“That makes two,” he counts. “Two times you’ve forgotten about me.”
“I haven’t forgotten about you,” I assure him as I unwrap a chickenless chicken wrap in the parking lot of the Mickey D’s closest to the shelter. When faced with eating in the parking lot, making my bedroom smell like French fries, or having to talk to Danica while I eat my dinner, I’ll choose parking lot every time. “I’ve just been busy,” I continue. “But I miss you.” I pause with the wrap an inch from my mouth. “Like crazy.”
Ever the pragmatist, Luke asks, “How do you have time to miss me if you’re that busy?”
I’m chewing a mouthful of thousand-calorie goodness when I answer, “I’m going to show you how much I miss you when I squish you in front of all your friends.”
He snorts. “What friends?”
“What happened to Jimmy?” I ask with more concern in my voice than I intended, and I can almost hear Luke’s eyes roll.
“He got a girlfriend.”
“So?”
“So, you know girls. No more Deadzone, no more arcade, no more fun.”
I clear my throat. “Not all girls are like that.”
“Sisters don’t count,” Luke counters, and before I can argue, he says, “Hey, did you know Mike broke up with Danica?”
I almost choke on my tomato-lettuce-mayo wrap. “What?”
“Yeah. We were playing Deadzone last night, and—”
“You were playing with Mike?”
“We play all the time. But”—I can hear the frustration in my brother’s voice—“can you just listen?”
“Yeah,” I say, doing my best to be patient. “What?”
“So I forget how it came up, but he told me he broke up with Danica, and I was going to tell him he should go out with you—”
“You didn’t,” I gasp, and Luke practically growls at me.
“Let me finish.”
I hold back a growl myself, and Luke waits to make sure I’m going to stop interrupting him before he continues.
“I told him I knew who he should go out with, but he told me he already likes someone else. He said she’s really smart and pretty, but . . . I think you should just try to get in there anyway.”
“‘Get in there’?” I ask, and Luke acts like I’m an idiot.
“Yeah, like get him to like you.”
I don’t know whether to laugh or lecture him on the importance of minding his own business. “And why would I do that?”
“Don’t you ever want to get married?” Luke asks, and this time, I do actually choke.
I have to set down my wrap and cough into my elbow to clear my throat, and my eyes are watering when I say, “Married?”
“You’re twenty-three,” my brother reasons, and my brow furrows at my steering wheel.
“Right. Twenty-three.”
“Don’t you want kids?”
“Luke!”
“I’m just saying, sis . . . I don’t think you’re going to find another guy as good as Mike.”
My appetite disappears as I rub a spot between my eyes, use the back of my hand to wipe the mayo oil away, and take a calming breath. I’m not about to start discussing my love life with a twelve-year-old—much less one who shares my last name—so I tell him half of the truth. “I’m concentrating on school right now.”
Undeterred, my brother says, “He asks about you sometimes.”
“He does?” I question before I can think better of it.
“Yeah. Last night I told him about that time you tried singing to those cows to herd them. What was the name for that again?”
“Oh my God,” I say. “You did not.”
Luke’s laughter almost makes my mortification worth it, but I’m still going to kill him. “He thought it was funny.”
Kulning. It’s an ancient Swedish herding call I saw on YouTube, and I sounded like an extremely drunk yodeler. My brother sat on the fence laughing his ass off. “And you expect him to marry me?” I groan.
“He said he thought it was cute.”
At the word cute, I can’t help smiling to myself, but I quickly school my expression back into neutral territory. “Well, I hate to break it to you, kid, but I didn’t go through all this trouble just to drop out of school and start popping out babies.”
“Who said you had to drop out of school just to start dating him?” Luke asks, and I realize what I’ve said.
It’s a choice that’s been nagging at the back of my mind, one that I’ve been trying to ignore. And without meaning to, I already gave Luke an answer: I didn’t go through all that trouble—five years of part-time community college, tons of declined financial aid and scholarship applications, nearly three months of putting up with Danica, two days of agony waiting for her to call her dad—just to throw it all away.
“Can we talk about something else?” I beg, rolling down my car window for some fresh, freezing air.
“Like what?”
“Like when you’re going to get your own girlfriend,” I tease to make sure Luke forgets about the current topic, and when he groans and starts trying to find his own subject change, I try to just enjoy talking to my little brother. I try not to think of Mike or impossible decisions, and I try to forget how sick to my stomach I feel. I even promise Luke I’ll play Deadzone with him that night, and I do—along with Mike. The three of us play and laugh, and Luke does a not-so-subtle job of trying to convince Mike of my awesomeness. When we end the game, Mike calls me and we laugh about it, and he assures me he agrees with every single thing Luke said. My cheeks are stained red as I listen to him talk, and by the time he wishes me sweet dreams, I’m not entirely sure I’m not already living in one.
But then the call ends, and it’s just me in a bed in a room in Danica’s apartment. I fall asleep knowing that Mike is leaving on tour in three days, that I’ll see him in two, and that it will probably be for the very last time.
Chapter 28
I’m no stranger to feeling out of place. High school parties, funerals of family friends I never met, Danica’s thirteenth birthday at an upscale hair and nail salon that included all of the most popular girls in her school . . . I didn’t exactly feel comfortable at any of them, but never have I felt as out of place as I do walking to the pond on Saturday afternoon.
There are people everywhere.
I had to take a shuttle. A freaking shuttle. Everyone was directed to park in a massive parking lot a few miles from the location. There were signs, workers conducting traffic—I knew at the sight of bright orange cones and professionally printed ghost video signs that I was in over my head. I parked my car in a shimmering sea of vehicles, and I tried to blend in as I followed everyone else to where the buses were picking people up.
So many people.
Pink hair, blue hair, pierced noses, mohawks, dresses, Chuck Taylors, high heels, fishnets, leather pants, tutus, leggings, belly shirts, skinny jeans, choker necklaces, tattoos. I tried not to stand out in my faded blue hoodie, five-year-old Levi’s, and clearance-rack boots.