“I’m serious.” Lucas guided Hanna over and sat her down on the couch. “After that first day, Brooke and I barely even saw each other. I went on these great hikes and on this amazing kayak trip, but all she wanted to do was tan.” He moved closer, his voice to her ear. “She slathered baby oil on herself from morning to night. Which caused the other reason we had to come home.”
At that, his gaze shifted to the hall. The two Rumson parents emerged from the kitchen, rolling their travel bags behind them. Brooke appeared next, wearing an ultra-short mini dress more suitable to warm climates and a pair of raffia wedges. Her face was peeling, she had a hideous sunglasses tan across her eyes, and she had some kind of white ointment slathered on both arms. The skin beneath the ointment looked like the blackened pieces of meat Hanna’s father made whenever he attempted to use the grill. Hanna didn’t know whether to laugh or cover her eyes.
“What happened to her?” she whispered.
“She got third-degree burns from the sun,” Lucas answered in a low voice. “They were so bad we had to take her to the hospital. It was the scariest place I’ve ever been, Hanna—there were cockroaches in the waiting room, no one got a proper bed, and I swear none of the doctors had actual medical licenses. The guy that treated Brooke told her that if she went back into the sun for even one minute, her skin was going to fall off—literally. Her mom watched her like a hawk after that. Brooke moped around the house day and night, whining that she was really bored. I wanted to kill her by the time the trip was over. I think everyone else wanted to, too.”
Hanna hugged a throw pillow to her chest. “So . . . you didn’t sunbathe nude? You didn’t do Jell-O shots?”
Lucas looked at her like she was crazy. “Have you ever done a Jell-O shot? Those things are nasty! Anyway, we couldn’t make Jell-O if we’d wanted to—the water in Yucatán was undrinkable.”
Just then, Brooke noticed Lucas and Hanna sitting on the couch and smiled weakly. “Hey, Lukey,” she said in a nasal voice, walking over to him with the stiff gait of someone who was very, very sunburned. “I guess we’re leaving now. But it was so awesome to see you. We have to do another vacay together soon. Maybe spring break?”
Brooke spread out her arms to give Lucas a hug. Hanna shot off the couch and blocked her way. “Lukey says bye,” she said sharply. “Good luck getting over your burns.”
Brooke stared at Hanna as though she’d never seen her before. Hanna held her ground. There was no way she was letting this bitch get close to Lucas ever again. It was a lesson she’d learned the hard way with Vince: If you wanted a guy, you had to fight hard for him.
After a moment, Brooke shrunk away, muttered good-bye, and skulked back to her parents. Everyone sounded weary as they patted one another on the back and said they’d see each other soon. When Lucas’s parents shut the door, Mr. Beattie leaned against the jamb and pressed his face into his hands. “I hope to never see that girl again as long as I live.”
Hanna couldn’t agree more.
The engine roared in the driveway, and soon the Mercedes SUV rounded the bend out of the neighborhood. Lucas shifted closer to Hanna. “I’m so sorry we couldn’t talk even once while I was away. I thought about you every day, though. And hey, now we can hang out all break! Whatever you want to do, I’m up for it—even going to that new mall.”
“I’m going to hold you to that,” Hanna said, warming to him a little. “But we don’t have to go to that mall—it sucks.”
Lucas started to rub Hanna’s shoulders. “So did I miss anything while I was gone?”
Hanna pretended to pick an imaginary piece of lint off her Rosewood Day plaid skirt, thinking about boot camp, Vince, and Dinah. Was it wrong of her to have flirted with Vince? It wasn’t like anything happened between them. And it hardly made sense to tell Lucas about boot camp—it wasn’t like she was going anymore. Before coming over here, she’d tried on her skinniest jeans, and they’d fit just fine. It made her wonder if she’d really had that much weight to lose in the first place.
“Oh, not really,” she finally answered breezily. “Except that you should never, ever take me to see The Nutcracker—it’s still giving me nightmares.”
Lucas snickered. “Got it.”
Mrs. Beattie stuck her head into the living room and smiled at Hanna. “We don’t have any cereal, so I’m going to whip up some French toast. Do you guys want some? There’s plenty for all of us.”
“Sure.” Lucas looked at Hanna. “Wanna stay for breakfast?”
“Oh, that’s okay.” Hanna smiled politely at Lucas’s mom. “I had coffee—I’m all set.”
Lucas frowned and looked Hanna up and down. “You should have some French toast. You’re really . . . thin.”
Hanna placed her hands on her hips. “Isn’t that a good thing?”
“Not exactly.” Lucas circled a thumb and forefinger around Hanna’s wrist. “I sort of liked you better the way you were before. Please have a couple pieces for me?”