Wild Cards by Simone Elkeles

day. I figure when your dad gets home he’ll want to see the progress.” She rubs her bare belly, which is something I definitely didn’t have to see. “I miss him tons. Come record a message for your dad.”
    I wave into the camera and hope he won’t notice I’m wasted when he watches it. “Hey, Dad. Hope you’re accomplishing whatever you need to in the middle of the ocean. Peace.”
    It sucks having my dad so far away, especially knowing I can’t talk to him. When he’s away I feel like he’s an acquaintance, someone on the fringes of my life but not actually in it.
    Before I leave the office, Brandi says, “How much did you drink tonight?”
    “A lot.”
    “I smelled it on you the second you stepped close.” She pulls down her shirt to cover her belly. “Okay. Well, I guess I should, you know, tell you that it’s probably not a good idea to drink when you’re underage.”
    “Did you do it?”
    She nods. “Yes. I’m probably not one to preach about the benefits of staying away from high school parties. Just . . . don’t go overboard, okay? Or don’t do it at all, which is probably what I’m supposed to say. If your dad knew, I’m sure he wouldn’t be happy—”
    “Tell him if you want.” At this point, what’s he gonna do? It’s not like he can ground me or take my car away. He’s not here to enforce any kind of rules. Nobody is.
    She shakes her head. “How about if I leave it up to you to tell him?”
    “Cool.” Life is back to the normal state of abnormality in a matter of seconds. Before I leave I turn back to Brandi. “You know where Ashtyn is?”
    “Yeah. She’s upstairs sleeping. Is everything okay between you two?”
    I rub the back of my neck. “I don’t know.”
    “You want some advice?” Before I can tell her to keep her opinions to herself, she puts her hands up and exclaims, “My sister lives hard and loves hard. It’s in her nature, just like me.”
    I think for a minute, which is pretty tough to do when I’m this buzzed. “Thanks, Brandi.”
    Brandi smiles proudly. “You’re welcome. Good night, Derek.”
    “’Night.”
    When I was younger, my mom used to lie in bed with me and we’d make up stories. She’d start a sentence, and I’d finish it. “ There once was a boy named . . . ” she’d start and I’d insert, “ Derek .” Then she’d continue, “ One day, Derek wanted to go to . . . ” and I’d insert whatever place I wanted and together we’d come up with a wild adventure. Every night she came into my room, and every night we’d continue the ritual. When I got too old for those stories, she’d give me advice about girls, school, football, and anything else that I wanted to talk about.
    Brandi is totally unlike my mom, so I miss her all the more. I just want to be able to talk to my mom one more time, see her smile at me one more time, create one of our mom-son stories one more time. I’d do anything to ask her what to do about Ashtyn, because she’d probably have the answer.
    I guess I’m on my own to figure it all out.
    I strip down to my boxers, curse my trimmed balls, and go upstairs to brush my teeth. On my way out of the bathroom, I remember that I forgot to give Ashtyn the jacket she’d left at the party. After going downstairs and grabbing it from my room, I stand in front of her door. I’d knock softly, but I’m afraid Falkor will start barking like a mad dog and wake Julian in the room next to hers.
    “Ashtyn,” I say quietly. The door is slightly ajar. I push the door open further and peek inside.
    Falkor is sleeping at the foot of her bed, a guardian to his princess. I walk in with the sole purpose of putting her jacket on her desk chair, but when I glance at Ashtyn lying in bed with her eyes open just staring at me, I freeze.
    “Go away,” she says bitterly.
    I hold up the jacket. “You left this at the party. You could pretend to be grateful and say thank you.”
    “Sorry. Thank you so very much for bringing back my