Her jaw falls open. “That’s old.”
“I know, right? I should probably start planning my funeral. Who do you think I should leave my fortune to in my will—the chick from the Hunger Games or the one from Divergent?”
“They’re not real people,” she says frankly.
I feign innocence. “Are you sure? I swear I saw Katniss walking down the street the other day.”
“You’re lying.”
“Yup, you caught me.” I gesture to the pink spiral notebook in her lap. “Whatcha doing?”
Her bottom lip sticks out. “Homework. Mrs. Klein said to write a whole page about what I’m thankful for on this Thanksgiving.”
“Mrs. Klein sounds like a monster.”
Dakota giggles. “Naw, she’s okay. She ordered pizza for the whole class one time. It was after we got the highest scores on the literary test.”
“Literacy,” I correct.
She waves her hand. “Whatever.”
A grin springs free. “All right, let’s stop wasting time.” I flip her little notebook to a fresh page. “It’s time to figure out what you’re thankful for.”
Pleasure lights up her face. “You’re going to help me with my homework?”
“Sure, why not? We’ve got twenty more minutes to kill until your mom gets here. What else are we gonna do?”
*
Allie
I’m in the passenger seat of Megan’s car when Dean texts me. I’m not surprised to see his name on my phone. I’ve been expecting another “I want to fuck you” from him all day, so it was only a matter time before it happened. But tonight he throws me a curveball.
Him: A bunch of us r at Malone’s 2nite for Fitzy’s bday. Join us if u feel like it.
Megan glances over from the driver’s side. “Who’s texting you? And please don’t say Sean.”
“No, it’s not Sean. It’s one of Garrett’s friends,” I answer vaguely. “A bunch of the hockey guys are at Malone’s for someone’s birthday. He says we’re welcome to join them.”
“Is Hannah there?”
I shake my head. “She’s at rehearsal tonight.” Like me, Hannah is also busy preparing for one of her final projects. As a music major, she’s required to perform an original song for the department’s winter showcase.
I guess Megan doesn’t think it’s odd that I’m getting invited to hockey gatherings without Hannah, because she doesn’t comment on it. Instead, she says, “Let’s do it.”
“Are you serious?” After more than thirty minutes debating a dozen options for our girls’ night out, we finally decided to grab a late bite at the diner in Hastings. Malone’s is the only bar in town, so obviously that suggestion had come up early in the conversation, but Meg had been the one to veto it. “I thought you didn’t want to deal with the whole bar scene tonight.”
She pushes her red bangs out of her eyes. “Changed my mind. I think I’m in the mood to be surrounded by cute boys.”
“Really?” I say in surprise. “What about the new boyfriend? Is there trouble in paradise already?” Megan has been so cagey about this new guy she’s dating, but I assumed they were doing okay. Normally she’s a huge chatterbox when it comes to her love life, but not this time. All I know about him is that he lives in Boston and she only sees him on the weekends.
“No, we’re fine.” She pauses. “Well, not really.” Another pause. “It’s complicated.”
“You know, if you actually told me something about him instead of being Ms. Secretive, I might be able to offer some advice…”
Her green eyes stay focused on the road. Even if she wasn’t driving, I know she’d still be avoiding my gaze.
“Okay. Spill. What’s wrong with him?”
“Nothing’s wrong with him.”
“Bullshit. There has to be, otherwise you wouldn’t be hiding him from all of us. So what is it? Does he like to set barns on fire in his spare time? Does he kill squirrels and make little hats out of their fur? Does he have a weird mole that takes up his whole face? Does he—”
“Thirty seven,” she interrupts. “He’s thirty-seven.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “Oh. Wow. That’s…”
Old, I want to say, but I’ve always believed in the age is nothin’ but a number philosophy. Or at least I want to be that open-minded. I mean, I think it’s hella creepy when a sixty-year-old man dates an eighteen-year-old girl. But thirty-seven isn’t exactly geezer status. It’s only fifteen years older than me and Meg.
“See? This is why I didn’t tell you guys.” Accusation colors her tone. “I knew you’d be all judgy.”
I hold up both hands in surrender. “I’m not judging. You surprised me, that’s all.”
Her pretty features relax.
“Tell me more about Mr. Thirty-Seven,” I urge. “I promise there’s no judgment on my end.”
She grudgingly provides a few more details. “His name’s Trevor. He’s a pediatric surgeon at Boston General.”
Okay, I’m impressed.