“Get in this car!” she said. “Right now!”
The lecture I received when I got home has yet to be matched, both in intensity and length. Mom and Dad were beside themselves. Didn’t I know, Dad asked over and over again, the things that could happen to me? Out there? Alone? It went on and on. I wasn’t allowed to speak to Rachel and I was grounded for three weeks. They needn’t have bothered. I never walked anywhere alone again—not that year, or all the ones after. Especially after dark.
Parents did that sort of thing too, I thought, shifting again in the bed. Besides, even if they didn’t, Mom and Dad deserved a break. They’d lost one daughter and had all but waved good-bye to Sophie. Of course they would be overly protective with me.
I got up out of bed and walked over to the window. Through the sheer curtain I could make out the lights across the street at Stewart’s. There were still a few trucks parked in front; someone was pumping gas into the back of a pickup. Down a little ways, a boy and girl about my age were sitting on the small stoop in front of Perry’s.
This wasn’t about Mom and Dad, I realized suddenly.
It was about me.
What kind of person had I become after all these years of coddling and sheltering?
And more important, what kind of person might I have become without it?
I walked over to the dresser and took out my phone. My fingers quivered a little as I dialed Milo’s number.
He picked up on the third ring. “Julia?”
“Hi.”
“Are you back?”
“No. That’s why I’m calling, actually. I just wanted to let you know that I’ll probably be here for a while. Maybe even the rest of the summer.”
“Oh.” The disappointment in his voice was palpable. “Wow. I didn’t think you’d really stay that long.”
“I didn’t either,” I said. “I mean, that wasn’t the plan. Everything just sort of changed though, after I got up here. It’s weird, you know?”
“Yeah.”
“Milo? Can I ask you a question?”
“Sure.”
“If you didn’t take me to the prom as a favor, then why did you ask me? I mean, was it just because you and Cheryl broke up and you needed someone to go with?”
Milo cleared his throat. “Sort of.”
I bit my lip. “You could’ve gone with anyone. Melissa Binsko, or Carrie James, or even Samantha Evans. Any of them would’ve gone with you.”
“They’re all idiots,” Milo said. “I wouldn’t have had any fun with them.”
“Did you have fun with me?”
“Well, yeah!” He paused. “Did you have fun with me?”
“Yes,” I said softly. “Until…well, you know, the ride home.”
There was a brief silence. “I guess it didn’t ruin everything,” Milo said finally. “I mean, we’re still talking.”
I smiled. “Still?”
Milo laughed softly. “Okay, so maybe we’ve just started talking.”
“I’m glad we’ve started talking,” I said. “It’s kind of funny, really.”
“What is?”
“I mean, you and I have exchanged all of about ten words since you moved here. Most of the time I wasn’t even sure you knew who I was.”
“What are you talking about?” Milo sounded insulted. “I asked you to the prom!”
“I know. But that doesn’t mean you know me.”
Milo paused. “No,” he said slowly. “I guess not. Jules? Will you call me again? Soon?”
“Yes,” I said. “I will.”
chapter
29
Although one of the bedrooms upstairs still needed work, Sophie was intent on getting the front room on the first floor in shape first. It had a rectangular front window and wooden floors. A large chandelier, delicate as a jellyfish, hung suspended from the ceiling. Sophie and Lloyd had already prepped the floors and sanded the walls. She still needed to apply primer and a fresh coat of paint, build and install shelves, and put down some kind of new flooring.
“Here,” she said the next morning, sticking a paint roller in my hand as we walked back from Perry’s. “The primer’s over there. You start on the back wall, and I’ll work on the front.” Breakfast had been a somber event; neither of us had said much or even made eye contact, and Sophie joked around with the weirdos from the Table of Knowledge, which annoyed me and made me feel left out at the same time.
Working inside the house, though, was definitely an improvement from working outside. Not only were we out of the sun’s glare, but a roller proved to be a much easier tool to wield than a scraper. Sophie set up a radio, propping it on four old milk crates in the corner, and cranked the volume.
I made a face as a strange-sounding country song came on, but Sophie started slapping the sides of her legs and singing along.
“I shot a man in Reno,
Just to watch him die…”
“Who is that?” I asked.
Sophie stopped swinging her hips from side to side. “Who is that?” she repeated. “You’ve never heard of Johnny Cash?”
“No.”