“Your stepbrother?” I say. “Gross.”
“I know, right?” she says, laughing. I like it a lot better when she laughs than when she cries. “I think he was the first crush I ever had. I was four and drawing family pictures that looked more like misshapen balloons than people, and he was seven and sculpting perfect likenesses of our dog Tito. His room was filled with real art supplies, and I would just sit in the doorway and watch him work for hours. Witnessing his art take shape was like seeing into his thoughts. And something about that fascinated me.” She laughs again. “Plus, I liked his blond hair and dark brown skin. I’d never seen anyone like him before.”
“Does he know about this?”
“No way! I’d never hear the end of it. It only lasted a couple of months at the most. By the time I was five, he was officially in the brother-only column.” She looks over at me. “Repeat that and you’re dead.”
I do some sort of made-up hand signal, grinning. “Your secret’s safe with me. Scout’s honor.”
“You were a boy scout?”
I give her a look. “Hell no. I was way too cool for that shit.”
That makes her laugh again.
We pull up in front of her house, and I flick off the ignition and turn in my seat to face her. “You gonna be okay?”
“Yeah. After this year, I won’t have to see any of these people ever again, right?”
“Right. Call me if you need anything, okay?”
“Thanks, Ryden.” Joni leans toward me, and for a split second, I think she’s going to kiss me again. And for an even smaller fraction of a second, I think maybe I want her to. But her head veers to the side, and she gives me a quick peck on the cheek. I breathe out in relief. Yes. Much better.
“See you tomorrow.”
“Yeah,” I say. “See ya.”
Chapter 20
The rest of the week goes by pretty problem-less, now that we’ve figured out the whole day care routine. Alan’s been picking up Hope after school, and I haven’t been late to practice. Coach seems relieved I’ve gotten my shit together.
Now that school’s in full swing and I’m getting piles of work thrown my way, I’m beginning to understand what my mom meant about school being harder when you have a crapload of other responsibilities—not that I would admit that to her. I’m only managing to get about half my homework done, and a couple of times, I’ve been called out by a teacher for dozing in class. But it’s not too bad. For the most part, my teachers are going easy on me, giving me extra time to complete assignments and not calling on me except for when I have my hand raised. I know it’s because they feel sorry for me, but hey, I’ll take it. My economics teacher, Mrs. Schonhorn, is being especially awesome and told me that as long as I come to class and don’t sleep, I’ll get full participation credit. Plus, she excused me from the field trip to the Concord Chamber of Commerce, which was a total fucking godsend.
Joni is doing way better too. She’s still shaken about the rumors, obviously, but there hasn’t been any more crying at work. On Thursday, she even brings me a pumpkin cheesecake that she baked herself.
“For being you,” she says, and I feel another stab of guilt. You know, ’cause I’m not actually being me around her. Not really.
“Joni…” I begin. I want to tell her the truth. I want to invite her over to hang out at my house so we can share the cake. I want her to meet my mom and Hope and know everything there is to know about my crazy, fucked-up life. But then she’d know I lied to her, and that would make me the same as her dickwad ex-boyfriend and her stupid friends.
“What’s up?” she asks.
Nope. Can’t tell her.
“Thanks for the cake,” I say. “Looks amazing.”
I’m going to suggest to Mom that we have the cake after dinner on Friday, but when I get home from the game (the one where all I did was sit on the sidelines and watch ball after ball get past the depressingly incompetent backup goalkeeper), she’s dressed in her skinny jeans and high-heeled boots. She only wears the skinny jeans on special occasions—she says she’d rather breathe than look hot. But I guess that’s not the case tonight.
“Date?” I ask, taking the cake out of the fridge.
“Actually, yeah.” She’s smiling.
“Where you going?”
“Dinner. Drinks. Maybe back to his place.” She winks.
I really don’t need to hear that. “Have fun,” I say.
? ? ?
So it’s just me and Hope and a giant pumpkin cheesecake.
This is too depressing.
I grab my phone and call Alan. “Wanna come over?”
“Why, your mom can’t watch Hope?”
“What are you talking about? I’m watching Hope.”
“Oh.” A pause. “So you don’t need a babysitter?”
“No. I just wanted to see if you want to hang out.”
“Really?” he asks. “Like, as friends?”
“Dude, you’re starting to make me regret calling you at all.”