“It’s okay, there’s nothing bad between here and there,” I assure him. “I’ll be fine.”
“And if you find out that you aren’t fine, you’ll…?”
“Call the cops.”
“Good. I’m going to keep my phone on loud and vibrate the rest of the day, so you call if you need me, okay?”
“Okay. Thank you, Mitchell.”
“Yeah, yeah. I’m a saint.” He hangs up.
I look down at my screen, and my stomach screws up when I see I’ve missed seven calls from Jimmy and five from Dad. I look up at Scarlett.
“I have to call home and let them know where I am,” I say.
She nods shortly. I hesitate, then move into the hallway by the door I came in on, where my shoes sit outside. I weigh my options: Jimmy or Dad? Is Dad working tonight? I call Jimmy.
He picks up before the first ring finishes, which makes me feel wretched.
“Audrey?” He sounds frantic. At just his voice, I begin to cry, almost noiselessly.
“Hi, Jimmy.”
“Where are you? Are you okay?”
“I’m okay. I went out for a run and got stuck in the rain. I’m at a friend’s house.”
“Which friend’s? I’ll come and pick you up.”
“No, it’s okay. We’re hanging out and watching movies. That’s why I missed your calls. I couldn’t hear them over the noise.”
He’s quiet for a moment. “I wish you hadn’t run off like that.”
“I know.” Another gush of tears. “I was just upset. I wanted to get out.”
“Well,” he says, “I can understand that. Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yes. I’ll come home once the rain’s let up. Is Dad there?”
“Yeah, he’s here. Do you want to talk to him?”
Not particularly. “I’d better.”
“Just a second.” There’s muffled sounds of the cell phone being passed.
“Hello? Audrey?” At my dad’s gruff voice, more tears, and with them, snot. I wish I’d brought the towel, but it would also be so rude to wipe my nose in someone else’s cloth. Instead, I wander to the right and spot the kitchen. I walk in the spotless room, looking for something to blow my nose with.
“Hi, Daddy.”
“I overheard you talking to Jimmy. You okay?”
“Yes. I’m staying at a friend’s house until the rain’s past.”
“You need me to come get you?”
“No, thank you, Daddy. We’re having fun.”
He makes a noise I can’t quite decipher. It sounds like pained relief. “You keep having fun, then. We’re huddled in here for the time being.”
“Will you tell Mom and Sam I’m okay and I love them?”
“Mm-hm, of course. You take care, baby bean.”
“Bye, Dad.”
I hang up and stash my phone back in my pocket. I tear off a sheet of paper towel from the roll suspended above the sink and use the thick sheet to blot my eyes and blow my nose. I comb my fingers through my hair to break up the clumps that have dried together and get halfway normal-looking again.
There are pictures dotting the refrigerator. I find the trash can and wave my hand over the motion-sensor top to discard the paper towel before giving in to my curiosity and examining the photos. There are a number that look like assorted family members: old Christmas card photos, baby announcements, school photos of elementary kids. A lot of Connor.
And Scarlett, in the dress she wore to prom, leaning against the curve of the handrail at the bottom of the stairs by the front door. It’s just her in the picture, printed out in color on paper. I wonder if they had one of her and Carolina and swapped it out with this, or if it had always been just her. There’s one of her from middle school, stockier than she is now, with a choppy, ill-advised haircut. She’s playing soccer, in midkick with her face locked in concentration, cheeks ruddy from the exertion. And her and Connor as little kids, Connor’s arm wrapped around Scarlett’s neck, both beaming at the camera.
I step back, both glad I saw the pictures, and feeling like I viewed something illicit, that I wasn’t meant to. Of course, I reason as I go back to the living room, if the pictures weren’t intended to be seen, they wouldn’t be on the refrigerator.
Scarlett’s standing by the window, staring out at the unrelenting rain, hands in her pockets. She turns around when I enter.
“Sorry,” I say. “I hadn’t realized my family would be worried.”
She gives me an astonished look. “I… have so many questions I don’t know where to start.”
“Questions? About what?”
“You… you…. Those guys, in the car.” I flinch. “Well, I guess I don’t so much have questions about that as I want to register my deep horror.”
“I didn’t mean to wind up there!”
“I know! It’s just frightening to think about, okay?”
It can’t be half as scary for her as it was for me.
“Who was that guy you called?” she demands, and her tone changes to something a little more suspicious, a little hostile.
“Mitchell. You know him.”
“I’m pretty sure I don’t,” she says blankly.
“We saw him in the gelato shop. He had just found out his wife was cheating on him?”
“The insane guy?” she yelps. “You’re being harassed in the street and you call the insane guy?”
“He’s not insane! He was just having a bad day. He just found out his wife was cheating on him. With his best friend! True, he caused a minor public disturbance, but he went back and paid for all damages and apologized to the staff and customers.”
“I can’t believe this,” she says, and walks out of the room. After a moment she comes back in. “How did you even get his number?”
“I saw him in the park a week or so later and we talked.”
Scarlett rakes a hand through her hair. “Are you dating Brenna Moretti?”
“Am— What?”
“You heard me. Are you dating Brenna Moretti?”
