“The class is stupid,” Kinley said. “Dr. Stratford’s terrible.” She paused, and put a hand to her lips. “I think that’s the first bad thing I’ve ever said about a teacher.”
Tyler squinted at her. “Is it bad, though? If it’s true?” He laughed. “You hold teachers up on some sort of pedestal, like they can’t do anything wrong. But a shitty teacher is still a shitty teacher.”
“You think all teachers are shitty,” Kinley pointed out.
Tyler nodded. “You’ve got a point there.” He dug into his pocket and came out with a slightly smashed box of cigarettes. He opened it and drew one out with his teeth. “Want?” he asked.
Kinley shook her head. Tyler knew she was probably mentally reciting school rules, and she likely knew that smoking on campus meant a three-day suspension.
“Come on,” Tyler urged. “What are they going to suspend you from? Summer school?” He laughed again. “They’d be doing you a favor, you know.” He offered her the pack, and she held up a hand, palm out.
Tyler frowned. Everything she did was so choreographed. Like she’d practiced it all a million times beforehand, and then performed with utter perfection.
“It’s not even that,” she said. “It’s that I don’t want yellow teeth.” She flashed him a smile, showing a row of pretty, even teeth that could have been lifted directly from a toothpaste commercial and planted in her mouth.
“Oh,” Tyler said. He rubbed his chin. “That’s nice. Don’t ruin those.” He flashed her his own smile, which he happened to know was pretty great. People always said that they didn’t know how someone with such a nice smile could turn out to be such a bad kid.
He’d heard that a hell of a lot, actually.
He lit his cigarette and watched Kinley blush for the fourteenth time. She really was cute. As cute as Ivy McWhellen, if you really thought about it. Maybe even cuter. Just more . . . understated. Like, you had to look at her to really get it.
He breathed in deeply, and blew out a thick cloud of smoke. “You’re pretty, you know,” he said.
Kinley smiled again. He liked that smile. “You’re not so bad yourself.”
They were quiet for a moment, and then Tyler suddenly stood and put his hand up, waving someone over.
An old purple Jeep—the kind that’s been painted and repainted—pulled up to the fence. The engine made an odd chugging sound, like a rusty saw drawn over a crumbling slab of cement, and the back was covered in peeling bumper stickers. It wasn’t exactly inconspicuous.
“Who’s that?” Kinley asked over the noise.
Tyler stubbed out the cigarette on the fence. “It’s no one you will ever need to know.” He winked at her, then jogged up to the window and clasped hands with the driver.
“Is it coming in or what?” he asked.
The driver, Jer—a pale guy with almost no hair to speak of—handed him a small paper bag.
Tyler reached into his jeans and pulled out a finely folded stack of bills. He was good at this. No one watching would have even seen money, except maybe Kinley, and he kind of wanted her to see. To know.
The pale guy leaned forward and bumped fists with Tyler, and then he drove off, turning up his music as he went, like he hadn’t just been dealing in a school parking lot.
No big deal.
“What was that?” Kinley asked.
Tyler grinned at her.
And even though he could see her fighting it, she grinned back.
Cade
Saturday, June 6
Cade watched his father in front of his closet, flicking through his neckties.
Mr. Sano had quite the collection of neckties.
He was rather famous for it. Everyone always gave him ties—for work anniversaries, birthdays, holidays, anything. But his father only wore the best. Only wore ties out of his private collection, which was imported from all over the world—France, Italy, Spain—but most of the ties came from his father’s home country, Japan. The brands were names Cade couldn’t pronounce.
Someday it would all dry up. Cade heard people talking about it behind closed doors, in quiet voices. Everyone knew it. He knew it was why his father never seemed happy. Well, one of the reasons.
But until then, he would continue to import ties and buy expensive perfumes for his wife and drive the very best cars. In Cade’s opinion, the biggest waste was the ties. Cade could think of better ways to go deeply into debt.
“I don’t need you wasting your summer wasting my money,” his father said, “or going down the same sorry path as some other people we know.” He pulled a tie off, and it made a slick noise against the fabric of his shirt. Mr. Sano held up another option. “Do you like this?”
Cade stood up from his father’s chair. “It’s fine, Dad. And I know. That’s why Bekah and I had this all planned out. We’re going to do an old-school tour. Take Route Sixty-six—you know, the main street of America. Oh, and we were going to go see Centralia. You remember how I did a book report on it in sixth grade? How it’s burning up from underground? Anyway, Dad, it’ll be educational.”