She turned and looked back at him. “Yeah?”
He crossed the yard to close the distance between them, coming to stand in front of her. For a moment he didn’t speak, and she wondered what he was up to. His face was impassive as he looked into her eyes. For a panicky moment she feared he was going to kiss her. She thought of her sleep breath. This was not what she wanted for her first kiss. She took a step back to make sure he got the message. Not now, bucko.
“I need your help,” he said. Her face must’ve registered her shock, because he quickly added, “I mean, you don’t have to or anything. I just . . . thought . . .” Then whatever courage he’d mustered up evaporated.
“No, it’s fine. What is it?” She couldn’t stand to see him looking deflated any more than she could stand to see Devin Ames knock him to the ground. She wondered why he hadn’t fought back harder, then remembered what he’d said about staying out of trouble. He’d been willing to let Devin beat the crap out of him if it meant no more cops at his house, no more drama associated with him. That, she realized, is why he’d thanked her. By coming over at all, she’d come to his rescue.
“I, um, wanted to, um . . .”
She guessed at what he was getting at. The nerves, the words that were hard to get out. Was he going to ask her out? It seemed impossible, yet what else could it be? It was just like on TV when a guy is nervous to ask a girl out. She asked a demure “Yes?” She couldn’t believe this was happening, here, now, with Micah Berg, in his front yard, while she was wearing her pajamas, or at least what passed for them. This, she told herself, would be a moment she would always remember. How special that it was so out of the ordinary. It would be so much more memorable. She smiled at him to encourage him to keep talking, to ask his important question.
“I w-wanted to ask about your m-mom.” He finally stammered out the words, but they were so different from what she’d thought she’d hear that she just blinked a few times, trying to figure out how to process what he’d said. What was he asking? At once she felt both offended and very, very foolish. Of course Micah Berg wasn’t asking her out. Of course he was just like every other guy, turning the news about her mom into something perverted. Because she didn’t know what else to do, she just turned and started walking away fast.
She heard his footsteps behind her and picked up her pace until she was nearly running. She heard his speed pick up, too, his feet hitting the grass, and then the pavement, as he crossed the street, catching up to her with ease as they both reached her front yard at the same time. The grass tickled her bare feet, the dew leaving drops of wetness like rain on her skin as she slowed her pace, admitting defeat. Though the air had taken on the chill of fall, her cheeks were flushed hot with anger. She hoped her grandmother really would, by some miracle, call the cops this time. Micah Berg deserved whatever he got. She hated him for this. Hated herself for running outside in the middle of the night to help him, to save him.
He grabbed her arm, but she twisted away. “Violet, please,” he said, and the desperation in his voice was unmistakable. She couldn’t help it; she turned back to look at him. He was huffing, and his face was red and swollen where Devin had hit him. He would be bruised in the morning.
“What?” she asked, the indignation in her voice as unmistakable as the desperation in his. She set her jaw, willed herself not to cry. She’d been so stupid, thinking he could be interested in her. He was just a stupid jock, riddled with teenage-boy hormones, thinking he could cash in on his proximity to the so-called prostitute’s daughter. “What do you want with my mother?” she asked through gritted teeth.
He glanced at the front of her house, as if he was worried about her grandmother coming outside. “Can we go back to my house? Please? It’s really important.” He hitched his jaw in the direction of his house. “We can go inside and talk there, where it’s private.”
She crossed her arms and glared at him. “You can ask me whatever it is right here. I don’t exactly want your parents to wake up and find me in your house in the middle of the night,” she said.
He shook his head. “They’re out of town,” he said. “Gone to help my sister move into a new apartment. Hers flooded or something.”
“They left you here alone?” she asked, astounded. After everything that had happened, it was hard to believe they’d do that again.
He rolled his eyes at this. “It’s not like I’m gonna do anything again,” he grumbled.
She widened her eyes at him. “You were just brawling with a guy in the middle of the night, on a school night, in your front yard. That’s doing something, Micah.”
He put his hands up and gave her a wounded look. “Hey, I didn’t start that. He texted me, asked to speak to me. Stupid me, I thought maybe he’d had a change of heart, was gonna say he believed me or something. I didn’t know he was gonna start a fight.”
“Whatever,” she said. “I’m not going inside your empty house with you at this time of night.”
He squared his shoulders and glared at her. “What is it you think I’m gonna do? Kill you?” His shoulders dropped and he sighed deeply. “Man, I thought maybe you were different from everyone else. Just forget it,” he said, and began to walk away. He took a few steps.
“Wait,” she said.
He froze and turned back to look at her. She saw the hope there, and she couldn’t bear to dash it. It was a funny thing, she thought, to hold someone else’s hope when lately so many other people had been holding hers in their hard, calloused hands.
“No monkey business,” she said, then instantly regretted her choice of words. She intended to sound tough but came out sounding like a grandma.
He just laughed in response. “You’re a funny girl, Violet,” he said.
He started to walk and motioned for her to follow him. So she did, catching up to him so that they walked side by side. They crossed the street, then his yard, and, this time, went inside the house. Chipper, asleep on the couch, thumped his tail as they walked in but didn’t bother to rise.
“Some guard dog you are,” Micah said to him. “I’m out there getting my ass kicked, and you don’t even bother to bark.” He gestured to the kitchen table for her to sit and opened the fridge. He looked over at her, the light from the fridge illuminating scratches on his face. He was going to look bad tomorrow. “Water?” he asked, holding up a bottle.
She accepted the bottle and twisted the top off, taking a long, grateful gulp and thinking as she did how funny life was; she was inside Micah Berg’s house at 1:12 a.m., drinking water with him at his kitchen table, the two of them completely alone. If she still had a best friend, this would be quite a story to tell her. Nicole probably wouldn’t believe it. Violet herself hardly did. She had a fleeting, panicky thought: It was the middle of the night; maybe she was dreaming. She waited till Micah looked away, reached down, and pinched herself on the arm. It hurt. Nope. This was real.
She took another sip of the water and held up the bottle. “The water was a good idea,” she said. The water was a good idea? Just add that to the monkey business comment, why don’t you? She wished she could reach into the air and retrieve her stupid words. He’d already said she was funny, and she was pretty sure he didn’t mean funny ha ha, but funny odd. Way to reinforce it, she thought. “What was it you wanted to ask me?” Maybe he’d forget she’d said it if she turned his thoughts back to why he’d invited her in.