“I heard, I’m just getting whiplash from this conversation! What does that have to do with anything?”
“She’s a prick,” Scarlett says through gritted teeth. “She kept making fun of Serhan’s accent in the eighth grade.”
“I was perfectly capable of seeing what she is for myself,” I say. “We went on one terrible date because Amber didn’t know her and thought it would be fun to hang out as a group.”
Scarlett processes this. “You’re not dating her?”
“No.”
“Good,” she says, releasing a huge breath. Her shoulders slump. “That’s good.”
We’re standing with only half an arm’s length between our bare feet. If I wanted to, if she’d let me, I could reach out and brush my fingers over her cheek.
“Is it?” I say on a sigh.
Scarlett looks at me intently and steps closer, now no farther than the span of a hand away.
“I’m experiencing some attraction to you,” she says, low. “To be honest, I have been for months. It’s like you’re a force I couldn’t help but respond to. It’s a peculiar phenomenon when Audrey Anderson is nearby; all the world bends toward her.”
I can’t breathe. Then I pull in a breath and put my hand on her cheek and guide her mouth to mine.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
AT FIRST I’m worried that Amber’s right and kissing is something I’m going to have to put up with instead of enjoy. Our noses bump, and our lips aren’t matching quite right. I’m not sure what to do. Do I purse my lips? Do I pull back?
Then Scarlett turns her head and pushes forward a bit harder and oh. I feel dizzy. Desire surges in my stomach. Scarlett puts her hands on the small of my back and pulls me against her. I raise my other hand so I’m cradling her face as her lips press deeper against mine. She pulls back, and I catch my breath for a moment before she’s kissing me again, lips closing around my lower lip. I shiver and respond, kissing back without thinking about it
now. My hands slide back into her hair.
I don’t know how long we spend like that, pressed against each other, slowly kissing again and again and again. I can feel her heart thudding against my chest. The motion of her head as she moves to get a better angle, pull back, push in, shifts my arms with her, my hands still carding languidly through her hair.
I finally arch my head back and to the side, struggling to get enough air in my lungs. My mouth is tingling. Scarlett bends her head, presses her face against my neck, panting slightly herself. I drop my arms to encircle her shoulders, holding her close.
“Wow,” I whisper. I feel her laugh, shoulders jumping under my clasp.
“Yeah,” she breathes, turning her face and trailing her lips up my neck. She kisses me softly behind my ear. I shudder and press closer to her. I think, a little helplessly, that we’re going to fall back under that spell and keep making out, but she straightens reluctantly, sweeping her hands up my back.
“We should,” she says, then clears her throat. “We should… do something else.”
“Okay,” I say, staring at her mouth. I hadn’t thought it possible that I could find it more interesting than I already did, but now all I want to do is settle down and study it in detail. I brush my fingertips over her bottom lip. She groans and grabs my wrist.
“Seriously,” she says desperately. “Let’s—” She throws her gaze around the room. “—read?”
I start laughing hard. She quirks a questioning eyebrow.
“I don’t think I’ve ever been less in the mood to read about clinical hemodynamics, Scarlett,” I manage to say.
“Fine, fine,” she says, pretending to look put-out. “What do you suggest, then?”
My stomach makes the suggestion for me and rumbles. She releases her hold on my wrist and glances at her watch.
“Oh, man, it’s almost two. No wonder I’m starving. Lunch?”
I nod. She hesitates and then leans in to press a quick, warm kiss to my mouth.
“Okay. Lucky you, you get the Scarlett West blue plate special.”
It turns out to be grilled cheese. I sit at the breakfast bar island at her insistence while she pulls out the supplies.
“Are you sure I can’t help?” I ask, my face in my hands, my bare feet curled around the wooden bar between the legs of my stool.
She starts to decline, then frowns and goes to a large pantry with double-sided doors. She paws through it for a moment.
“Ha, I thought we still had some,” she says, emerging with a can of gourmet tomato basil soup. She sets it on the counter with a flourish. “If you’d like, you can be my sous-soup-chef.”
“I think I can handle that,” I say with a grin. She directs me to the pots, and I pull out a medium-sized blue one to pour the soup in. I can’t stop marveling how everything her family owns is state of the art or top of the line.
“So if cars aren’t your thing, what is?” I ask. “What would you go to a trade show to see?”
“A trade show?” She squints into the distance. “I love soccer, you know that already, and I wouldn’t mind going to a soccer museum or hall of fame or something. I’ve always liked horses, but not to an obsessive point. I haven’t been horseback riding in years. Oh, I know.” She turns around from the counter where she’s cutting the bread (yes, her family buys bread loafs unsliced). “Audio Frequency.”
“The music festival?”
“It’s so much more than a music festival, Audrey. It’s an immersive experience,” she says, now slicing golden strips of cheese off an elegant wedge. “Five days of nonstop, around-the-clock performances by amazing artists spanning all genres? Absolutely. Plus, I’ve never been to Oregon. It would be cool to go.”
She comes to stand next to me to put an iron skillet on the stove. I’m slowly stirring the soup, which is a rich red-orange.
