“I’m fine. No one’s being mean.”
“Where are you?” Peter asks while Amelia adds, “Are you sure?”
“Hamilton,” answers Jonah.
“Need us to come get you?” I can already hear Peter’s keys jingling in the background.
“Why Hamilton?” I wince at the insult in Amelia’s tone.
“I’m going to a party here.”
“Party? Whose?”
“A friend of a friend’s. It’s fine. Promise.”
“Which friend? We have the same friends! Who are you with? I feel like I should ask in case the cops are looking for you in the morning.” Amelia’s voice is one part concern and one part melodrama.
“Jonah Prentiss,” he answers.
“Jonah? The new guy, Jonah?” In the pause before she continues I count in my head: 1-2-3-4. “Brighton …”
“I’m fine.”
“I know who that is. He used to be a hell of a baseball player,” adds Peter.
“We don’t know him. We don’t know you, Jonah,” states Amelia. “So you’re definitely a no-go on Jeremy? I really thought you’d like him. Wait, I thought you were babysitting. How’d you end up in Hamilton?”
“I was babysitting Jonah’s sister. It’s fine and I’m fine. I’ll call you tomorrow.” I ignore her Jeremy remarks. I’d told her I wasn’t interested before she set us up on the surprise movie date, after the movie date, and at least five times a day all week. Jeremy’s a great guy, just not right for me.
“No. Wait. Speakerphone off, B.”
I roll my eyes, but take the phone from Jonah, hit the button, and hold it to my ear. “Yes?”
“Do we like him?” she asks in her most serious voice.
“We don’t know him, remember?”
“But could we like him? Please tell me this is not just about the volunteer thing. It’s totally unfair for Mr. Donnelly to put so much pressure on you because he wants his name hanging in the hall. Please don’t do anything stupid over that. Jonah’s cute. Tell me this is because he’s cute.”
“It’s not like that.” Or it isn’t just about the volunteer thing. I wish I could explain what it is like—but then I’d have to understand it myself.
“I don’t believe you. But you’re okay? Safe and stuff? Promise?”
“Yes. I’ll call you tomorrow. ’Night, Ames.” I hang up and start handing Jonah the phone before remembering it’s mine and tucking it into my purse.
“I proved my point. Both of them jumped to your defense.” He’s a few steps farther away than I remember, kicking the curb.
“Of course they did, and not because they think I’m helpless—they’re my friends.” I hope crossing the distance between us emphasizes my next point. “I can’t wait to meet yours.”
We both turn to look at the house. The front door, which had been sealing in the music and conversations, opens to reveal a couple attached at the lips. Their bodies are entangled, and they stumble down the steps without breaking off their kiss.
I look away from them to Jonah. Does he kiss like that, like the only thing preventing him from suffocating is someone else’s lips? Carly’s lips, I mean.
I’m blushing and staring and he notices.
“What exactly were you answering with ‘We don’t know him’? How much of a loser Amelia thinks I am?”
“No! Not at all.” We’re standing far too close, but I’m not backing off now. If he wants space, he can step back. But I can’t answer either. My cheeks are already flaming; if I admit she was asking if I like him, I might combust. “Cross Pointe isn’t evil, it’s not unfriendly. You just need to give people a chance to get to know you. Tonight, I’ll come to this party with you, and maybe next week you and Carly can come to one with Amelia and me. At least think about it.”
He snorts. “Oh yes, we’d love that.”
“Come on,” I say taking a step toward the driveway. “Let’s go inside and I’ll invite her myself.”
23
Jonah
11:03 P.M.
O’CRAP O’CLOCK
The closer we get to Jeff’s door, the more conflicted I feel about Carly. It’s like all my anger has iced over. I don’t know what I want to do anymore. Flaunt Brighton to make her jealous. Apologize. Yell. Pretend I don’t care. Actually stop caring.
It’s just that walking down this driveway, I can practically see the ghost of past parties. We’d be the couple kissing on the front steps. Or fighting on the driveway. Or dominating at Ping-Pong on the old, lopsided table in the basement. Or, most often, I’d be the guy stuck holding her beer so she could use both hands to reenact some gossip for her over-eager and easily amused audiences.
