The Do-Over

I went through a phase in sixth grade where I wore the same T-shirt every day, just to see if anyone noticed. They didn’t, so I gave up after sixteen days in a row.

“Wake up, Emilie!”

My dad’s voice woke me up with a start. My heart was pounding as I squinted up into the bright light and tried to see him. He was standing beside the bed with his hands on his hips, looking furious. I said, “What time is it?”

“That is a great question, Em.” His voice boomed. “It is one fifteen in the morning.”

“What?” I sat up, pushed my hair out of my face and grabbed my glasses from the nightstand. “What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?” His face was beet red and his voice got even louder. “What’s wrong is that my daughter never came home last night. What’s wrong is that you ignored my texts and stayed out without telling me where you were. We called all of your friends and were just about to call the goddamn police because we thought you might be dead!”

Wait. One fifteen? “It’s not Valentine’s Day anymore?”

He huffed. “Did you not hear me say it’s one fifteen? Get your stuff and let’s go. Now.”

“Thomas, you need to settle dow—”

“No, I don’t, Mom. She didn’t come home last night and I was worried sick.” My dad literally spat the words at my grandma, his voice louder than I’d ever heard it. “I should’ve known she’d be here.”

Or in the basement closet—under your feet in your house—with Nick Stark.

“Oh, now, that’s helpful.” My grandma crossed her arms over her chest. “I assumed you knew she was here. The poor thing always comes here because she’s invisible to you and Beth.”

“Spare me.” My dad turned back to me. “Get your stuff and get dressed now.”

I scrambled out of bed, grabbed my stuff, and ran into the bathroom. I closed the door behind me and quietly dug my phone out of my bag.

“Where’s my car?” My dad yelled through the door. “Out on the street where it can get dinged, I’m assuming?”

“Um, not exactly.” I set down the phone, opened the door, and wished there were a way to make this seem less bad. I gnawed on my lip and looked at my grandma when I said, “I got pulled over for speeding, and they impounded the car. I’ve got the information about how to get it—”

“They impounded the car?” Okay, now that was the loudest I’d ever heard his voice as he stacked his hands on top of his head and stared at me as if I’d just confessed to murder. “How fast were you going?”

I swallowed. “Um—”

“Go change, Emilie.” My grandma stepped between me and my dad and stared at me with huge eyes. “Now.”

I closed the door and let out a breath as my grandma argued with my dad and led him down the stairs. I picked up my phone off the counter and my hands shook as I powered it on and waited for calendar confirmation. Because—um—was it actually the fifteenth?

I could feel my heart beating in my neck as the apple lit up my phone just before I saw my home screen.

Holy shit. It was February 15.

I quickly changed out of the pajama pants that I kept at my grandma’s and pulled on the leather pants from the day before, absolutely freaking out as reality hit me square in the face. Flashes of things I’d done the day before started rushing over me.

Stealing the Porsche, telling off Lallie, Lauren, and Nicole, breaking up with Josh via the intercom, quitting my job, tagging the aforementioned people when I posted a picture of my tattoo to social media…

I was going to be sick.

Then I glanced down at my arm. Oh no. No, no, no. I pulled back the bandage and gasped.

I had a marvelous time ruining everything

Dear God, I had a tattoo. That said that.

“Oh my God.” I looked into the mirror and stared at my own face.

What have I done?