Rules We're Meant to Break

by Natalie Williamson

  “Yeah, hi.” I raise my hand in a weird attempt at a wave.

  “It’s nice to finally meet you,” Jordan’s dad says, his tone warm. To Jordan, he adds, “Are you going to invite the girls inside, or were you planning to hang out in the cold all night?”

  “Actually, we were just kind of talking about that,” Cammie says. “I have to get back to my mom’s, but Amber and Jordan had some stuff to look over for their English class. Right, guys?”

  “Um, right,” I say, sneaking a glance at Jordan. His head is ducked a little, and there’s a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, and he looks so happy I’m staying that my breath catches and I have to look away.

  “All right,” Tom says. “Cam, tell your mom we say hello and Happy Thanksgiving, okay? Julie says they keep missing each other on the phone.”

  “I’ll tell her,” Cammie says, taking a step backward. I can’t help noticing that her expression is guarded now, and that she won’t meet anyone’s eyes. “And I really do need to get going. I’ll make sure your mom lets the dog out, Amber,” she adds, and then she turns and starts walking away.

  I stare after her, surprised and a little touched that she thought of Buffy at all. “Thanks.”

  She waves vaguely in our direction as she crosses into The Castle’s tiny front yard. “Yeah. You kids have fun.”

  “Well,” Jordan’s dad says when Cammie disappears inside The Castle. “Come on, you two. We’ve got leftovers if you’re hungry, Amber, but otherwise we’ll let you get to work.”

  Jordan gets to his feet and offers his hand to help me up. Against my better judgment, I let him pull me to my feet, and I follow him inside. We step into a big, open kitchen that looks a lot like the one at Kevin’s house except everything is white instead of brown. Two pretty blond women are standing at the island, and their heads whip in my direction when they realize Jordan didn’t come back inside alone.

  “This is Amber,” Jordan says, gesturing to me. “Amber, this is my mom, Julie, and my sister, Tasha.”

  Jordan’s mom smiles and echoes Jordan’s dad, “It’s so nice to finally meet you, sweetheart.”

  Tasha’s eyes are a little red, but as she looks between Jordan and me a slow smile spreads across her face. “You’re the one with the vampire slayer dog.”

  “Um, yeah,” I say, shooting a look Jordan’s way. But he’s blushing and won’t look at me.

  “You guys—” Jordan starts.

  “Sorry, honey,” his mom says. But she doesn’t sound sorry, and she winks at me when Jordan isn’t looking. I decide I like her, even though I shouldn’t be deciding things like that.

  Jordan’s dad, who’s been watching this whole exchange with that same knowing grin on his face, says, “We got to meet your mom the other day. She’s dating Kevin Henning, right?”

  “Um, yeah,” I say again. Apparently that’s my entire vocabulary now.

  “We liked her a lot,” Julie says, surprising me a little since I know she’s friends with Cammie’s mom. I may not know a ton of details about Kevin’s divorce, but it’s pretty obvious that it was not exactly an amicable one. I figured their friends must have split down party lines or something, but I guess not. “She and Kevin seem so happy,” Julie adds, yanking me out of my thoughts. “And I can definitely see the resemblance between the two of you.”

  “Oh, thanks,” I say, surprised all over again. People don’t tell me I look like my mom very often, so I’m never sure how to take it. We have the same eyes, but that’s about it. Everything else is my dad’s.

  “We have that paper to work on,” Jordan says, nudging me with his elbow.

  I shoot him a grateful look. “Right. It was so nice to meet you guys.”

  “You too, Amber,” Tasha says, and his parents echo her as Jordan leads me out of the room.

  fourteen

  I follow Jordan through the living room and down the stairs, where they have a family room setup similar to Kevin’s. Big sectional, huge entertainment center, cushy recliner. I expect us to stop here, but we don’t. We go through a door at the far end of the room, into what turns out to be Jordan’s bedroom.

  “Wow,” I say, stepping inside and looking around at his walls, which are covered in newspaper articles about March Madness games from the last decade or so. “You have a great room.”