I miss the days when we were new. When it was the two of us working the same shifts at Dairy Queen and she’d dare me to eat whatever ice cream–candy combinations she mixed up. Those nights I’d go home and stare at the ceiling of my old house too buzzed on kisses and candy to sleep.
I haven’t felt like that in a while. And I think there’s a lot more missing than a massive quantity of sugar.
We’re at the front steps—I know I should tell Bright about the breakup, that she, named after crystal and just as delicate, could be shattered by the reception waiting on the other side of this door. I almost turn around and head back to my car. Almost.
But Brighton is old enough to take care of herself; confident that the world is full of good intentions and sweetness. It isn’t my job to protect her. She’s the one who insisted. She led the charge down the driveway.
Sink or swim time, Bright. Let’s hope the world really is as nice as you claim. I hold the door and follow her into the Digginses’ house.
The front hall’s empty, but the lights and noise from the kitchen spill our way. Heads turn toward the open door, and people tumble out to meet me.
“Prentiss! How are you, man?” booms Sean. I still think of my former teammates by position; he’d been my second baseman. He’s a good guy. Dependable. Laid-back.
Eliza hugs me tightly. “I heard from Sasha. How are you doing? I mean, with the whole thing?” The hug’s a little too tight—her eyes and body giving not-so-subtle hints that she wouldn’t mind being the one to cheer me up.
I say thanks and pry her off me, slapping palms with Felix and nodding to the crew behind him. Maybe this won’t be so bad.
And then they notice I’m not alone.
“You’re not Carly!” is Felix’s brilliant reaction. Followed by a smirk and an equally brilliant, “But I’d like to get to know you.”
She holds out a soft-skinned, green-nailed hand to my former first baseman. “Hi. I’m Brighton.” And smiles at the group, utterly unaware that all hell’s about to break loose.
“Bright-ton?” repeats someone, while Eliza crosses her arms and scoffs, “What kind of name is that?”
“A rich snob name, of course,” answers a female voice. The speaker is out of sight but earns plenty of chuckles.
Bright lowers her unshaken hand. Felix isn’t being rude—yet—he’s just too busy gawking to notice.
“You’re from Cross Pointe?” asks Sean.
She nods. “It’s nice to meet you all. Jonah speaks highly of you and Hamilton.”
Her speech is so formal and her posture’s tin-soldier straight. Her hands are clasped in front of her around the handle of her bag—making her look like a kid playing tea party and reinforcing Cross Pointe’s snotty reputation.
There are scoffs and laughter. More people join the crowd. It’s about to be a massacre—she hasn’t even taken ten steps and they’re practically pushing one another out of the way so they can see her social takedown. Ready to hate her because of her zip code when all she’s done is smile. I need to say something, anything, to defuse this, but before I can, she turns to Eliza and delivers the fatal words.
“Are you Carly? I’m dying to meet her!”
The room breaks into fifteen competing conversations. “Cross Pointe snob!” and “Look at her!” are dist
inct above the roar.
Brighton turns to me in confusion.
Eliza grabs her arm. “Are you kidding me? Jonah, is she kidding?”
Bright steps closer to me, not even realizing that she’s reinforcing the conclusions they’re all jumping to. I’m tempted to step away, to physically demonstrate I’m not paired with her. Instead, I stay frozen and watch it unfold. This isn’t what I planned.
“Priceless! Totally what Carly deserves.” A catty voice slices through the room, but I’m too distracted to figure out who spoke.
“What’s going on? What’d I say?” Brighton’s eyes swim in hurt and reproach as she whispers her questions to me.
“Jonah, we should talk,” says Jeff. He’d been my catcher and best friend. Yeah, we should talk, except there’s too much to say. Months of stuff to say. Nothing will make any sense—but despite this, we should talk.
I follow Jeff through the kitchen, and Brighton follows me. Eliza shoots her predatory glances, someone whistles, and someone else offers a shout of encouragement. Really? There are people who are glad Carly and I broke up?
