“Maybe she had a good reason.”
“Maybe.” I nod. “But more than that, I’d just like to see her. Talk to her. Figure out if we even have anything in common.” Suddenly, I feel tears blinking at the corners of my eyes. I swallow hard, horribly embarrassed. I am not going to cry around Thayer.
I give an exaggerated shrug. “Anyway, whatever. You asked what I was dreaming about, so there you have it.”
“Thanks for telling me,” Thayer says. Then he takes a breath. “I’m not a great sleeper, either.”
“Why not?”
“Insomnia, mostly. But I used to sleepwalk,” he confesses, looking sheepish. “It used to freak my parents out so badly.”
“What did you do?”
He laughs. “Well, once they came downstairs to find me sitting up on the couch in the den, remote control in hand, with an infomercial blaring.”
“And you don’t remember it?”
He shakes his head. “Nope. I was sound asleep.”
I cuff him on the arm. “They’re just lucky you didn’t order anything. They could’ve gotten stuck with a whole bunch of Snuggies.”
“Or Life Alert alarms,” Thayer jokes.
“Or those infrared flashlights that show you where your cats and dogs peed on the carpet,” I add.
We both snicker, and I’m grateful to Thayer for turning the conversation away from my mother and lightening the mood. When he pulls his hand away from mine, I realize I miss its warmth.
Then I ask, “Where’s the weirdest place you’ve ever woken up?”
“In the bathtub, with the water running,” he answers without any hesitation. “I was twelve, and my parents lost it, thinking I might drown one day. My dad threatened to take me to one of those sleep specialists and run tests. You know—with the electrodes and the monitoring, like you’re some kind of lab rat. I wasn’t into it.” His eyes darken. “He was so, so angry.”
“He was worried,” I say diplomatically.
Thayer sniffs. “I don’t think so.”
I don’t say anything more, but I think I know what Thayer is getting at. This one time, Mr. Vega flipped out at Madeline because she was walking around the neighborhood barefoot. Not because he was worried that she’d step on something sharp, but because of what the neighbors would think. I’m not saying he wasn’t concerned about Thayer drowning in the bathtub, of course, but I wonder if some of his anger was because the whole thing was an added complication, an annoyance, an oddity, for him.
“Parents are weird, aren’t they?” I ask softly.
Thayer nods. “You said it.”
We look at each other like we have a special sort of understanding. I want to reach out, to brush a hand across the sharp angles of his cheekbones, to tilt his gaze back to me. Or, at the very least, grab his hand and squeeze it tight. But I realize I’m scared. What if he pulls away? What if he laughs?
“So do you still sleepwalk?” I ask.
“Nah.” Thayer shakes his head. “I grew out of it, I guess. But I still have anxiety dreams all the time. My big one is showing at up school and realizing I’m in my underwear.”
“That one’s a classic.”
“Do you dream about that, too?” he asks.
I shake my head. “No, I have other recurring dreams.”
“About … ?”
You, I almost say, then stop myself.
But Thayer gazes at me as though he’s reading my mind. All of a sudden, he twines his feet around the legs of my chair and shifts me toward him. I can’t help but gasp, but I say nothing, and I certainly don’t move away. We’re so close now I’m enveloped in his clean, grassy scent. I stare at him, and he stares back. There’s a rushing sound in my ears, perhaps the noise of blood pumping quickly through my veins.
I struggle not to freak out completely. “So, are you going to Nisha’s party tomorrow night?” I ask casually.
Thayer looks startled for a moment, as though he didn’t expect the question. “I don’t know. Probably. Why—do you want me to go?”
I open my mouth, then shut it again. Of course I do. But the idea of saying it fills me with jitters. It makes me feel needy, uncool, way off center. “Well, I don’t care either way,” I say lightly, though my voice cracks at the end. “But, um, I think my sister does. I think she might have a crush on you.” I arch an eyebrow, waiting for his reaction, anything to suggest that he might return her feelings.
Thayer doesn’t flinch. A slow grin breaks out across his beautiful face. He tilts his head so close to mine we’re practically breathing the same air. “Do you really want to talk about Laurel right now?” he whispers.
My mouth drops open in shock. “Um,” I say, but then my mind goes blank. Is he going to kiss me? His confidence is intoxicating. I look away, my heart thudding like a hammer against my ribs.