She looked like she wanted to laugh, but she had the good sense to meet my eye first. My mood had lifted, but my mouth didn’t so much as twitch.
“Oh, you’re serious?” Jolene asked.
Jeremy pointed at the door. “Yeah, so take the hint and get out.”
Dad didn’t hesitate. He grabbed Jeremy by the upper arm and hauled him to the kitchen, where I could hear harsh whispers flying back and forth.
“I was just leaving anyway,” Jolene called out, and then tapped her hand against mine. She mouthed sorry at me and dragged her lower lip to the side. When she bent down to grab her camera and the shoes she’d kicked off earlier, I came down, too.
“You didn’t do anything wrong, and you don’t have to go.”
“Yeah,” she said, eyeing my dad chewing out my brother. “I think I do. Besides, I have a hot date with Ferris Bueller in my room tonight.”
I said something about hanging out the next day, and at Dad’s obvious insistence, Jeremy came back and offered the barest of apologies.
Jolene backed out the door, opening it just enough that she could squeeze through it sideways. “Don’t think twice, Jeremy. It’s understanding that makes it possible for people like me to tolerate a person like yourself. Bye, Adam.”
I ducked my head to hide a smile, then walked into my room without glancing at Dad or Jeremy.
IN BETWEEN
Adam:
Hey.
Jolene:
Hey. This is new.
Adam:
What are you doing?
Jolene:
Trying to figure out how to talk to you off hours.
Adam:
Off hours?
Jolene:
Yeah. Strictly speaking, we’re not on the clock.
Adam:
So?
Jolene:
So, what if you’re even weirder in your real life?
Adam:
That answers the question if you’re meaner.
Jolene:
You don’t really think I’m mean.
Adam:
You don’t really think I’m weird.
Jolene:
If I kind of do does that mean you kind of do?
Adam:
Yes.
Jolene:
I’m stymied here.
Adam:
So...
Jolene:
Why are you texting me?
Adam:
Felt like talking to you.
Jolene:
Adam, are you trying say you miss me?
Adam:
I wouldn’t go that far.
Jolene:
I bet you’re blushing. Send me a picture.
Adam:
See? It’s not that different.
Jolene:
Where’s my picture?
Adam:
Camera’s busted.
Jolene:
Liar.
Adam:
Are you at home?
Jolene:
Yeah, you?
Adam:
Look out your window.
Jolene:
You don’t know where I live.
Adam:
Took you too long to text back. You totally looked.
Jolene:
Only because you have very clear stalker tendencies.
Adam:
Says the girl who broke into my bedroom.
Jolene:
Says the guy who keeps taking pictures of me for his mom.
Adam:
You caught me.
Jolene:
I bet you have a big heart-shaped collage of me taped to your ceiling.
Adam:
It’s inside the door to my closet.
Jolene:
It’d be cool if you lived nearby.
Adam:
Yeah.
Jolene:
Or you weren’t so pathetically still fifteen.
Adam:
Remind me how old you are again?
Jolene:
Fifteen is only pathetic when you’re a guy.
Adam:
That’s unfair.
Jolene:
But true.
Adam:
It’s weird that part of me wishes it was next weekend already.
Jolene:
You miss me being mean to your face?
Adam:
Yeah.
Jolene:
That is weird.
Adam:
Maybe you’re not that mean.
Jolene:
Maybe you’re not that weird.
Jolene
I ducked to avoid getting hit in the face by a soccer ball as I left my house on the Saturday morning of my second non-Dad weekend of the month. It still clipped me in the shoulder, which was apparently good enough for Cherry and Gabe to high-five each other from where they were standing in front of their minivan. The glint of brilliantly white teeth, the kind that only the kids of two dentists could have, contrasted against the deep brown of their skin as they grinned.
“Awesome,” I said without smiling. “That never gets old.”
“Then be on time,” they said together, then scowled, because they hated when they inadvertently spoke in unison.
Cherry caught the ball, which I’d thrown back at her, and tossed it to her twin before focusing her attention back on me. “Are you ready to fight?” She held a hand to her ear. “Are you ready to win? Are you ready to make those Elkins Park girls wish they’d never been born?”
“Yes!” I jumped off the last step on the porch, and Cherry met me for an impromptu chest bump. We double high-fived before pulling back. She linked her arm around my neck in a half headlock and shoved me toward the front seat.
I was smiling. I was in a half headlock, and I was smiling. It was a side effect of being around Cherry, one I’d taken full advantage of since my parents’ divorce. Cherry and I had been friends before then, but we’d been more like the kind of friends who said hey to each other when we bumped into each other outside school. Now we were the kind of friends who asked each other for deodorant checks, which Cherry did then, given my proximity to her armpit.