“Where is she?” I ask. Carly should be front and center, leading the attack or at least reaping a victim’s share of sympathy.
“She’s upset. She stayed home.” Jeff’s answer is sharp, an accusation.
The party crowd thins on the other side of the kitchen—away from the food and the game of flip cup taking place on the table. We hover by the door to his mom’s home office, where Jeff used to be stuck reading for thirty minutes before he was allowed to join the rest of us playing catch in the park. He looks from Brighton to the room. I open the door.
“Bright. Sit here a minute, okay? I need to talk to Jeff. I’ll go get you a drink. Water?”
“No. I want to know what’s going on. Now.” She plants a fist on each hip and stares up at me expectantly.
“I just need a minute. Then I’ll introduce you to everyone.” I try again to herd her into the office.
She resists. “I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what’s going on.”
“Suit yourself.”
Before she follows up with another question, Jeff says, “Please tell me you work fast. Tell me there was no overlap. Carly’s been obsessed with you cheating since your move. Now you show up with a new girl hours after you broke up?”
“Wait. What?” Her hands slip from her hips and she leans back, clutching the counter behind her.
I ask Jeff, “Have you talked to Carly? Has Maya?”
“Maya’s spent half the night on the phone with her. Sasha’s with Carly at her house.” The crowd has moved, followed us. They’re hoping for a scene and waiting for a chance to spit their questions and judgments. “God, Jonah, did you have do this tonight? My parents are only out of town for one night, and Maya’s going to spend the whole time dealing with Carly’s drama.”
“She broke up with me.” My answer’s defensive, but does he really think this is what I wanted or how I expected to be spending Friday night? “Did you know she was going to? Thanks for giving me a heads-up.”
“Time-out. My turn.” Bright pushes her way between the two of us. “You and Carly broke up? Today? What?”
I don’t get to answer because Eliza invites herself into the conversation, “Can you blame her?”
“Yes!” Brighton turns toward her. “He’s crazy about her!”
I groan. She may be well intentioned, but she’s not helpful.
Eliza chokes on her indignation, and more people press around us. “You’re going to stand here—the one he cheated with—and defend that? Bingley, it’s too bad you’ve got all that money and no way to buy yourself some class.”
I’m trapped in the corner between the door and a wall of gossip-hungry ex-classmates. And Brighton.
“What?” She sputters the word, her face as red as the rooster painting hanging on the wall behind her.
“Let’s not be too hasty,” Felix adds. “She’s pretty smoking. I never would’ve thought Prentiss had it in him—juggling two of them? You’re a god.”
“So it’s true?” Maya joins the group, her cell clutched in one hand, her cheek still imprinted with its outline.
“Wait! Just wait a second,” I say. Everything’s going to hell. This is the lie I wanted to sell, yet now that people are saying it, now that Brighton’s face is crumpling under their accusations, it’s all so screwed up.
“We aren’t dating,” she protests.
Felix whistles. “A god. A god I tell you, if he can get that girl without having to date her.”
Maya’s pushing through the crowd to Jeff’s side. “Oh, Carly …,” she simpers into the phone, “No, she’s really not that pretty. Honest.”
“Is she looking at the same girl as me?” Felix asks the room.
Eliza snorts. “I bet she sleeps with anyone.”
“Shut the hell up!” I bellow. The group stands with their mouths open, fingers frozen above cell phones. “You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. I never cheated on Carly.”
There are tears in the corners of Brighton’s eyes, but she’s blinking them away. Her voice is soft. “Jonah? I don’t understand.”
“There isn’t sex ed in Cross Pointe? What’s to understand?” Eliza’s scorn makes me want to muzzle her.
“You’ve got it all wrong,” Brighton protests.
When the murmurs and doubts continue, her voice goes higher. “The idea is ridiculous. I’ve barely even spoken to him before tonight. I was babysitting his little sister.”
I turn to face her, blocking her view of the crowd and its of her. She looks like a caged animal, her eyes flickering around the room. Her posture screams panic. I keep my voice quiet and try to calm her: “Don’t worry about it. I’ll explain later.”