  “Thanks,” he says, grinning. He hesitates for a second and then adds, “Sorry to bombard you with my family like that. They can be … well, you saw.”

  “I like them,” I admit. “They seem really nice.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Good,” he says, letting out a long breath. Like he’s relieved I think his family is nice. I don’t let myself dwell on this.

  “Homework time?” I ask, trying to get things back on track.

  Suddenly he looks uncertain. “We can, if you want. But, uh, I actually thought we could watch some Buffy. We don’t have to,” he rushes to add, as I bite my lip. “It just seems … sacrilegious to do homework on a holiday. Don’t you think?”

  I chew on my lip and stare at him, trying to decide. This would definitely be going against the rules. But Buffy is like my kryptonite. Maybe since we only have three more weeks of tutoring before all of this is over it’ll be okay. I mean, it can’t hurt to be friendly until then, can it? Not friends. Just friendly.

  “All right,” I say, sitting down on the bed too. But not next to him. Far enough away from him for at least two people to fit between us. Maybe even three. “One episode. And then we get to work.”

  “One episode,” he says, grinning now. “And since you’re the expert, you get to pick.”

  * * *

  The next day Hannah calls me at seven in the morning and tries to get me to go Black Friday shopping.

  “Mom tried this two hours ago,” I tell her. “Guess what? The answer is still no.”

  “But, Amber,” she whines, “if we go now we can still catch some of the good sales!”

  “The good sales are gonna last all weekend. We can go tomorrow. I’ve got more important things to do today.”

  “Like what?” she asks, not trying to hide the snippiness in her tone. Hannah is never happy when I turn down shopping.

  “Like unpacking my room.” When I got home from Jordan’s yesterday, it was like I couldn’t ignore the boxes anymore, and I figured maybe waiting until college to unpack them is a little excessive. Plus, I couldn’t find my heavy winter coat, and it’s getting cold.

  For a long moment, there’s silence on the other end of the phone. I can’t even hear Hannah breathing. “Are you still there?”

  “Yeah,” she says quickly. “Do you want help with that? The … unpacking?”

  “That’d be nice,” I say, before I can change my mind.

  Hannah squeals into the phone, making me regret my weakness and wish I’d just agreed to go to the stupid mall with her. I’m about to tell her I was April Foolsing her in November when she shouts, “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes! Make sure there’s food!” and hangs up.

  She gets here in ten, and I manage to resist the urge to ask her how fast she sped on the way over. I bring Buffy out to the driveway with me to greet her and hopefully head off any more squealing.

  “You want food first, or a tour first?” I ask, as she bounces out of her car and over to me and Buffy. Buffy picks up on her excitement and hops a little in place, stretching her head forward so she can lick Hannah’s face when she bends down to pet her.

  “Chill out, Buffster,” Hannah says, laughing and gently pushing Buffy away. “Tour. As long as we make the kitchen the first stop.”

  “Got it,” I say, shaking my head and leading her inside. “This is the living room, by the way,” I add, as we pass through it.

  “I figured. I love that wall. Is it stone?” The far wall of Kevin’s living room looks like the side of an adobe building, which my mother loves because it fits in with her Southwest decorating scheme. This is one of the many reasons
she’s convinced Kevin is The One, I’m sure. Like having the same taste in home decor is the most important thing when you’re with someone.

  “Fake stone. Apparently there was an incident with the fireplace a few years ago. They had to do that to cover it up.”

  “Well,” Hannah says. “The end result is awesome, so I say worth it.”

  “I guess,” I say, though secretly I agree with her.

  Kevin’s in the kitchen when we walk in, sitting at the island with his standard mug of coffee and newspaper in hand. He looks up at the sound of our footsteps and raises his eyebrows a little when he sees it’s me.

  “Morning, Amber. You’re up early.”

  I jerk my thumb over my shoulder. “Hannah’s got the Black Friday bug too.”

  “Ah,” he says, nodding. Then he gets up and holds out a hand to Hannah, who takes it and shakes it, looking bemused. “Nice to meet you,” he adds. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

  Hannah shoots me a glance. “You too.”

