I don’t realize how I’m standing until Bright puts a hand on my arm while answering. My muscles are tense, my posture’s rigid. “Thanks for asking, but we’ve got plans and Jonah’s pizza’s getting cold.”
My muscles unlock under her brief touch, melting whatever the hell’s wrong with me so I can say, “If you make it to Jeff’s, catch up with us, ’kay?” and wait for her to murmur, “Nice to meet you,” before returning to the table where my pizza is indeed cold and unappetizing.
She clears her throat and I brace myself for I-don’t-even-know-what she’s going to say about Mike and Zeke. Or the fact that I stopped being a functional person after she joined our group.
“It’s too bad you don’t have OnStar,” she mutters.
Only a spoiled brat would think OnStar is standard. Paul and Mom got me a car to erase their guilt about the move—or rather, they gave me her old car after spending days pouring over Consumer Reports and buying Mom the one with the highest crash-test ratings so Sophia would be safe. I only have AAA because of the time my battery died. Paul hadn’t appreciated driving out to the State Park in Hamilton at one a.m. to give me a jump. After that night Mom got me AAA, and I insisted Carly and I leave the dome light and music off when the car is parked.
I glare at the table. “Yeah. Too bad.”
“Because then you could’ve had it unlocked with a phone call and you wouldn’t be stuck here. With me.”
I choke on an ice cube and she hands me a napkin.
“This was a mistake, Jonah. I’m not sure why you invited me, but you don’t want me here—and I’m not saying that so you’ll disagree. Not that I think you will. Just take me home. You don’t even have to show up at the library on Sunday.”
“What makes you think I don’t want you to come to the party with me?” I’m asking purely to be difficult and because I’m pissed that she has the guts to admit it’s a mistake when I don’t.
She stares at me. Raises her eyebrows in a look that dares me to contradict her.
“We’re already here. Just come.” We’re so close. Even if we just stay for five minutes, it’ll be enough to replace whatever Carly’s saying with my own story.
“Two slices of cheese?” The guy who brings the plate winks at Brighton. He’s totally checking her out. I recognize him from Hamilton High—I want to say he’s on the wrestling team, but who knows—Hamilton’s three times the size of Cross Pointe. Ironically, it would be easier to be anonymous at the school where I was anything but.
The possible-wrestler is still hovering. “Let me know if you need anything else. Anything.”
He drops a napkin beside her plate, his name and number bleeding in black ink. I’m bothered and that bothers me. Why do I care? She’s not my girlfriend—we’re not on a date. Except—we could be—this punk doesn’t know we’re not. Neither did Zeke and Mike. No one has questioned my place across the table from her. What, they don’t think I’m competition? And this loser thinks Brighton’s in his league?
She smiles politely but turns away in dismissal. Turns to me. I take the napkin and use it to wipe the condensation off my cup. The digits blur to black-green starbursts. I’m an idiot. Next I’ll be tearing my shirt and beating my chest.
“Did you want this?” I ask, holding out the sodden, ink-stained mess.
She waves it away and gives me her perfectly imperfect grin. “Not even a little. You can keep it.”
22
Brighton
10:51 P.M.
14 HOURS, 9 MINUTES LEFT
Jonah does a decent job on the toxic pizza, stopping when only one slice remains on the tray. Does he actually like that flavor combination, or did he chose it to prove a point? I decide not to ask since we’re finally having a normal conversation. It’s like seeing his friends reminded him that kindness isn’t fatal.
Granted we’re only talking about college, how we both have no clue what we’ll pick as majors.
“One time, this guy my mom was seeing asked what I wanted to be after high school,” I say as we get back in his car. “I answered, ‘A college student,’ and he thought I was being rude or making fun of him because my answer was so vague. It was a mess; he was insulted and I felt awful.”
Jonah laughs and turns down another side street—a baseball rolls around in his backseat, pinging off something metal each time he turns. This street curves too, more roads and driveways branching off in all directions like a spider’s legs. There’s no logic to these streets, or to the houses either. Duplexes, capes, saltboxes, and a condo complex all share the same street. One house has a sign advertising a beauty salon out front. Two streets later there’s a house with a yard crammed full of bright plastic slides and toys. Maybe it’s actually a day care center? Some yards are landscaped and tidy, others have peeling paint and out-of-control weeds. We pass a building with plywood on the front windows. The houses are placed at random—some close to the street, others down long driveways. It’s like a giant opened his fist and sprinkled buildings—new, old, large, small—all over the landscape. It makes me uncomfortable—and the fact that I’m uncomfortable makes me more uncomfortable.