My Daughter's Friends: Brooke

It was overwhelming. The place smelled like a perfumery and looked like I was backstage at the fashion show, Teenage Tease.

But something didn't add up.

As I reached the head of the island, I furrowed my brows and counted them again: Sophia, Katee and two others by Aubrey in the back left corner; two blondes at the fridge; Brooke and Melanie at the screen door; and two girls behind Alexis to my right.

Like I thought, they didn't add up.

"You're early." Aubrey broke the silence. "Did you have a good day?"

"Aubrey?" I cut her off, my voice as baritone as I could make it. "Why do I count eleven girls?"

In a wave, everyone except my daughter dropped their eyes to the floor and tensed. Some of them even squirmed back an inch. At that point, I felt less like I stood in my kitchen and more like I stood in a garden, searching through bushels of part lines, curls and pony tails for a rodent.

Obviously, these girls cowered because of a far worse violation. But I figured I'd start with the lesser one.

"Aubrey?" I repeated after another moment of quiet.

"Iris and Jasmine's parents didn't say 'yes' until today," she blurted as she gestured to the two blondes at the fridge. "I didn't want to uninvited them last minute."

Again, her voice ran fast. But this time, she wasn't lying.

"I see," I said, glancing over to the two girls who looked up at me only long enough to flash their Siberian-blue eyes and show me they were twins, mousy-face, pillowy-lipped twins.

I almost shivered.

"Please don't make them leave," Aubrey said.

I cleared my throat. Of course, I wasn't about to make anyone leave. However, since the twins' chaste faces still had me in chills, I thought it best to stay rigid for a couple more seconds.

"I don't care about the two extra girls," I said.

"Eleven's our record," Sophia cut in with a big chipmunk smile.

"That's not the point, Ms. Harrington." I scowled. "Like I said, I don't care about the two extra girls. What I care about is that it looks like you girls are hiding something from me."

Once more, every girl tensed. One of Alexis's straps even slipped off her shoulders but because her arms were behind her back, she couldn't fix it.

"Now." I paused. "Does anyone want to tell me what that something is?"

As the room went silent again, I shifted my weight to my right foot to try to peek behind Alexis's back. With a pivot though, she kept her front towards me, her top's neckline about to expose her thanks to the fallen strap.

"Ms. Page," I whispered, now with the taste of bile on my tongue. "What are you hiding?"

"Nothing." She shook her head, which sent her glasses inching down her nose. Whether she was cold or nervous, her porcelain skin then broke out in goosebumps.

"Nothing?" I asked her.

She nodded.

To be honest, even I began to feel like I was being a bit too harsh right then. The silence that filled the room thereafter agreed with me too. The air felt heavy. The only break in the quiet was the bathroom's analog clock as it ticked, ticked, ticked.

For forty two ticks to be exact. Forty two ticks of nothingness. That how long we stayed stalemated. Or at least, how long I thought we stayed stalemated when in reality, I was losing. And damn, between the petite twins and Alexis's near disrobe, I was losing fast. Worse yet, Brooke only stared at me with her brown eyes wide and her bosomy lips ever-so-slightly parted. From underneath her blanket of black hair, her cheekbones sent pin and needles up my legs.

But then I smelled something. Something sharp. In fact, in what stared off as an anxious breath ended up as the very inhale that caught the waft of why these girls were actually scared. And although it was faint, almost lost amidst their perfumes and pheromones, the twinge was undeniable.

They had alcohol.

Part 12: World's Best, or Worst, Dad

At first, I clenched: my hands, my gut, my jaw, everything. From that, another cyst of vomit shot up my throat. I wanted to yell. I wanted to punish them. Every one of them. Severely. Aubrey, banished to her room. Her friends, bent over my knee and spanked. Hard. Several times.

But then it hit me. And I cringed. These girls were eighteen. At an earlier age, I was already a drunk. Hell, Aubrey was conceived when Renee and I were seventeen. Cliché-ically enough, it was also at a drunken party.

So how could I be mad? At least she had the brains to drink in the safety of her own home, surrounded by friends, without boys. Yes, eighteen was young, and maybe she'd drunk before, but still, she was smarter than I was then. So again, how could I be mad?

"Aubrey?" I said as evenly as I could, releasing my clench as I broke the silence.

"Yes?" she answered, her button nose scrunched up under her best puppy-dog eyes. "Are you mad?"

Telling by her voice, she knew that I knew about the alcohol.