  I sense that I need to get Hannah out of here before she starts asking probing questions, so I say, “I was giving Hannah the tour.”

  She frowns. “I thought we were stopping for food.”

  “Tell you what,” Kevin says, before I can answer her. “You girls go check out the basement and the rest of the downstairs and then come back here. I’ll put some plates together for you.”

  Hannah beams at him. “Thanks, Kevin!”

  She takes my hand and drags me out of the kitchen before I can protest, or warn her that Kevin’s idea of seven-thirty-in-the-morning food is probably a lot different than hers.

  “I like Kevin,” she says, as I lead her back through the living room and down to the basement.

  I stop at the foot of the stairs and reach down to scratch Buffy, who’s led us down the stairs like she’s the one giving the tour. “Reserve your judgment until you see what he gives us to eat.”

  “Why?”

  “He’s one of those health food people. We had tofu for dinner three times last week.” But even as I say this I can’t help thinking about that mug of oatmeal he gave me in his car that day, exactly the way I like it.

  “Ugh.” Hannah makes a face. Then she sighs. “How do people do that? I could never make it as a vegetarian. I like meat too much.”

  “Ooh,” I say. “Dirty.”

  “Oh, stop.” But she’s laughing and so am I, and for the first time in weeks things feel back to normal between us.

  “Okay,” I say, once we’ve calmed down. “This is the family room.”

  I watch as she takes in the big sectional, two huge, cushy recliners, and giant entertainment center, complete with a flat-screen TV that’s at least twice the size of the one at her house. She stares at it for a second and then turns to me, one eyebrow raised.

  “What?” I ask.

  “We are so doing movie nights over here from now on. Don’t even try to argue.”

  I hold up my hands in surrender and start for the guest room against the far wall, which is now overflow storage for Mom’s kitchen gadgets and cookbooks.

  “God,” Hannah says, staring at the shelves along the far wall, which are crammed full to the brim and look like they might tip over from all the weight they’re holding. “I forgot how big your mom’s collection is.”

  “I know, right? And it’s gotten worse since we’ve been here, now that she’s got all of Kevin’s stuff too. He has like fifteen cookbooks with the word healthy in the title.”

  Hannah groans. “Ugh. Do you think that’s the kind of food he’s getting for us? Healthy?”

  “Probably.” I back out of the room and flip off the light. “Come on. We’ll do the rest of the main floor and then make a pit stop in the kitchen before we go upstairs.”

  Five minutes later we’re back in the kitchen. As promised, Kevin has two heaping plates and two cans of Coke waiting on the counter for us. He gives them a wave as we walk in. “I tried to get all the most important food groups.”

  I stare at the plates. They’re covered in leftover French silk pie, sweet potatoes with marshmallows, and rolls from yesterday’s dinner at The Castle. Hannah brushes past me to scoop them up, grinning. “Dessert and carbs,” she says. “That pretty much covers it.”

  Kevin laughs. “That’s what I figured. When your sugar coma hits, there’s turkey in the fridge. Please eat some.”

  Hannah nods and heads for the door to the living room. “Will do. Amber, you coming?”

  “I—yeah.” I grab the drinks and follow her, but at the last second stop and look back at Kevin. He’s back to his coffee and newspaper, but he looks up when I clear my throat.

  “Did I forget something?” he asks.

  “No. Just … thank you.”

  “Sure thing, kid,” he says, smiling at me. “Anytime.”

  * * *

  When we get upstairs, Buffy goes straight to her favorite spot in my closet. Hannah and I lay out the food on my bed and then turn to survey the disaster zone that my room has become in the last two months.

  “Wow,” Hannah says finally. “You could be on one of those hoarding TV shows.”

  “I could not!” I whack her on the arm and try not to look at the closest stack of boxes, which kind of looks like the Leaning Tower of Pisa.

  “That was rude. And you need to get your eyes checked, because this is ridiculous. How do you find anything?”

  “I don’t,” I admit, sighing and reaching for a slice of pie.

