mouth with tap water until that thick, nasty soy taste was no more than a bad memory. Gag. Was my dad turning into some kind of California hippie health freak? Or was it Christina's fault that the fridge was full of weirdo organic stuff I wasn't used to?