“No. Why would they even think that? What have you been telling people? Is this why you were so desperate to get me to come to the party?” She pushes past me. “Jonah’s not dating me. Or anyone in Cross Pointe. No one in CPHS even knows who he is.”
24
Brighton
11:11 P.M.
13 HOURS, 49 MINUTES LEFT
Jonah gapes. Someone in the crowd makes a taunting ohhhh sound. And I can’t stand to be in this crush of judgmental strangers for even another second.
“Excuse me. Excuse me. Excuse me.” I have to ask every person individually before they move aside and let me pass. Someone steps on my bandaged toes, and I mash my hands into fists to keep from crying out.
“Bright. Wait!”
I’m done listening to Jonah. I say, “Excuse me,” to the last girl standing between me and the front door. I know I’m demonstrating just how very “flight” I am, but I also know it’s justified.
Jonah catches up with me about seven steps into the lawn. He puts a hand on my wrist and pulls me to a stop. “Will you just wait five seconds so I can explain?”
My eyes go from his frustrated face to the open front door where a crowd waits for more drama. They’re pushing one another to have front-row viewing and actually manage to knock a kid off the steps and into the bushes.
Jonah turns and yells “Back off!” and flips his middle finger before pulling me a few steps farther across the lawn and out of sight.
He looks at me and sighs. I refuse to let myself feel sympathy. Feel anything but anger.
“Why didn’t you tell me about the breakup?” I demand. “Why exactly did you bring me to this party? To embarrass me?”
“Yeah, because you didn’t embarrass me? Thanks for calling me a loser in front of all of my friends.”
“At least I told the truth! You don’t get to play story time with my reputation.”
“It was a misunderstanding. I’ll explain.”
“Like they’ll listen! They’ve already decided I’m a horrible person! Is everyone in Hamilton so rude? Do they always assume the worst and attack before they know the facts? How can you possibly be friends with people like that?”
“Spoken
like a true, judgmental Cross Pointe snob,” he retorts.
I flinch, taking a step backward and holding up a hand so he doesn’t come any closer. “I’m judgmental? They even attacked my name!”
“Um, guys? Sorry to interrupt.”
I hadn’t heard them approaching, but there’s a guy and a girl standing a step behind Jonah. It was the girl who’d spoken, and she doesn’t sound sorry at all. “Hi, I’m Maya. This is Jeff. I need to borrow Jonah for a minute.”
“Take him for as long as you’d like. I’m done with him.”
“Brighton, just—” He holds his hands up in a helpless shrug.
“Go. Your friends want to talk to you—I don’t. I’ll call Amelia for a ride.”
“Bright, please …”
I huff as he gets my name wrong—again.
“Good-bye, Jonah.” I turn my back to him and don’t exhale until their voices are shut behind the slamming of the front door. Then I bend over, hands braced against my knees, and try to breathe. I can’t. I can’t believe. He just—
I won’t let myself cry. He’s not worth crying over. I thought I was making progress. I thought we were almost friends. I thought he was cute.
But then again, I also thought he needed me. Needed a friend in Cross Pointe and someone to be nice to him. After seeing how he swaggered through that door and the way everyone here flocked to see him, it’s clear the last thing he needs is another friend. He’s got a houseful of people who care about him, and they don’t want me anywhere near him.
I fish my cell out of my bag. There’s a text from Silvia on the screen: OMG! You’ll NEVER guess—
I close it without reading the rest. I don’t want to guess right now. Or gush. Or smile. Or stress about whether every word I say is what someone wants to hear.
I just want to go home.
I can’t be crying when I call Amelia. She’d call the police and have them come wait with me. Or yell at Peter to break every traffic law and get here faster.
I gulp a deep breath. Hold it a beat. Take myself to the same mental place as before a complicated dive. Exhale.
Dial.
Voice mail.
“Dammit!” I stamp my foot. Gasp. The pain rocketing from my toes is excruciating. I can’t breathe or swear or cry.
Bright Before Sunrise Page 13