“Why would she think that?”
“Because of the way we were looking at each other.”
“But we weren’t texting, were we?” I said, remembering that my dad had gone through my messages. Maybe he had erased a thread? Was that possible?
He shook his head. “No. I mean, I wanted to….If I had had your number, I might’ve…but no, it was just eye contact….But Polly could tell. Women’s intuition or whatever.”
I nodded. Because of course I could tell, too.
“So I got buzzed and kind of lost track of my phone….”
“And she used it to take that photo of me?” I asked, wanting to make absolutely certain I was hearing him right.
“Yes,” Finch said. “That’s exactly what happened.”
“Wow,” I said under my breath, mostly to myself. “What a…bitch.”
“I know….I mean—she’s not usually that kind of a person. She’s really not….She’s just going through some things.”
I looked at him, feeling skeptical. What issues could Polly possibly have? She was rich and beautiful—the female equivalent of Finch. Plus she was dating him. She had him. So what if he flirted a little with me? That meant nothing compared to their long-standing relationship. Or did it?
“Anyway. We broke up over it,” he finished.
“You did?” I said, my voice cracking. “Because of me?”
“No. Because of what she did to you.”
My head spinning, I said, “Does your mom know? That Polly did it?”
He shook his head and said, “No.”
“Does anyone?”
“No,” he said again.
“Why not? Why haven’t you told anyone the truth?”
Finch sighed and shook his head. “I don’t know….It’s hard to explain, and I just can’t get into everything….But…let’s just say Polly has a lot of issues.”
“Like what?” I said.
Finch sighed and said, “I can’t really say.”
I stared at him, suddenly remembering rumors I’d heard earlier in the school year about an eating disorder and cutting. A very small, ugly part of me had sort of hoped they were true, if only to believe that nobody’s life was that perfect. But a bigger part of me assumed that the rumors were lies, born from the same jealousy I felt when I scrolled through her glittery, glamorous Instagram. Now I believed them—and I couldn’t help feeling sorry for her. More because she’d lost Finch than anything else. I told myself to get over that. She’d made her own bed. She didn’t deserve my sympathy.
“You have to tell the truth,” I said. “At your hearing. You have to tell them that you didn’t do this. That she did.”
He shook his head, adamant. “No, Lyla. I just can’t do that to her….Beyond her…issues…she’s been in trouble before. This would be her second offense….She’d definitely get thrown out. I don’t want that on my conscience.”
I glanced toward the backyard again, wondering how much time we had before Dad and Nina returned. “You can’t take the blame for this,” I said.
“Yes, I can,” he said. “Please respect my decision.”
“But you could get suspended or expelled. You could lose Princeton.”
“I know,” Finch said. “But I don’t think that will happen.”
“What do you think will happen?”
He sighed, shrugged, and said, “Well, hopefully, I go through this honor process, and take the blame for the picture….But somehow I don’t lose Princeton. And…Polly gets help….And you don’t hate me….” His voice was soft and sweet—the way boys almost never sound except in the movies with slow, romantic songs playing in the background.
“I don’t hate you,” I said, my heart skipping random beats.
“Really?”
“Really,” I said.
“Okay. So…given that you don’t hate me…” He hesitated, dropping his eyes. “I was wondering…if you might like to hang out sometime?”
Light-headed, I tried to process what he was asking. Surely it was only a theoretical question. “You and me?” I said.
“Yeah. You and me,” he said.
“When?” I said.
“I don’t know…soon? Are you free tonight?”
“I’m not sure my dad would be cool with that,” I said. A huge, huge understatement. “Besides, aren’t you grounded?” I asked, having heard the rumors of his harsh punishment. That he wasn’t allowed to leave his house for the rest of the spring and summer.
“Yeah. But given the circumstances, I’m betting my parents might make an exception here,” he said, just as the side door opened and my dad and his mom reappeared.
“Was that enough time?” Mrs. Browning asked, peering over at us.
“Yes,” Finch and I answered in unison.
She looked hesitant, but returned to her original seat on the sofa, as my dad stood nearby and offered coffee again.
This time, Mrs. Browning said, “Sure. I’d love one, thank you.”
“Cream or sugar?”
“No, thank you. Black’s fine,” she replied.
Dad nodded and walked toward the kitchen, while the three of us just sort of sat there. I caught Mrs. Browning giving me a once-over, and then smiling at me.
“I love your top,” she said.
“Thank you,” I said, pleased. “I got it at a vintage shop.”
“Oh? Which one?”
“Star Struck. On Gallatin. Do you know it?”
“Of course,” she said.
“It’s a little pricey. But sometimes you can find deals.”
Mrs. Browning smiled and said, “Yes. Shopping can be a very strategic enterprise. Sometimes I think it’s the hunt I like more than the actual purchase.”
“Yeah. I know what you mean,” I said. Then I added, “I really like your shoes.”
She did a little Dorothy there’s-no-place-like-home heel tap and thanked me as Dad returned with her coffee, handing her the mug.
It fleetingly occurred to me that Mrs. Browning was being too nice—and I felt a dash of suspicion. What if she and Finch had come here with the goal to win me over? A “good cop, bad cop” thing, though this was two good cops. I told myself that I was being crazy as Mrs. Browning looked at Finch and said, “So? Did you two…talk?”
“Yes,” he said, nodding.
“And?”
“And…it was good, Mom,” he said, his voice loud and clear.
Mrs. Browning looked at me, as I dumbly echoed Finch. “Yeah. It was good,” I said.
Dad frowned. “Good how?”
“Good…in that…he’s very sorry for what happened,” I stammered.
“Yes. And I’d love the chance to talk with Lyla a little more,” Finch added. “If that’s okay with you, Mr. Volpe?” His voice rose along with his eyebrows.
“Now?” Dad asked.
“No,” Finch said. “Not now. But maybe another time…Lyla and I could get together and talk?”
I held my breath, watching Dad process the request. “Are you trying to ask my daughter out?”
“Well…actually…yes, sir,” Finch said.
“On a date?” Dad said, his voice getting louder and his face redder.
“Dad,” I said, mortified that he was trying to label it. “He didn’t say a date.”
But Finch rose boldly to the challenge. “Yes, sir. On a date. I want to get to know her better. And I want her to know me. I’m just asking for the chance to prove that I’m really not a bad person. Although I know I’ve done nothing to deserve that chance.”
I cleared my throat and made myself speak up. “Yes, you have,” I said, my heart racing. “You coming here today means a lot to my dad and me. Right, Dad?” I said, prompting him, wondering if he was going to be a total hypocrite and recant everything he’d said about giving Finch a chance.
It took him another few seconds to finally answer. “I guess,” Dad grumbled, shifting his gaze from me to Nina, then back to Finch. “But you know this changes absolutely nothing about your hearing next week?”
“Of course. Yes, sir,” Finch said. “Besides. Even if I wanted to get out of it, my mom would never let me….” He smiled.
Dad didn’t smile back.
“But I don’t,” Finch added. “Want to get out of anything. I know I have to face my punishment.”
Dad nodded, his jaw relaxing a little. “Okay,” he said.
“So I have your permission to ask Lyla out?” Finch asked. “At some point?”
Dad rolled his eyes, then took a deep breath. “I can’t stop you from asking her out,” he said. “But I’d be very surprised if she said yes.”