"No," I told her. "I just want to go over a few things. Can everyone look at me, please?"

Unaware if it was the anger or the power that made my adrenaline bluster, I basked in the moment while eleven girls raise their chins and gift me the lines of their beautiful faces, some of which were afraid, some of which were upset.

"Look," I started. "I know you have alcohol."

Expectedly, they all flinched.

"It's okay," I said with my palms up as if to surrender. "I just want to make sure if you girls are going to drink, you do it responsibly. Now I can't condone drinking at your age, but at eighteen, I did it too. I just want you to be honest with me. So please, stop hiding whatever you're hiding. Some of you look uncomfortable."

In hopes to help break the ice, I chuckled and clasped my hands behind me. However, most of the girls just stood there like statues, shapely-figured statues.

"It is heavy," one of them spoke up at last. It sounded like Alexis. "And cold," she added.

"Then set it on the counter," I told her with a smile. "I won't be mad."

"You promise?" Aubrey asked.

"I promise. I did the same thing at your age. It wouldn't be right of me to get mad, would it?"

They didn't answer. But they didn't need to.

A moment later, Alexis removed a jug of Orange Juice from behind her back and set in on the countertop. After that, the rest of them followed. Sheepishly, they placed jugs of juices, two liters of Spite and Coke, and cans of Redbull on the granite-top. They even picked up a few drinks from the floor. It was quite the array. One of which Aubrey, Sophia and Katee capped off by reaching into the island's cupboards and setting full-sized bottles of Karkov, Captain Morgan and Jack Daniels alongside the many stacks of Solo Cups. Which made me wince, half in awe of their score, half revolted by their choices.

"Thank you," I said. "So, first thing's first. If I'm to let you have this party, you need to abide by four rules. Can you do that for me?"

"What are the rules?" Sophia brushed her blonde mop behind her ear and looked up at me.

"Well," I started to say. But then strangely, I locked up. Out of nowhere it seemed, a shiver came rushing through my torso as I found myself center stage to two dozen twinkling eyes, two dozen tweezed brows and two dozen pairs of fluttering lashes. In the afternoon light, Aubrey's friends were no longer statues. With the way the afternoon sun illuminated them, they were much more like figurines, priceless figurines. "The four rules are," I stammered. From Sophia's freckles, to Alexis's doll-face, back to the twin's Siberian stare, every girl shined. Brooke's buttermilk complexion the brightest.

"Dad?" Aubrey whispered. "The rules?"

"Right," I said, clearing my throat and ridding the flush on my face before I made a bigger fool of myself. "The rules..."

Thanks Sweetie!

"One. No one leaves this house. I don't want the neighbors seeing or hearing any drunk underage girls outside. Also, the backyard is off limits."

My chest sank. No backyard meant no pool. No pool meant no bikinis.

"Two," I kept on. "No one else comes over. Especially boys."

Some of them giggled.

"I mean it," I said. "You're not to invite anyone else over. The more communication there is the more likely cops or parents will show up at my front door and I will not have either. Okay?"

Like bobble heads, they nodded.

"Good... Three, if somebody doesn't want to drink, none of you can make her. I don't care about the games or whatever else you're going to do, but there will be no bullying at this party."

"Bullying?" Sophia repeated with a laugh. "Do you really think we bully?"

Again, some of them giggled and from the corner of my eye, I saw Brooke's lips part into a smile.

"I don't know what you girls do." I looked back to the Blonde. "But I will not have beer pressure at this party--"

"Beer pressure?" Katee interrupted me, which caused the throng of girls to break out into laughter. "What's beer pressure?"

I bit down my own smirk. Apparently, in a room full of estrogen it was easy to drop one's guard.

"Hey now," I said. "You know I meant peer pressure. I will not have peer pressure at this party. Got it?"

Once more, they nodded, some of them still giggling.

"Okay, good." I took a deep breath. But as much as that should've helped, their flowery perfumes only stirred me further. "Lastly," I continued. "Four, and this one might be the most important. None of you can tell your parents. In fact, don't tell anyone. What happens in this house must stay in this house. You hear me?"

For the third time, they bobbed their heads.

"No, no more nods," I told them, my tone lighthearted yet stern. "I want to hear it from you girls. Promise me. Say, we promise, Mr. Erickson."

Perhaps I was on a bit of a power-trip with that one but despite what might have come off as condescension, the girls listened and, in a symphony of soprano voices, they spoke together like my own personal choir. "WE PROMISE, MR. ERICKSON!" They all snickered afterwards.

