“Yes. I’ll call you tomorrow. ’Night, Ames.” I hang up and start handing Jonah the phone before remembering it’s mine and tucking it into my purse.
“I proved my point. Both of them jumped to your defense.” He’s a few steps farther away than I remember, kicking the curb.
“Of course they did, and not because they think I’m helpless—they’re my friends.” I hope crossing the distance between us emphasizes my next point. “I can’t wait to meet yours.”
We both turn to look at the house. The front door, which had been sealing in the music and conversations, opens to reveal a couple attached at the lips. Their bodies are entangled, and they stumble down the steps without breaking off their kiss.
I look away from them to Jonah. Does he kiss like that, like the only thing preventing him from suffocating is someone else’s lips? Carly’s lips, I mean.
I’m blushing and staring and he notices.
“What exactly were you answering with ‘We don’t know him’? How much of a loser Amelia thinks I am?”
“No! Not at all.” We’re standing far too close, but I’m not backing off now. If he wants space, he can step back. But I can’t answer either. My cheeks are already flaming; if I admit she was asking if I like him, I might combust. “Cross Pointe isn’t evil, it’s not unfriendly. You just need to give people a chance to get to know you. Tonight, I’ll come to this party with you, and maybe next week you and Carly can come to one with Amelia and me. At least think about it.”
He snorts. “Oh yes, we’d love that.”
“Come on,” I say taking a step toward the driveway. “Let’s go inside and I’ll invite her myself.”
23
Jonah
11:03 P.M.
O’CRAP O’CLOCK
The closer we get to Jeff’s door, the more conflicted I feel about Carly. It’s like all my anger has iced over. I don’t know what I want to do anymore. Flaunt Brighton to make her jealous. Apologize. Yell. Pretend I don’t care. Actually stop caring.
It’s just that walking down this driveway, I can practically see the ghost of past parties. We’d be the couple kissing on the front steps. Or fighting on the driveway. Or dominating at Ping-Pong on the old, lopsided table in the basement. Or, most often, I’d be the guy stuck holding her beer so she could use both hands to reenact some gossip for her over-eager and easily amused audiences.
I miss the days when we were new. When it was the two of us working the same shifts at Dairy Queen and she’d dare me to eat whatever ice cream–candy combinations she mixed up. Those nights I’d go home and stare at the ceiling of my old house too buzzed on kisses and candy to sleep.
I haven’t felt like that in a while. And I think there’s a lot more missing than a massive quantity of sugar.
We’re at the front steps—I know I should tell Bright about the breakup, that she, named after crystal and just as delicate, could be shattered by the reception waiting on the other side of this door. I almost turn around and head back to my car. Almost.
But Brighton is old enough to take care of herself; confident that the world is full of good intentions and sweetness. It isn’t my job to protect her. She’s the one who insisted. She led the charge down the driveway.
Sink or swim time, Bright. Let’s hope the world really is as nice as you claim. I hold the door and follow her into the Digginses’ house.
The front hall’s empty, but the lights and noise from the kitchen spill our way. Heads turn toward the open door, and people tumble out to meet me.
“Prentiss! How are you, man?” booms Sean. I still think of my former teammates by position; he’d been my second baseman. He’s a good guy. Dependable. Laid-back.
Eliza hugs me tightly. “I heard from Sasha. How are you doing? I mean, with the whole thing?” The hug’s a little too tight—her eyes and body giving not-so-subtle hints that she wouldn’t mind being the one to cheer me up.
I say thanks and pry her off me, slapping palms with Felix and nodding to the crew behind him. Maybe this won’t be so bad.
And then they notice I’m not alone.
“You’re not Carly!” is Felix’s brilliant reaction. Followed by a smirk and an equally brilliant, “But I’d like to get to know you.”
She holds out a soft-skinned, green-nailed hand to my former first baseman. “Hi. I’m Brighton.” And smiles at the group, utterly unaware that all hell’s about to break loose.
“Bright-ton?” repeats someone, while Eliza crosses her arms and scoffs, “What kind of name is that?”
“A rich snob name, of course,” answers a female voice. The speaker is out of sight but earns plenty of chuckles.
Bright lowers her unshaken hand. Felix isn’t being rude—yet—he’s just too busy gawking to notice.
“You’re from Cross Pointe?” asks Sean.
She nods. “It’s nice to meet you all. Jonah speaks highly of you and Hamilton.”