His phone blares out the Kanye song he was listening to the night I walked in on him with Ava. He leans to the side to pull his phone from his pocket, checks the screen, and quickly dismisses the call. The alert sounds again the second he tucks his phone away, so this time he powers it off and tosses it on the filthy dashboard. He leans forward and rubs both palms over his face, then into his hair.
Through it all, I don’t talk. I’ll wait as long as he needs to find his words, and if he never finds them, I’ll be his companion for this soothing bit of silence.
His hands clasp in front of him as he leans forward and rests his weight on the dash. His body inflates with a deep breath, spilling out through his nose.
“I want to go to MIT.” He nods, acknowledging his wishes out loud.
“That’s amazing.” I hope that’s the answer he wants to hear. His head falls forward, resting on his hands, and he rolls it side to side as he kicks at the ripped-up flooring beneath his feet.
“It is, isn’t it?” He rolls his head to the side until our eyes meet. A smile flashes on his lips, a defeated remnant of pride.
His palms flatten and he shifts his weight so his cheek rests on his folded hands and arms, his eyes blinking slowly as he stares at me. I feel this overwhelming pressure to give him some sort of solution.
“I got an offer from Tennessee,” he continues.
I nod, remembering the conversation I overheard him have with Mr. Newsome.
“That’s awesome, too.” This time, my response makes him laugh. He leans back and balls his fists to his eyes, a semi-maniacal laugh slipping into a more desperate one.
“You’re right. It is.” His hands fall into his lap, and I’m caught on the dirt and tape that still mar his fingers.
“What do you want?” My gaze moves back up to his, and everything behind it is so lost. He shakes his head while he turns to the side, twisting so his body faces me.
“Does that matter?” he says, a quick lift of his shoulders.
“It should,” I answer. Another laugh punches through his chest.
I look down to the shifter between us, the marble ball on top of the stick the one thing my dad put new in this car before he took off. I wonder if it’s even worth anything. I grab it in my palm and twist until it gives, unscrewing it until it’s finally just a stone ball with a screw-hole in it. I toss it in my hand a few times, testing the weight, then I hold it out for Lucas to take.
He squints a little, leaning closer before taking it from me. Our fingers touch slightly, and it’s everything to me. Somehow, I steady myself enough to take in the way his lashes shadow his eyes, blinking as he studies my stupid gift.
“Thanks. I always wanted this thing,” he says.
“I know,” I say, chuckling.
My dad used to yell at him for taking this ornament off the car and throwing it around the yard. Lucas even tossed it in his pool once and made me dive in to get it back.
“It’s yours now,” I say, though my worst self is waiting in the wings to bite me. “Or you could give it to Ava.”
He doesn’t glance up at my comment, and I’m glad. I wish I could take it back. I hate that I said it. I know it was her who called. She’s probably burning up his phone while it’s powered down, leaving angry messages and threats for me. I’m probably giving her dislike for me too much credit; I doubt I take up that much of her headspace.
“Why’d you leave physics?” He still hasn’t looked up, instead keeping his focus on the shiny ball in his palm. Oh, how I wish I could look away from him.
“Seemed it was for the best.” I give him the truth, and I don’t really have to dive into the details. He knows how we’ve been behaving. We haven’t been very good to each other, not for a very long time.
“Yeah,” he breathes out.
He tosses the ball in his palm a few times, then lines it up with the screw sticking out of the top of the shifter. He turns it, tightening it back into place.
“I don’t really want it,” he says, finally glancing in my direction. An amused curve plays at one side of his lips. “I just liked that it pissed your dad off.”
We both laugh.
“It did,” I recall.
His gaze lingers, but rather than turning mine away, I spend it on his every facial feature—the permanent crease that’s etched into the corners of his mouth from his smile, the tiny scar that splits his right eyebrow from where he hit his head on the monkey bars and needed stitches, and the way his right ear sticks out a little more than his left.
“Ava’s not my girlfriend, just so you know.”
His words slam into my chest, but I mask my reaction, drawing in a long breath through my nose to keep my heart at bay.
“She seems like your girlfriend,” I say, not even sure why. Maybe I just need to be sure of some things.
“She’s not,” he answers quick. “She’s just . . .” His chest fills with a heavy breath and guilt taints his eyes, pulling the corners down along with the edges of his mouth. “She’s just this mistake I make sometimes.”
I shake my head, and his face puzzles.
“She’s not a mistake,” I say.
“Okay,” he says. He doesn’t understand, and I don’t entirely either, but there’s something behind that word that needs fixing.
“I might not like her very much, but no girl deserves to be labeled a mistake. She’s a lot of things, but mistake isn’t one of them. Your moments with her had purpose, even if they were brief and not love. Your actions can be a mistake, but not the person.” My eyes tear at my own words. I don’t know that I’ve ever been this vulnerable, not even with Lucas. I run my arm over my face and sniffle.
“Okay,” he says, a gentle laugh seeping through.
“Okay,” I repeat.
Every light in his back yard flicks on at once, and we both turn our heads, startled by it. His dad’s figure moves from one end of the patio to the other.
“He’s probably looking for me,” he says.
“Let him,” I say, my bravado amusing him.
“I wish I could, but—”
“But he’s the reason you can’t go to MIT?” I kinda knew in my gut, and when his gaze shifts to mine, he confirms it.
“He went to Tennessee, and me and football—”
“You’re living his dream,” I fill in. He nods, every bit of joy slipping from his eyes and the lift in his cheeks. His dad is an anchor that is drowning him. I should tell him the truth, set him free. If only there were a way it wouldn’t destroy his family like it did mine.
“He’ll come around,” I say, my words the push he needs to exit the car and abandon our conversation.
“Doubtful,” he says, both palms on the roof of the car as he dips his head into my view. I can feel the part of him that wants to stay here screaming from behind his eyes. Those damn expectations, though—the pull is strong.
“Thanks, June.” He raps on the top of the car once then backs away, closing the door. I wait until he disappears through the thick brush and weeds, then I roll the window up and leave the driver’s side. I can hear his father’s voice through the night air. He isn’t shouting, but he’s also not being a father. He’s lecturing, reprograming, willing Lucas to love all the things he wants him to. People don’t work like that, though.