“How do you know?” Harry whispered.
“Can we stop whispering like little girls?” Max pushed back his chair and put his feet up on the table.
“She’s super hot, isn’t she?”
Max shrugged. “I guess. Not dark and twisted enough for me. I bet she’s a virgin.”
“Come on, so are you.”
“Yeah, but let’s be real. We’re the only two people in the eleventh grade who haven’t done the deed. And I, my friend, plan to fix that next weekend.”
“No! She said yes?” With the Mom Situation, he’d forgotten about Max’s date.
“Oh, it gets better, dude.” Max winked. “Her parents are out of town.”
The door banged open a second time, and Mr. George, the math teacher, barged into their tête-a-tête. “What are you boys doing up here? And Max—feet off the table.”
“Harry needed some quiet time, Mr. G.” Max sat up as if he had all the time in the world. “We’re talking about his mom.”
“Of course.” Mr. George held up his hands in surrender and backed out of the door.
Harry tried to hold in the giggle, but it escaped through his nose.
“As I was saying before we were interrupted”—Max frowned at the door—“unlike you, I actually talk to Sammie.”
Max had better luck with girls than Harry, which didn’t mean a whole lot. But Max could catch their interest because he was funny and smart and an awesome lead guitarist in a punk band called The Freaks. Teenage girls, however, seemed to care more about the packaging than the contents. And Max’s features looked, well, to quote Max, “splattered together on a supersized pumpkin.”
But now that he’d dyed his hair black, grown it over his sticky-out ears, and started creating full-sleeve tattoos up his arms with Sharpies to tick off his dad, Maxi-Pad was looking pretty rad. He would definitely get serious girl action soon. Enough to blast his giant-sized math brain into orbit.
“Tell her about your mom,” Max said. “Play the sympathy card. Chicks love that shit.”
Harry squeezed his eyes together in a series of deliberate, exaggerated blinks. An aftershock of pain from his neck snap migrated up into his temple. He imagined a dwarf on a stepladder pounding a mallet into the side of his head. Could he bash out the recurring images of Mom in a hospital bed, too?
“Sorry, dude. That was way off base.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“She’s going to be fine, your mom. She doesn’t take shit from anyone.”
“But this is different. This she can’t control.” Harry rested his face on the table. “I’m scared, and I know Dad is, too, but he won’t talk about it . . .”
Max patted his back and then leaned over him. “Man hug.”
“Guys? Am I interrupting?” Sammie entered the room.
Harry shot to his feet, rubbing his eyes. Suddenly, he just wanted to be alone.
“His mom’s in the hospital. He needs a little TLC, you know?”
“Omigod.” Sammie put her head to one side.
“Yup. Heart attack,” Max said in a slow, exaggerated way.
Harry turned in circles. Needed out. Couldn’t breathe. “She—she’s going to be fine.”
“She sure is, buddy,” Max said. “You should meet Harry’s mom. She’s great. You know, for a mom. She likes me way better than my own mom.” Max stood, straightened his messenger bag, picked at his nail polish. “Well, kids, gotta run. You look after him for me, Sammie.”
The fucker! Was Max smirking? He was. He was smirking.
And then they were alone. Him on track to graduate as the most fucked-up kid, and Sammie Owen, hands down the most beautiful girl in the school. In the town of Durham. In the state of North Carolina. On the planet.
Sammie stood in front of him and placed one hand on his shoulder, and then pulled it back. He wanted to grasp her wrist, shove her palm into his face, inhale the essence of Sammie Owen.
“How can I help?” she said.
A simple question that told him she was the one. The one and only. His first true love. Random acts of kindness—his favorite thing in the world.