“Oh. Right. Here, keep it safe for me.” I toss it to her, and she barely catches it. I resume my show. The shirt is working. This should only be another minute and then—
“Um, you have a missed call. And a voice mail …” She sighs. “From Carly.”
I freeze, and something in my face or posture, or something in her, deflates so that the moment is flattened, all humor gone.
“I think that’s almost good enough to get us home, don’t you?” She hands me my shirt and the phone. “I’m just going to wait in the car.”
I pull on my clean shirt and curse. I attack the windshield with one hand while thumbing my phone to voice mail with the other. I don’t want to listen to Carly yell right now. Or whine. Or whatever she’s going to say in the voice mail—though judging by the nice message she left on my car, it’s not going to be fun.
I don’t want to play it. But I don’t want Brighton to think I’m scared of listening. And I don’t want either of us to be thinking about it the rest of the night. I press the button, grit my teeth, and hold the phone to my ear.
“Hi … So, if you haven’t seen your car yet, I’m sorry. And if you have, I’m still sorry. I didn’t do it, Sasha and Maya did. But I didn’t stop them either. I probably should have.
She’s using her I’m-cute voice, but I’m not amused. Then she sighs, low and long.
“Also, can you tell Brighton I’m sorry? I didn’t know that Digg was spiking her drink, but I should’ve known he was doing something. I should’ve warned her. Not that she needed me to—she handled Daniel just fine on her own.
Her voice trembles a bit and I can picture her shutting her eyes, trying to pull herself together.
“That didn’t stop you from flying to her rescue … But whatever. I’m sorry about the car. I know we should probably talk at some point, but can you wait till I’m ready to call you? This is … it’s just hard, Jonah.”
34
Brighton
1:08 A.M.
11 HOURS, 52 MINUTES LEFT
Jonah gets in the car wearing a face I’ve become quite familiar with. It means this-subject-is-closed and includes him pressing his lips together, swallowing, and looking away. I let it go. It’s none of my business whether he and Carly are together or broken up, or what she said in her message.
I’m glad I had a minute in the car by myself. I need to be less pathetic. He’s rejected me tonight—more than once—but the second he pulled off his shirt, I was all but drooling and tilting my head to get a better angle.
I just wish I knew what he was thinking. I know him so much better than I did a few hours ago—he knows me better than people who’ve been in my life for years—but I don’t know him yet. I don’t know if he’s angry or hurting or what is going on behind those brown eyes that haven’t looked at me once since he sat down and buckled up.
I hope I get the chance to, if not tonight then tomorrow or—
No.
Not tomorrow. I lean against the window, dizzy with the knowledge that I forgot what tomorrow was. What today is, since it’s now after one.
I’ve spent a whole day—from the moment my alarm clock buzzed at 5:25 a.m.—wishing I could go back to bed. I wanted to sleep straight through Saturday and emerge unbroken on Sunday. But now, with less than an hour between me and my covers, it seems hard to let this night go. There’s not enough time. Things have shifted—Jonah’s ideas of me, mine of him, mine of me—and I’m not ready for tonight to end.
There was almost a moment out there where—I swallow and clench my fists—where I let my imagination get away from me.
He turns the key in the ignition and eases the car away from the curb. This time as we wind through the streets of Hamilton, I don’t look for the mismatch between buildings; instead, I wonder if they have any connection to him. Was that his orthodontist? Does he have friends who live in those condos? Did he date anyone who grew up on this street? Or wipe out on his bike on these sidewalks?
“Did you have braces?” I ask.
“Where’d that come from?” He turns and flashes his teeth at me—perfect, straight. “Three years. I hated them.”
“Me too.” Though, really, I didn’t. I felt so grown-up when I got them on. Evy had braces already, like most of her friends and a lot of mine too. It was like joining a club. I loved color coordinating the bands to the holidays. I loved the routine of it, the lists of rules about what to eat, what not to eat. I basked in the monthly praise from my orthodontist about how I was his favorite patient because I kept my braces so clean.
I’d lied to Jonah. And it had come out as easy as breathing. Why? Was he going to think less of me if he knew I proudly brushed my teeth every day after lunch in middle school? He might tease me, but he wouldn’t care. And it’s not like he’s now feeling all chummy because of our shared loathing for orthodontics.
“That’s not true.”
“What isn’t?” He gives me a confused look as he puts on his blinker to turn on to the highway.
“About hating my braces. And you know what else? I’m not nice.”