The Good, the Bad, and the Gwen | ✔️

13 - Kissing 101

Things are quiet after Sully drops us off. The muffled sound of channels flipping seeps from underneath Penny and Jolie's bedroom door, but other than that, the house is silent.

We make our way to Hartley's room and she lets out a drained sigh. "There's a party tonight at Melanie's. I told her we'd be there." She flops onto the bed, all angles and sharp edges, and her head hits the pillow with a thud.

I lie down next to her and stare. "You're in the mood to party after everything that just happened?" The fact that we narrowly escaped a criminal record has put a major damper on my immediate desire to have fun.

She thinks for a moment. "Yes and no. But I could use a drink. I'm still shaking." Hartley holds her hands in front of her, but they look steady to me.

"So ..." I twist onto my side and stare up at an Eiffel Tower poster on the wall. The picture was taken at dusk, but the tower's illuminated like a Christmas tree against the darkening sky. "Are we going to talk about what happened, or are you just going to ignore the fact that you nearly demolished Nick's car?"

Hartley doesn't look at me, she just grimaces at the ceiling. "I didn't demolish it. It just needs a new windshield and it'll be as good as new."

"But he said you have to pay for it. Do you have any money?"

She lets out another long breath. "Nope."

"Then what are you going to do?" She closes her eyes but doesn't answer. For a long while I just lay there and watch the rise and fall of her chest until I can no longer take the silence. "Well? Do you have a plan?"

At that, she turns until we're nose to nose. "No, I don't have a plan. But don't worry, things will work out. I'll probably have to sell some of my stuff or get a job."

"Do you have anything to sell?" I ask, propping myself onto an elbow.

My eyes travel around her room which is in immaculate order. Picture frames hang in a straight line on the wall, each one featuring a family member or friend. Her dresser and nightstand are free of clutter. And even though the closet door is half-open, each article of clothing dangles from its hanger in a well-arranged fashion. As chaotic as Hartley's personal life is, I've noticed she's borderline obsessive when it comes to her bedroom. She never used to be that way. When we were little, you were lucky to make out the floor beneath the mess of clothing and stuffed animals littered across it.

"I have a shit-ton of clothes that don't fit anymore. I could probably sell those and make a hundred bucks or so," she says, her tone giving away uncertainty. "Oh my God, what the hell am I gonna do? How could I have been so stupid?"

I resist the urge to lecture her. Instead, I shoot for a more practical approach. "You're not stupid. You're just ... passionate," I tell her, hoping it doesn't sound too judgemental. "Look, I'm sure everything will work out. Just like you said."

Hartley sits up straight, a frantic expression on her face. "My mom can't find out, she'll kill me."

But Penelope MacKenna doesn't seem like the murderous type. If anything, she's the spokesperson for The Power of Positive Energy. Just this morning she tried to teach me the many benefits of Feng Shui and how clearing out my clutter would build a more harmonious Chi.

I sit up too. "You don't think she'd help you?"

"Of course she would, but it'd break her heart! And I don't want to hurt her. She has enough to worry about."

I have no idea what she's talking about, but don't bother to ask. I'm not sure I can handle any more drama at the moment. "Why did you do it?"

"What?" She looks at me funny. "Take a bat to his car?"