Just My Luck Adele Parks (if you liked this book txt) 📖

Jake is incredulous, too. “Limes.”

“For the margaritas.” I’m bluffing. I’m not even sure they are serving margaritas. I’m not just bluffing. I’m lying. I’m a liar. “Where is Emily, do you think? I need to speak to her.”

Jake shrugs. “Have you called her?”

“Straight to voice mail. And I have texted now, three times throughout the evening. Nothing back.” I pause. “Will you call her?”

“Me?”

“Yes.”

“But you’ve just said you’ve tried,” he points out. I glare at him.

For all his incredulity, I know he understands perfectly. I think she might be blocking me. Ignoring me specifically because I am the parent most likely to call time on drunken exploits. I’m the one who will want to know if she’s cold, and if she is, then I’ll be the one to make her change into something warmer. Her outfit is ridiculously skimpy, and whilst I’m not an idiot I realize most of the girls’ outfits are equally tiny and I get the importance of making an entrance. I also think being comfortable enough to have fun is important, too. I insisted she pack a pair of leggings and trainers to put on as the night wore on. I just think heels, a skimpy, plunging leotard, alcohol and fair rides are a combination that amount to an accident waiting to happen. The leggings and trainers are purple and sparkly and go with her costume, but still she wasn’t keen. They remain in a bag behind the bar. I know, I’ve checked. The fact is Emily is more likely to take Jake’s call than mine—she might think he’s calling her about some party-planning issue. He smiles obligingly and presses her number. We both listen as it rings and rings.

I look around me at the crowded dance floor and spot the three girls who got ready at ours tonight: Scarlett, Liv, Nella. They are dancing with a bunch of boys, writhing around like eels in a bucket. I think the boys must be from the new school because I don’t recognize them. They are all tall, handsome. They have floppy hair, loud laughs and ooze confidence as though their raison d’être is to fulfill the stereotype of what it means to be a private schoolboy. I realize that if I go and talk to them I’ll be killing their mood, but I do need to know where Emily is. It’s after midnight and I’m not sure when anyone last saw her. Apprehension skitters up my spine.

I squeeze my way onto the dance floor, and although it is rammed, somehow a space opens up for me. The girls are all shiny and sticky, their makeup has run and smudged, but they still look gorgeous because they are young and are clearly having a lot of fun. That combo makes for gorgeous. I’m glad for them. “Have you seen Emily?” I yell above the music. They exchange a look that tells me they have, but are weighing up whether to tell me. My first thought is relief.

“She’s not in trouble, I just haven’t seen her for a while,” I say to encourage them.

“I think she went off with—” Liv doesn’t get to finish her sentence because Scarlett nudges her in the ribs. It’s a forceful shove, effective but indiscreet.

“With whom?” I ask firmly.

Liv looks nervous. Her eyes drop to the dance floor. The boys snigger and then start to melt away into the crowd, not interested in girls who attract parental attention. Nella stares at them, something close to anguish in her pretty, plump face. I watch as she makes a quick calculation. She does not want to lose the boys—she needs to wrap up this conversation and get rid of me. “She’s probably just somewhere with Ridley,” she garbles.

With Ridley? I try not to alter my expression. “Are they back together?” I hope my tone is lighter than my heart. The girls shrug and move away from me to chase after the boys they were dancing and flirting with. That’s far more important to them right now than Emily’s goings-on.

I return to where Jake and Logan are standing. Logan is looking tired. Pale and shadowy. I suggest he go home. “One of the security guys could go with you in the taxi.” He just scowls at me, unimpressed by the idea. I know he wants to be here until the bitter end. We have a licence to play music until 1:00 a.m. I guess with all the sugar he has undoubtedly consumed, he’ll manage to push through until then.

“Her friends think she might be with Ridley,” I inform Jake. “I think she might have got back with him.”

He nods. “Most likely.”

“Why would she want to do that?” I demand, thinking about how Ridley stood by and allowed Megan and her monsters to beat Emily. I should never have agreed to him being here.

“Because she’s still in love with him,” replies Jake simply with a sigh.

“No, she isn’t!” I say this forcefully because I want to be right. “She’d have told me,” I insist. But would she? Emily and I haven’t been having many heart-to-hearts of late. “Did she tell you?” I demand.

“She didn’t have to. I know my daughter.”

It’s an accusation. I hear it loud and clear. When did that happen? When did Jake start to know what was going on in Emily’s head better than I do? I check my phone, but there are still no messages. “Have you tried that find my iPhone tracking thing?” We all have this app on our phones; I can’t tell you how many times it’s saved the day when one or the other of us has believed we’ve lost our phone.

“It won’t be specific enough in a field this size.” Jake takes a big gulp of his beer, lets his gaze fall on the dancers.

I try it anyway. Knowing she’s on the field would be some sort of reassurance. I mean, of course she must be. Why would she be anywhere else? Even