My face falls slack. I’ve been dreading the moment when our worlds collide.
Behind Bo’s stepmom is his brother. He’s as tall as Bo, but his round cheeks tell me he’s at least a year younger.
“I let the time slip on by, didn’t I?” she says. “Sammy’s got basketball at one. Time to hop to it.” Her eyes travel to me, sitting there on the other side of the bench. “And who is this?”
“Ma’am.” I stand and hold my hand out to her because I’m southern and even if my mom says otherwise, I do have manners.
“This is Willowdean,” says Bo. There he goes, saying my full name again. “We work together.”
“Willowdean. Well, isn’t that a mouthful?”
I half smile, about to say thank you—for what, I have no idea—when Ellen appears next to me and says, “But you can call her Will.”
I swallow and nod.
Bo’s stepmom’s head anchors to one side, like she’s just seen the most adorable thing. “And you are?”
“This is Ellen,” I answer for her. “My best friend.” I take a deep breath. “Ellen, this is Bo. We work together.”
Bo gives Ellen a short wave, but she touches his arm and says, “So nice to meet you.”
His stepmom smiles. “Aren’t you precious?”
I know that Ellen loves Tim. And yet jealousy creeps up my spine, paralyzing me. Over the course of the summer, I have given myself plenty of reasons why I shouldn’t tell Ellen about what’s been going on with Bo. But no matter how I spin it, I know that, to Ellen, my not telling her is as good as any lie. Actually, this might be worse.
“I guess y’all must go to Clover City High?”
We nod in unison.
“How wonderful that Bo will have some familiar faces on his first day!”
“Excuse me?” I blurt. There are many things wrong with the relationship between Bo and me. But the one thing that’s right is that outside of work, our worlds do not intersect. And for as long as that’s the case, it’s easy to pretend that I am a normal girl, making out with a normal boy.
“Yeah, Bo and Sammy won’t be back at Holy Cross this year.” She frowns a little. “It’ll be good. Change is good, right, boys?”
Neither respond. Bo’s lips press together in a thin line and I know that he knew this whole summer and didn’t tell me. “Loraine,” he says to his stepmom, “we better get going. Sam’s got practice.” He scoops up their bags and his stepmom leads the way, her hips swaying from side to side. And that’s it. Not even a gaze or a shrug. Nothing that might promise me an explanation.
Anger boils all the way up from my toes to my cheeks.
“Seriously!” screeches El. “He is even hotter than you let on.”
“Let’s go.” I storm ahead of her, toward the parking garage.
“Did you notice that, like, sexy bedhead thing he had going on? And that stubble?”
I noticed. Of course I noticed. But it doesn’t matter. Because this is going to have to end. My illusions of our after-school romance are dissolving like vapor.
I had a vision in my head of how I would survive the school year. We would both come to work and leave our real lives at the door. There would be no questions, only us. But there’s a reason why Bo didn’t tell me he was changing schools. There has to be. And even if there’s not, he and I have to be done because I can’t let this bleed over into real life.
I won’t be ridiculed. I won’t be one-half of the couple who everyone stares at and asks, How did she get him?
FIFTEEN
All summer I have spent every free evening at home, holed up in my room with my laptop and my summer reading looming on my shelves. But tonight my mother is dead set on me watching television with her while she crafts props for the pageant’s opening dance number.