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Libby Tyler. She did have a gloss issue. She was also a horrible human being, at least at sixteen.
"Things have gotten more serious since high school though," I said, my mind darkening again as I thought about the magazine coming, about my ongoing charade with Ryan. About whatever Chad thought he knew and what he might tell Alison.
"Let's see," Gran said, raising her fingers in front of her face and lowering one for each point she made. "You're divorcing your scumbag ex, which is good. He's blackmailing you. Less good. You're faking a relationship with that fine piece of movie star ass your sister likes. That's not only not good, that's moronic. Two points deducted there."
"Wait, you're scoring me?"
"Makes these conversations more fun."
"Do I get to score you?"
"No, Juliet. Pay attention. I'm the sage old woman, dispensing my worldly advice. You just listen."
I sighed. "You're sneaking around with one of your gorillas, which is not good. But he seems like a decent human being, and he makes a fucking excellent drink, so two points back there."
What? Jace had made a drink for Gran? When did that happen? And what must they have talked about while it did?
"Bottom line?" She said just before sucking on her joint for so long I thought her lips might be stuck.
I waited for her to continue, but she pulled the thing from her mouth and sat there, holding her breath.
"Yeah?" I prodded, leaning forward.
After what seemed like forever, she exhaled, and a cloud of pot smoke drifted around us. "You've lost control of your own life. You're letting other people make you a side character in your own goddamned story."
I already knew that, but hearing Gran confirm it just made me more resolved to take a different avenue. If I could. "How do I fix it?"
Gran lifted a shoulder and then turned to set the joint in her ashtray. "Up to you. But I can make one suggestion."
Good. This was what I'd come in here for.
"Kick some ass while you figure it out." She stood and motioned for me to sit in her ridiculous gaming chair. It looked like the chair that had been on the bridge of the ship in the one sci-fi movie I'd done, with wings and fancy armrests, buttons and speakers built in.
"Excuse me?"
"I'm going to let you play my death knight. Stay on the solo quests, and don't mess up my armor," she said.
"The game?" I had played maybe four video games in my life, mostly in high school. I had no idea what she was telling me to do. Or why.
She sighed dramatically and waited. I moved to sit in her chair, and she put the headphones on my head. Then she put my hands onto the mouse and keyboard and stood there, leaning over me, while she showed me how to make her character run around on the screen. After a few minutes, she showed me where to find the quests she was pursuing and which buttons would make the character fight. And then she was gone.
I felt ridiculous. I considered getting up and just going upstairs to get ready for the party. But I had hours still, and there was something compelling about the endless green fields where the cartoon character stood, the opportunity to explore, to wander. And when I stumbled into a group of other characters, all of them marked with red names over their heads, signifying they were enemies, it felt good to fight back when they attacked me. For a long time—hours, maybe—I played Warcraft and let myself be strong, fearless, and one hundred percent in control.
And when I noticed Gran's joint still sitting beside me, well ... Choices were made.
It was my life. I was going to take control.
Chapter Thirty
Jace
The camera crew and the reporter were back, and with Chad gone, I felt a little relief that tonight might not go horribly wrong. Then again, he'd whispered something to the reporter before he'd left, and she kept glancing over at me as she directed the photos out on the lawn before the party.
Juliet had shown up late, but looking every bit the movie star. I wondered what had kept her—she prided herself on punctuality. Once she did appear, stepping out onto the back porch like a goddess in a long green dress that flowed like liquid around her body, I just wanted to pick her up and carry her off to a private room, or a cave, somewhere. She was incredible.
Gran, for her part, was being wonderfully resistant to being portrayed as a timid old lady happy to be surrounded by her granddaughters.
"Take one like this," she suggested, and then she squatted low and crossed her arms, her hands flashing gang signs she must have picked up on the internet. I hid a smile.