“I heard The Hypnic Jerk will be playing there this year,” she says, turning the heat to medium-high. “And they’re basically my favorite band. I’ve been listening exclusively to their music for the past seven months, since I found out about them. They really capture the tortured-teenager experience.”
“Really? I haven’t heard of them, but my music experience is pretty limited.”
“I’ll send you some of their stuff,” she says, and I notice her cheeks redden slightly. I don’t care much about music, but I know if I did, showing my favorites to people would be a show of faith. It probably stems from the same reason why I trust so few people with my fears and hopes.
“I’d like that,” I say, smiling at her. She shoots me a quick grin before turning down the heat a tick and dropping the sandwiches into the pan.
We sit at the table to eat. It’s situated in front of beautiful bay windows that overlook the backyard. The view today is obstructed by rain, but I almost prefer it. It makes everything feel cozy and exclusive, like we’re on our own separate planet.
We talk about school, I talk about Amber and Steven, and we discuss our summer plans. There’s a current of unspoken tension running beneath all talk of the future. What does the summer mean for us now? How does this shape what we were already planning? Does it change anything?
Finally, after dipping my last bite of grilled cheese into my soup, I just ask, “Are we dating now?”
I can’t look at her when I ask. The memory of the last rejection is a little too close. I drop the bite onto my plate too nervous to eat it. I wipe my fingers on my napkin to keep my eyes down and preoccupy myself.
“That would be my greatest hope,” she says.
I look at her. She’s staring at me gravely.
“If you would have me,” she adds.
“That would be my greatest wish,” I reply. I can’t stand being apart from her suddenly. I get up.
She leans her head back as I bend over to kiss her. I cup one hand against her neck, which feels both fragile and powerful against my fingers. Her pulse races madly against my skin. We sink back into the give-and-take we established earlier, but she still feels too far away from me.
I move forward, but the chair gets in the way. I pull back and look down, and then, on a burst of wild courage, straddle her so we’re pressed together again. Her hands come up to grasp my waist and I wind my arms around her neck and lean back down.
We lose time like that, until the position becomes too uncomfortable. The storm has abated somewhat, but it’s still raining.
“We could watch another movie,” she suggests breathlessly.
We turn on a comedy, but don’t do a whole lot of watching.
It’s evening by the time we finally pull apart. Her parents will be home soon, and I have to go face my family.
“We could hang out tomorrow,” she says at the front door, trailing her fingers along my arm. “Go out for lunch or dinner or something.”
“On a Sunday?” I ask, smiling.
“Let’s buck society’s expectations,” she says and kisses me one last time.
I step outside into the balmy, earthy air. My socks are too stiff to be wearable, so I just pick them up to carry and shove my bare feet into my still-damp shoes. Scarlett’s given me her number (“Let me at least try to compete with some of the people in your life,” she said, which is so ridiculous that I can’t help but laugh) and I’ve sent her a text so she has mine. She offered to drive me, but I declined.
The sun is finally out, and low in the sky, painting it pink, purple, and orange. I turn back to give her one last look, framed in the doorway with her hands in her pockets, so appealing, and finally mine.
I walk home fairly slowly. My feet are sore with burgeoning blisters from my overextended run, not to mention the addition of water to the mix. Plus I want to spend as much time as possible, blissed out and reliving every sublime moment of this afternoon.
Sam hurls himself at me almost the moment I’m through the door.
“I’m sorry, Audrey,” he says, clearly distraught. “I didn’t mean it. Please don’t run away again.”
“
Oh, Sam,” I say, and grab him in a tight hug. “It’s okay. I didn’t mean to worry you.”
Jimmy and Dad are watching TV, and Mom is in the kitchen, reading. She kisses me on the cheek as I go past to put my socks in the washer.
I go to my room to grab some schoolwork to finish up so I’m free tomorrow for my date (!) with Scarlett, and Jimmy follows. He closes the door after him while I watch with surprise.
“I’m sorry for yelling at you yesterday,” he says. “It was uncalled for.”
“I shouldn’t have pushed,” I reply. “You know what you want to do with your life better than I do, so I should just butt out.”
He ducks his head. “Well. Maybe not. I started thinking about those jobs I got rejected for, and why they would have turned me down. And I realized I didn’t really want to be there in the first place, and they could probably tell. What I really want is to be around animals. So I pulled that stuff you gave me out of the trash and looked it over.”
I barely hold myself back from telling him how great he would be working in a veterinary clinic and just nod instead.
“I spoke to someone from the community college today. She said there was still time to submit an application for their summer session. I’m going to go to the school on Monday and talk to their financial aid department, and while I’m there I thought I’d go ahead and apply.”
I can’t stop my eyes from welling up, or my words from spilling out. “Oh, Jimmy, you’ll be so good! Those animals are going to be so lucky to have you looking after them.”
“Yeah, well….” He glances back at the closed door. “I haven’t told anyone else, in case I don’t get accepted, so…. Keep it quiet, okay?”
I nod and mime zipping my lips. Then I hug him as tightly as possible. Through the window we can hear the Nelsons start to scream at each other. Jimmy squeezes me back.
On a burst of happiness, I decide to give myself the night off and spend it with my family. I can work tomorrow morning. Right now, I just want to savor how good life is.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
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