"Good," I said, my shoulders in tingles. "Second order of business. Do any of you actually like mixed drinks?"

As anticipated, the room went quiet, some of them shying away, others looking to their feet. I figured it was a coin toss. Heads: They didn't know if they liked them because they've never had them before. Or Tails: They did like them but didn't want to tell me so.

"Okay," I said a bit later. "Let's try this instead. Is there any kind of alcohol you girls prefer? Maybe something you've had a sip of in the past."

Still, the orchestra stayed silent. At least for the minute it took the airplane overhead to roar passed us. Once the thunder faded though, Sophia spoke up.

"Riesling," she whispered. "My parents let me have a glass at dinner sometimes."

"Good." I grinned at her. "We can do wine. Anything else?"

"Angry Orchard," Katee added from behind her brunette curtains. "My sister gave me one once."

"Great. Anything else?"

Although I waged their stories were only half truths, I smiled it off as I propped my hands on the island and leaned forward. "Remember, nothing leaves this house."

In that instant, my stomach curdled and I feared I was being too forceful. I didn't want them to get the wrong idea. Sure, the allure of a bunch of drunk vixens was obvious, but honestly, I solely cared about Aubrey's party.

As I retreated back to my heels, something flickered in Brooke's irises. It was probably just the sun reflecting off a passing car's windshield, but still, her eyes glimmered as if rife with passion.

"Mike's Hard Lemonade," she mouthed, her tongue long on the 'L'. "Cranberry."

I nodded. Anything for you.

"Okay." I jerked my gaze away and stood up straight, my front pressed against the wood paneling just in case. "Third order of business." I said, reaching into my pocket, pulling out my wallet and checking it for cash. But unluckily, I didn't have enough for them to order in so I changed my plans.

"Okay, girls." I put my wallet back. "The third order of business. Don't order in. The last thing I want is some horny college guy seeing a houseful of tipsy teenage girls."

"Dad!" Aubrey shouted as the rest of them broke into giggles again. "Gross!'

"I'm just saying." I shrugged. "I'm sure those delivery boys would kill to get a glimpse of you gorgeous girls."

"Dad!" she shouted again. "You're being weird."

"I'm sorry." I showed my palms once more, surrendering to an army of blushing faces. Well, those I could see who hadn't hung their heads were blushing. Sophia, of course, wasn't among the bashful. She, her chipmunk smile and her star-burst blue eyes never turned away.

"Anyway," I mumbled. "I'll be right back."

As if I meant to be rude, I then pivoted from the island and started for the stairs in an attempt to flee their glossy lips, their timid eyes and their dimpled cheeks. But I hardly made it a step before my daughter called after me.

"Wait," she yipped. "You just got home. Where are you going?"

"Out," I answered over my shoulder. "You girls need food. Also, I thought I'd pick up some Riesling, some Angry Orchard and some Mike's Cranberry lemonade."

"You're getting what they said?" Alexis chimed in when I was halfway to the steps.

"Yep. Why? Did you have a suggestion?"

While I spoke, I slowed my pace. I knew the thought of their friend's dad buying them alcohol would take some time to process. Hell, I probably should've let it process more myself.

When I reached the stairs, they started to whisper. Soon after, their whispers became chatter and by the time I got to the bottom of the steps, Alexis spoke up.

"Regular hard lemonade would be nice."

"You got it."

"But wait," Aubrey said. "Why are you doing this?"

I chuckled, slipping on my work shoes then looking back to the kitchen where the collage of colorful tops, blue jean shorts and bare skin stood, transfixed. "Because I love you, Sweetie. And because this may not be the first time you or your friends have gotten drunk, but I'm sure as hell going to try to make it the best time." I smiled. So did some of them. "Now, before I go, are there any other requests?"

That broke the silence. Turned out, my coin flip notion was off.

"RumChata!" One shouted.

"Tequila!" Another added.

"Merlot!"

"Corona!"

Part 13: Junior First

Rarely did I park in the garage. The way the two stalls jutted out kind of bothered me. Also, it was only partway attached to the house, meaning it didn't have an entrance to the first floor. It did however have a staircase to the basement, an exit to the driveway and one to the backyard. Although most of time I thought that was stupid, in this case, because everything I bought was going to the basement anyway, and I didn't want the neighbors to get suspicious, the design worked. Thus, here I was.

