“There’s some stuff I need to take care of. It’s really important.”
Brandon purses his lips. “I could go. I mean, if that’s what
you
really—”
“That would be great.”
“I don’t think so,” Mom says. She steps out of Brandon’s line
of sight and gives me a stern, why-are-you-being-so-rude look.
“Brandon’s been waiting almost an hour for you. Whatever you
have to do can wait until tomorrow.”
“It actually can’t.”
“It can and it will.” Now I’m getting the behave-or-you’regrounded look.
I weigh the risks of defying her. Being grounded at this
point would be pretty bad. Maybe I can rush Brandon out
the door. Feign sickness again halfway through the movie.
Lawrence will probably wait a while for me. Hopefully. I
swallow a heavy sigh.
“Great,” I say. “Let’s watch then.”
Mom nods. “I’ll make you two some smoothies. How about
that?”
“Sounds ginger peachy,” I mutter.
Mom breezes off to the kitchen, and Brandon gives me a
sheepish smile. “Hi, there.”
“Hi.”
“I was worried about you the other night.”
I avoid his gaze. “Oh yeah?”
“You got so sick so fast.”
“Yeah,” I say. “It was kind of crazy.”
“I’ve been trying to call you all day.”
“I’ve been busy.”
“Studying at the library?” Brandon asks, raising a sly eyebrow.
“Yes.”
“And what are you researching?”
“What, are you Barbara Walters now?”
He laughs. “How about we start the movie?”
“Good idea.”
He stands there awkwardly for a minute before I realize this
is my house, and I should probably take him to the entertainment room.
I tilt my head to the side. “This way.”
As we pass a back window, I can just make out the bushes
near the beach. A fierce longing to run and meet Lawrence
grips me. There’s so little time. I should be spending every
second trying to save him.
“Great TV,” Brandon says, breaking my train of thought as
he flops on one of the leather couches.
“Yeah,” I manage, trying to sift as much of the irritation out
of my voice as possible. “So…I’m pretty tired. Maybe we can
just watch some of the movie?”
“Whatever you feel like,” Brandon says with a grin.
Oh boy. I hope he doesn’t think that was a veiled request to
make out.
I put on the movie, despite my brain screaming with resistance. Stalling as long as possible, I stand by the TV fumbling with the volume, the color, the sound quality.
“Hey, you in the front row,” Brandon says. “You’re blocking
the movie.”
I offer a token laugh, and he pats a place next to him on the
couch. “Come on. You don’t want to miss the opening. There’s
a killer car chase.”
“Sounds…awesome.”
I sit as far to the side of the couch as possible, but Brandon
slides next to me. He smiles, as if we’re going to snuggle up.
Where does he get the idea that something’s going to happen
between us? I assume I can ascribe it to this new, sans-Travis
Howard alternate reality we’re living in now.
As the movie plays on the screen, I fold my arms tightly
across my chest to discourage any handholding action. Ten
minutes in, Brandon’s arm goes around the back of the couch.
Two minutes later, as a gas truck explodes on the screen in a
burst of orange flame, he slides it around my shoulders.
I give him a pointed look, but he just smiles. “Sweet movie, huh?”
I sigh and glance at the clock. I’ll give this twenty more minutes before I claim exhaustion. Mom ought to be appeased by twenty minutes.
“You look really pretty tonight,” Brandon whispers, his
breath tickling my ear.
All at once, it hits me. I’m doing it again. Relapsing into
the same way of thinking that held me in a prison of angst all
summer. I’ve tried to be whatever everyone else wants me to
be, convincing myself that it’s what I want. But I know what I
really want now. And I’m not going to pretend anymore.