“Me too, for a minute. And it’s today. I don’t want to go inside and go to bed. I need to before Mom or Evy wakes up—but I don’t want to. I’m scared when I wake up, this will all be …” She touches my arm to finish her statement, and my hand is covering hers before I recognize the desire to touch her back.
“Yeah. I know.” It’s far too soon for me to attend the service for her father whom I never met. If I went with her, she’d spend the whole day answering questions about me. She doesn’t need that. Not on top of everything else. “Will you call me tomorrow and let me know how it goes?”
She nods and traces a circle on the seat with her finger. The same circle, over and over. “Will … will you … On Sunday, will you have lunch with me—”
“Yeah,” I agree quickly, scared the question is so hard for her to form but relieved she asked it.
“—and Amelia and Peter after the library thing?” she continues.
“Oh.” I know we’ll have to see them—see other people—but I don’t want to relive the parking lot scene over and over. We won’t work in anyone else’s eyes. Hell, we don’t even work in my eyes. Yet, I’m crushing her hand to my arm with my reluctance to let her go.
“They’re really ni—They’re good friends.”
Her eyes are pleading with me to agree, but if they snub me, how will she react?
“Couldn’t we—” Couldn’t we what? Have a secret relationship that no one knows about? If I reject her friends so they can’t reject me, where will that leave us? Am I really this lame?
Brighton leans her forehead against my shoulder. She sighs against my skin. “You don’t have to come to the library. And you don’t have to meet us for lunch. I’m not going to force you or be a brat about it, but I really think you could like them. If you wanted to.”
“Like them?”
“Yeah, I know we’re only juniors, and I’m not going to make you meet everyone at once … But I would love if you’d give Amelia and Peter a chance. I think you’ll like them … I hope you will.”
Like them?
“Okay.” After all, stranger things have happened: like me making out with Brighton Waterford.
“Really?” She picks her head up off my shoulder and beams at me.
“Does this mean I’m no longer uninvited to box books?” I tease.
“Really?” she repeats and kisses my cheek. I want to turn for a better kiss, but she’s narrating her relief: “I was scared you were going to say no. And I don’t want to force you. And if you don’t like them—well, then you tried and that’s okay. Jonah, I—I don’t want to change you. And I’d rather you never talked to me again than make yourself unhappy trying to fit into a me-shaped box.”
If she knew the thoughts her last words inspired, she’d be blushing darker than she already is.
“We’re going to shake up Cross Pointe,” I say with a laugh.
“No, Jonah, we’re not.” She stretches a hand out to cup my cheek, and I wonder if she can feel me tense beneath her palm. “No one’s going to care. This is the time of year where people are worried about finals and GPAs. Summer jobs and getting off wait lists and going on swimsuit diets. Maybe for a minute they’ll be surprised that either of us is dating anyone, but that’s about it. And if that’s why you want me—so you can prove a point or something—then you’re going to be disappointed.”
I release the breath I was holding. Can she really think that? “Of course it’s not.”
“Jonah.” She bites her lip and looks down for a few seconds before peeking up at me. “I’m not excusing anyone’s behavior, and don’t get mad, but maybe the reason you never became part of Cross Pointe is you never gave anyone a chance to include you.”
I want to pull away, but she reaches up with her other hand, holds my face between her palms and forces me to look at her when she says, “Please don’t be mad at me.”
“I’m not.” My voice is everything but happy. I want to lose myself in her lips, not think about this. But earlier in the night she never would have said anything she thought might upset me.
“Liar,” she challenges.
I reach up and take her hands from my face. I’m tempted to push them back at her, but instead I flip them palm up and trace the welts on one and the Band-Aids on the other. Her scars from tonight are visible; mine are all internal. “I’m not mad at you, Bright. I’m mad at me, because I know you’re right. It still sucks.”
“Yeah, it does. Or did. But in this case, it’s not a bad thing anymore. It’s a reason not to worry about us—don’t you get it? People are so self-absorbed. Except for the people who care about you and me, no one is going to give us a second thought. I bet Adrian and Silvia are distracted by each other and already forgot us. And my friends will love you. You make me smile; you’re important to me. That will be enough.”