After I turned off the impala, which, because of the pizzas on the passenger seat, now smelled more like the Acura I had during my high school days as a delivery driver, I popped the trunk, grabbed the pies and circled around to the back of the car. But since there were too many bags to carry myself, I called for the girls' help.

Within seconds, they came scurrying up the concrete steps like a parade.

"Thanks, Mr. Erickson." "Thanks, Mr. Erickson." "Thanks, Mr. Erickson." They told me one by one over the rustle of plastic as they snatched a bag or two from the trunk and scampered back down the steps to their bunker. They even took the pizzas off my hands so I didn't have to follow them. Not that I would've minded. I was just happy they ate pizza. With girls that thin, I wasn't sure.

"Use the freezer to keep the drinks cold," I shouted down the stairwell.

"Will do!" Aubrey answered just before she brought up the rear and shut the door behind them.

Then I chuckled. They were far more methodical than I expected. If only I would've gotten that same efficiency from the tatted up cashier at the liquor store twenty minutes ago. She gave me quite the look when she was scanning all those bottles of wine and six packs of beer. I got a similar look at the grocery store too. Maybe a guy in his thirties shouldn't be stocking up on chips, dips and fruity drinks. Or more so, maybe a dad in his thirties shouldn't be stocking up on chips, dips and fruity drinks for his eighteen year old daughter. And her eighteen year old friends.

I chuckled again. Then I started to make my way back inside.

Soon enough I was in the kitchen, my shoes off, my tie and suit jacket thrown over the loveseat cushion next to Furric. That fur ball could sleep through anything. The digital clock on the stove read 7:31, which meant 7:02 because it was the twenty-ninth today. Just a little math test I gave Aubrey every morning.

Outside, a variety of birds and squirrels bickered in the willows while the sun began to sink behind the branches and cast the first floor in a speckled yellow tint. On top of that, I had just opened the screen door and now the warm, chlorine-scented spring air drafted through the kitchen. I forgot my guy came by today and got the pool ready for the season so that chlorine scent was extra pungent.

Nevertheless, all this effort I spent focusing on the sights, sounds and smells did nothing to keep my mind off the girls, whose chitchat and laughter vibrated in the tile floor. They sounded happy. That was the important thing. What wasn't important was how they might've been in their pajamas by now, getting drunk.

In tingles, I pulled out a plate of leftover chicken from the fridge, heated it then picked it clean with a glass of milk. When I finished, I left the plate in the sink and started for the stairs to enjoy an evening of what I expected to be some private time on my laptop and maybe a movie on HBO. Or maybe not. At least the girls were in the basement and I wouldn't be able to hear them through the vents. That didn't mean they couldn't come upstairs though.

Which, by the worse of luck, was what one of them did just then.

"Mr. Erickson?" a soft voice rose from the stairwell, freezing me on the first step.

Not again, I thought with a wince. For the third day in a row, it looked like I would have to endure another run-in, another trial, another chance to make an irreversible mistake. Yesterday with Brooke was bad enough.

"Yes?" I said as I posted up against the banister and wiggled my hands into my pockets. Annoyingly, there were still filaments of chicken in my teeth and while I fished them out with my tongue, the pounding in my chest grew. "Is everything alright?"

Without an answer, the girl came tiptoeing up the stairs, her thick hair, sleek cheekbones and slender frame ever enticing.

Speak of the Asian Devil! I thought.

Once she reached the last step from the top, she leaned against the railing behind her and stretched her toned arms across the wood, arching her back until her t-shirt pulled taut across her ribs and raised high enough to expose her hip bones, the lower curves of her abs and her naval piercing.

The only positive was that she wasn't in her pjs yet. However, her short shorts weren't much better. That frayed denim cut off far too early on far too long of legs.

I shuddered, happy my hands were in my pockets. "Is everything alright?"

Despite the lingering scents from the other girls, her lily perfume, along with the trace of her Mike's cranberry lemonade, managed to find my next inhale. And every inhale after that.

"Yeah," Brooke finally said. "I wanted to thank you for getting all that stuff for us. It must've been expensive."

I smirked. It was. Two hundred an ninety seven dollars expensive. "It's just money. Besides, you only turn eighteen once."

"Excuse me?" she said with a laugh, her lips parted around her top row of pearly teeth. "You think I'm turning eighteen?"

"You're not?" My heart twitched. "Aren't you a senior?"

Although those two sentences amounted to a total of six words, my stutter probably chopped it into twice that.