Jasper
The rest of our classes go by quickly. I feel like my last day is going by too fast. Like Kit awarded me an extra twenty-four hours, but they’re depleting in rapid speed. By the time the last bell rings, I’m eager to get him in my car, all to myself.
Everyone is drawn to him.
He’s strange and loud and talkative and nosy, but they all like it.
They like him.
A small part of me is jealous. Like he was mine first. Now that school’s over, I can get him in my car and bask in his light, not having to share any part of him.
On the way out the door, Kit notices the football team practicing on the field.
“Wait for me,” he instructs before walking over to the edge of the field. He waves someone over, and I soon realize it’s Eric Davidson.
Several football players playfully smack Eric’s helmet, urging him to go see what it is Kit has to say. A pang shoots through me realizing Julian would have been right there with them. Eric is awkward as he walks up to Kit, towering over the smaller guy. Thankfully, no waves of hostility can be felt this time. Kit gestures for Eric to dip his head. He whispers something to Eric that has Eric’s eyes widening. Then, Kit pats his shoulder and then waves. To my surprise, Eric waves back.
“Ready, quark?” Kit asks when he approaches. “Mom won’t let me stall forever. Not on my first day. She’ll be expecting a full report.”
I nod, somewhat in a daze as I follow Kit. When he realizes I’m shuffling along, he grabs my hand and squeezes it. We make our way to my Tahoe. It used to be Mom’s, but with the twins coming, she wanted something newer. I remember this Tahoe from when I was little. She hauled us to all my music lessons and Julian to all his football practices in it. It makes me wonder what sort of things the twins will like.
I’ll miss out.
Regret hits me hard in the gut. I don’t want to miss out on those things.
“Cool car,” Kit says, whistling.
“It’s old.”
“Vintage,” he teases.
We climb in the vehicle and he starts babbling about a car show his dad took him to this summer. I’m more focused on the way his plump, strawberry lips move than the actual words coming out. They’re so captivating. Not bothering to turn on the car, I reach over and touch his hair. So soft. He rewards me with a smile that steals my breath.
“What did you say to Eric?” I ask, unable to look away from his mouth.
“I’ll tell you tomorrow.”
My eyes fly to his. Tomorrow I have plans. “In first hour?”
“At lunch.”
I scowl, dropping my hand to turn the engine over. The car rattles to life, “Right Where It Belongs” by Nine Inch Nails blasting through the speakers. Rather than turning it down, I put the vehicle in drive, waiting for him to guide me.
He points each time I need to turn, and soon we’re pulling into the driveway of an older home off Main Street that’s been recently restored. It’s a really nice house, much nicer than our cookie-cutter one in the suburbs. A woman with bushy brown hair is watering a rosebush.
“Mom should have been a lawyer instead of a doctor,” Kit says, laughing. “She just gets inside your head. You’ll see.”
I frown at him. “Oh.” I certainly don’t want her in my head.
“She’ll ask you to stay for dinner. Come on. We have homework to do.”
I guess if I have to stay for lunch tomorrow to find out what he spoke to Eric about, then I’ll need to have my physics homework done. Who better to help me through it than Mr. Future Astronaut himself?
After shutting off the vehicle, I climb out. Kit bounces over to his mother, nearly knocking her over with a hug. She’s all smiles until she discovers me standing awkwardly by my Tahoe.
“Hello,” she calls out.
“Hey.” My greeting comes out in a grunt. “I’m Jasper.”
“Leesa,” she says, her brows furling.
I see what Kit means. Her green eyes are hard and probing as she approaches, as though she has the power to see inside me. It’s dark in there. She doesn’t belong.
Cold water hits my chest, making me gasp in shock. Her eyes are dancing with mischief as she lets go of the hose, dropping it to the grass. Kit is howling with laughter as I gape at her in disbelief.
“I thought you fell asleep,” Leesa says, an eyebrow arching. “Are you awake now?”
My shirt is drenched and I’m still reeling over the fact this woman sprayed me with a hose.
“I, uh, I…” I frown. “I’m all wet.”
“That won’t do,” she says. “Kit’ll find you a shirt to wear that’ll be appropriate for dinner.”
“I can’t. My mom made meatloaf,” I reply back. “It’s my favorite.”
And the last dinner my mother will cook me.
Her head tilts to the side as she studies me. “All right then. There are snacks in the kitchen. Kit needs to eat because—”
“He knows, Mom,” Kit groans. “He was there when I went low.”
“He showed me his middle finger,” I add.
She rolls her eyes and playfully swats at him. “That finger gets him in a lot of trouble.”
“Dad thinks it’s cool,” Kit argues.
Her eyes are once again locked on me. “How old are you?”
I flinch at her words, my gaze falling to my black Doc Martens. The reminder of my birthday at the end of the month hits me hard in the chest. “Uh, seventeen.”
“Hmph.” She doesn’t sound pleased by this.
He groans in exasperation. “Mom. Stop.”
“Behave, Kit,” she murmurs. “You’re the adult here.”
“Really?” he asks in a sardonic tone. “Sometimes I think you forget that.”
They both laugh, the tense mood gone. I chance a look up at her. Her intense, probing stare is gone. Soft green eyes explore me in a concerned, motherly way.
“We’re going to get those snacks now,” Kit says. “We have a lot of homework, so leave us alone.”
“Do you hear how mean he is to me?” she teases. “I’m a frail old woman with a tender heart my oldest son likes abusing.”
“Dramatic,” Kit mouths to me, a grin on his lips.
“I’m off today and tomorrow. I’d love to meet your parents. Supper tomorrow night then, Jasper?” She beams at me, her smile every bit as radiant as her son’s.
“I, uh, don’t know. Mom’s pregnant and—”
“Oh, I’d love to meet her. Please, Jasper. I’m a great cook. Why don’t you write your mother’s name and number on the pad in the kitchen when you have a snack with Kit? I’ll call her to coordinate.”
“Uh, sure.”
Kit grabs my hand, linking our fingers together. I expect his mother to say something, but she picks her hose up to continue watering the garden. He walks us up the steps of the huge wraparound porch and stops to pet a fat, orange cat.
“Homeslice needs to go to fat kitty camp,” he tells me over his shoulder. “But Mom says he’s just fluffy.”
He stands up and then pushes through the front door. We’re met with chaos. Two kids are riding on their stomachs on skateboards while one attempts to play the piano. A young boy is eating apple slices while trying to do a puzzle at the coffee table. A man who resembles Kit but with a beard and glasses is staring at his laptop while sitting in a recliner.