“Doubt it.” He bumps my shoulder.
“Good thing, because I need the money.” I fill him in on my current situation, but Andrew doesn’t offer a single suggestion.
He just squeezes my knee. “I’m sorry, dude. That sucks.” And then he hits me with a turtle shell and cackles. I can’t help but laugh too.
*
We wrap up our night at ten, when my mom texts to say she’ll be home in an hour. Andrew looks at his phone too. “It’s getting kind of late,” he says, slipping it back in his pocket. “And you’ve got a big day tomorrow.” We stand at the same time, staying closer than necessary. “Workin’ girl.”
I don’t know what else to say, but I don’t really want to move away. “Oh, you know what? I still have your Dead shirt.”
“You keep it.”
“Are you sure?”
Andrew touches my arm. There’s no spark, no jolt, no surge between us, but his hand drags down to mine and pulls me closer. “Oh, I’m sure.”
It feels like my bones aren’t connected to one another. Like my muscles have gone on strike. “Raych…” he says, like it’s a warning.
I don’t answer, just look at him, trying to discern the question so I can figure out the answer. I force some words over my lips. “Thanks for coming over.”
“You sounded sad.” When I nod, he reaches for my face. I’ve never seen Andrew act like this. “I like you. I don’t like when you’re sad.”
It’s such a simple statement but, god. There are tears in my eyes. What the hell is happening? Andrew lowers his head toward mine and my brain turns to sponge. Our lips touch. Then we’re kissing harder and he’s stepping backward, knees buckling when he runs into the couch. I climb on top, straddling his lap, and kiss him. And kiss him. And kiss him.
But when his hand drags up my ribs, I pull away, to see if he will too.
And he does. “Sorry,” he says, breathing hard. “Is this okay?”
“I’m just a little ticklish,” I lie.
He presses his forehead against mine. “I’ve wanted to kiss you for a long, long time,” he admits.
I can’t say the same, but I can tell him something true. “I’m really glad you did.”
MATT
I tear my room apart looking for my phone, but it doesn’t materialize until Andrew tosses it on my bed before school Monday morning. “You missed a call.”
“You stole my phone?” I throw a pillow at him.
He dodges. “No, dumbass, you left it on the kitchen counter. I grabbed it for you.” No missed calls show up, but Raychel is on the recent list. “I answered it for you too,” he says.
“Goddamnit, Andrew.” He’s going to make me ask. “And? What did she want?”
“I dunno,” he says, holding his hands up when I grab another pillow. “But she was bored so I went over there to hang out.”
Of course he invited himself over. “That poor girl. What did you do?”
“We played video games, mostly.” He turns to leave, slapping the top of my doorframe as he goes. “Oh hey—she said she doesn’t need a ride this morning.”
Her mom must be headed that way. A minute later, I hear the garage door opening, and glance at the clock to make sure I’m not late. But it’s still early.
I make a mental note to check hell for ice.
*
I wait for Raychel at her locker. A red rose is sticking out of the vent, and when she and Andrew walk up, she looks at me suspiciously. “Is this an apology?” she asks.
My forehead furrows. “Uh, no.” I don’t even know what I’m supposed to be sorry for.
She twirls the stem between her fingers. “Oh. Weird.”
I glance at my brother, suspicious of his early-morning rush. “Don’t look at me,” he says. “I’m not that slick.”
She laughs. “I’m impressed enough that you got us here on time.”
Asshole. He’s why she didn’t need a ride. I think over our weekend, looking for a reason I’m in the doghouse. “Are you still mad about the book thing?” I ask, then rush ahead when she glares. “I mean, sorry. About the book thing.” It’s hard to apologize when you’re not really sorry.
She rolls her eyes. “Thanks so much. How was the movie?”
Andrew watches with a grin I’d like to smush into the floor. It should be a rule that little brothers have to stay littler in size forever. “It was okay. Kind of boring,” I tell her. I’m definitely not going to complain about what a chick flick it was.
“Oh hey,” Raychel says to Andrew, digging in her backpack. “You left this.” She hands him his pipe, keeping it hidden between their palms.
“I guess you two had fun last night,” I say rudely. Raychel’s life is hard enough without Andrew getting her suspended for possession.
“Oh yeah, we…” Andrew glances at her, and something in their expressions turns my anger into dread. It hadn’t occurred to me that they’d smoke, and now I’m wondering what else they did. “She still sucks really bad at Mario Kart.”
But my trepidation disappears as she puts the flower behind her ear. “Matt’s right. You’re an asshole.”
He shrugs, grinning at me. “It’s genetic.”
RAYCHEL
Awkward.
I figured Matt would be a little weird about me hanging out with Andrew on my own, but he’s acting like someone took his favorite toy. It doesn’t encourage me to fill him in on any other details. Not that it’s any of his business, or that there’s much to tell. I’m not deluding myself into thinking that a little kissing with Andrew means anything. He’s a notorious manwhore and I’m … well, whatever I am, he’s not expecting a white picket fence and 2.5 kids.
But we did have fun. I actually slept well for the first time in a while, and I woke up excited to start my new job—like maybe things are going to turn around. I even made up with Mom over breakfast.
And then I get to calculus. “Pretty,” Carson says, grinning.
“What?” He points at the rose behind my ear and my shock subsides. “Oh, yeah. Someone left it in my locker.”
“Did they?” He looks amused … or maybe smug.
“Please take your seat, Ms. Sanders,” Mrs. Nguyen calls.
I sit, letting the disappointment sink in. It hadn’t crossed my mind that the flower might be from him, and I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing I liked it. I lay it on the corner of my desk and leave it there when the bell rings.
*
My new job doesn’t disappoint, however. Andrew drives me to his house, where Dr. R. is waiting to show me the ropes. “Basically, we’ve had these sitting around forever,” he explains, showing me the stack of files in his home office. “It’s all old financial stuff, nothing patient-related, but no one at the clinic has had time to weed through it. We just need you to organize things and get them in the computer.”