“We don’t know him. We don’t know you, Jonah,” states Amelia. “So you’re definitely a no-go on Jeremy? I really thought you’d like him. Wait, I thought you were babysitting. How’d you end up in Hamilton?”
“I was babysitting Jonah’s sister. It’s fine and I’m fine. I’ll call you tomorrow.” I ignore her Jeremy remarks. I’d told her I wasn’t interested before she set us up on the surprise movie date, after the movie date, and at least five times a day all week. Jeremy’s a great guy, just not right for me.
“No. Wait. Speakerphone off, B.”
I roll my eyes, but take the phone from Jonah, hit the button, and hold it to my ear. “Yes?”
“Do we like him?” she asks in her most serious voice.
“We don’t know him, remember?”
“But could we like him? Please tell me this is not just about the volunteer thing. It’s totally unfair for Mr. Donnelly to put so much pressure on you because he wants his name hanging in the hall. Please don’t do anything stupid over that. Jonah’s cute. Tell me this is because he’s cute.”
“It’s not like that.” Or it isn’t just about the volunteer thing. I wish I could explain what it is like—but then I’d have to understand it myself.
“I don’t believe you. But you’re okay? Safe and stuff? Promise?”
“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.