  Hannah grabs for some pie too. “All right. Pie first, then sort. Deal?”

  “Deal.”

  We start with my boxes of books, and we’ve only been working again for a few minutes when she gasps. “Holy shit, you still have this?”

  I turn to see what she’s holding. In one hand she has a battered Stephen King paperback, and in the other a familiar folded-up piece of paper. I know she’s not talking about the book.

  “Of course I still have it,” I say, taking the paper from her and carefully unfolding it. My rules are written out on the page, one through nine in my hurried scrawl, and number ten added at the bottom in Hannah’s neat block lettering.

  I read the list over quickly, but instead of the usual wash of reassurance I feel when I look at it, my chest tightens with unease.

  “I remember the day we wrote those down,” Hannah says quietly.

  “It’d be a hard one to forget,” I say, getting to my feet and going over to my desk. I carefully tuck the rules into the smallest drawer, then close it firmly and come back over to help Hannah alphabetize my romance novels.

  We’re quiet for a few minutes, but then Hannah says suddenly, “You know, this bookshelf would be really perfect for when we’re in Lawrence next year, don’t you think?”

  “I mean, I guess it would. But that shelf is Kevin’s, so I’m not planning to take it with me.”

  “You could ask, though. Because seriously, I think this would be the perfect size to fit under a lofted bed. It’s narrow enough that a desk could fit next to it.”

  The mention of a lofted bed makes me go still. Matt must have been right. Hannah really has been thinking about living in the dorms next year. I thought if I ignored that comment he made it would go away, but that was clearly wishful thinking.

  “Why would I need a lofted bed in an apartment?” I ask slowly. “Buffy wouldn’t be able to get her snugs in if I did that.”

  “Oh, duh,” Hannah says. “I was just looking at decorating ideas on Pinterest the other day and saw one that looked really cute, so it was kind of fresh in my brain.”

  “Oh.” I clear my throat. “Maybe for your room, then?”

  “Yeah, maybe,” she says, turning back to my books and shoving them onto the shelf a little more aggressively than before.

  There’s a weird tension hanging in the air now, and even though I think we should probably talk about it, all I want to do is make things go back to normal. So instead of asking Hannah to tell me more about her Pinterest binge o
r why a loft bed sounds so appealing, I blurt the first thing I can think of to change the subject.

  “I can’t believe you haven’t asked me whether or not Jordan used his SOS.”

  She whips her head around to look at me. “Did he?”

  “Yeah. Cammie came too. We did homework.”

  Hannah glances over at my desk before snapping her gaze back to me. “Cammie came with you? What about rule number two?”

  “What about it? We’re not friends. I was being nice. Niceness is allowed, especially on holidays.”

  Hannah smirks at me. “I know for a fact that’s not on the list.”

  I can tell by her tone and expression that she’s going to give me shit about this for at least the rest of the day, but I don’t mind. Because the weirdness of a few minutes ago is gone now. Hopefully it’ll stay away for a while.

  fifteen

  On Monday I come home to a letter from Wichita State, the only college in town I applied to. Mom’s home early, and she sits at the counter and watches as I open it.

  “What does it say?” she asks, as I stare at the letter in my hand.

  “I got in.” But that isn’t all it says. It says I got a scholarship that covers all of my tuition for all four years.

  “Let me see.” Mom reaches for the letter and grabs it out of my hands. She reads it and then looks up at me, her face lit up like a ten-thousand-watt bulb. “Oh, Amber, this is wonderful!”

  “Wichita State doesn’t have the major I want, Mom,” I say, trying to keep my tone neutral and hold off the panic that’s creeping up at the idea of staying here next year.

  “I know, honey,” Mom says, “but try to be practical here, okay? If you stay here and accept this scholarship you would save so much money.”

  Practical? Right. This coming from the woman who dumped her last boyfriend because he didn’t like kids, meaning he didn’t like me. It sounds like a good reason for her to dump someone until you realize that Eric didn’t like kids when my mother met him and that this didn’t stop her from dating him for two years in the first place. How very practical of her.