I pull my backpack to my chest and ready my hands on either side to heave it into the middle of the lawn. The grass needs to be mowed, but it’s also dry from the cooler weather, which makes it kind of like hay. I count on my decent aim as I shove my bag through the air. It lands on a thicker spot in the lawn and rolls a few times until coming to rest about a dozen feet from my friend’s car. I’m next, but there is no hay beneath me, only damp soil and my mother’s petunias. That isn’t much to break a fall.
Feeling all kinds of ridiculous, I push myself up so my feet are under me, balanced on the edge of the eave, toes on the curve of the gutter. I rock forward and hold on to the edge with my hands, leaning out just enough to spot my landing before gravity takes over and I tumble to the ground. I land with my knees and palms deep in my mom’s garden, muddy water squishing up from the ground and staining my jeans and covering my hands. Amped from adrenaline, I bolt to my feet and sprint to my bag, grabbing it and rushing to my friend’s car. I shut the door on the strap of my backpack but leave it there, the strap dragging along the ground and my bag locked to the area near my feet.
“Go, go!” I wave my arms emphatically. In my own mind, I just made so much noise. I nervously stare out the windshield as my friend pulls out of my driveway; my house remains still, and the side door stays closed. In about twenty minutes, my mom will discover the open window from my room and skyrocket to a new level of pissed. She’ll probably think I’m on drugs. I’m going to have to deal with everything today one way or another. I can’t live like this, and if I don’t come home for another night, my mom will think I’ve run away. That’s not even on the table. I’d miss her too much, even if the things Lucas told me are true.
Abby finishes poking fun of my lame-ass sneaking-out skills for the first few minutes of our drive, but she becomes quiet as we get closer to school. I haven’t asked her point-blank what she thinks the truth is, and I know why I haven’t. Abby cuts through bullshit. She’s rarely wrong, even if the way she gives advice comes off harsh. She was right when she said I had to break out of my shell and quit worrying what people thought of me. As crazy as all of this shit I’m going through is, at least I’m living. I’m experiencing, growing, falling and picking myself up. I’ve rebuilt myself into something stronger, into the kind of girl who is on the verge of being an adult and who might be capable of handling the cruel things this world throws at people. Before this, I was balancing on eggshells and sheltering my feelings. Abby was right, I needed to move forward.
Just like I need to now.
“Do you think—”
I stop there, bracing myself for her honest answer before finishing the question. I don’t even have to, though, because my friend is so in sync with me that she knows where my words are going.
“I think it doesn’t matter,” she says. I glance at her to assess her expression. Her face is matter-of-fact as she lifts herself high enough in her seat to check the line of red on her lips.
“How can it not?” I ask.
She shrugs and sits back down as we cross the final intersection before school.
“Well, either your mom did what she had to because she didn’t have a choice, or Mr. Fuller is a big fucking liar. And frankly, he’s already proven he’s the least to be trusted in this cast of characters. I’m pretty sure no matter how this plays out, your mom is the good guy.” Abby eases into her favorite spot right by the front of school and turns her car off before facing me with her signature you-know-I’m-right smile.
“How come you get to be smart and confident, and look like that?” I’m only half joking. For real, it isn’t fair.
She purses her lips with sarcasm and leans her head to the side.
“June, honey. Looks and brains are not mutually exclusive.”
Her lips briefly curve up on the ends to punctuate her brilliant response just before she opens her door and gets out of her car, leaving me there in wonder. Sometimes I wonder whether she and I would have become such good friends if Lucas and I never had our falling out. Maybe things do happen the way they’re supposed to.
Lucas is waiting for me in his truck, the twins hanging out on the bench near where they park. Abby and I walk over to get Lucas’s key and go over the plan for the day with him. Tory pops up from the bench to offer her his seat, and I chuckle lightly as I hop into the passenger side to talk to Lucas.
“What’s funny?” he asks.
“Tory thinks being a gentleman is going to win Abby over,” I say.
“Huh,” Lucas responds, leaning back with his wrists balanced on the steering wheel as we both stare at the odd little love triangle forming in front of us. Last night, Abby told me she was thinking about making a move on Hayden, already moving on from the new guy, Cannon. “He’s too moody,” she said.
I haven’t mentioned anything to Abby about Tory because I don’t know how serious he is about the little crush he eluded to, and I’ve got enough balls in the air. I don’t need to stir up new drama.
“So, the key?” I bring Lucas’s attention back to our mission.
“Oh, yeah. Here,” he says, pulling his key from the ignition and handing it to me. The only truck I’ve ever driven was my uncle’s, and it was a piece of shit stick-shift with zero power steering. Lucas’s truck is a four-by-four and the engine rumbles in the driveway. There may be more car geek in my genes than I ever realized.
“I see that twinkle in your eyes. Don’t get crazy,” he jokes. His hand covers mine, which now holds his key. My eyes dip to where we touch. I wonder if he’ll hold my hand when the bell rings and we walk into the building.
“Let me go over things one more time, just to make sure I have it down. At lunch, we both slip out the gate and you get in the car with the MIT lady while I go to your truck and drive it to Two-fers.”
He nods, but I can tell he’s anxious.
“You’ll do great,” I reassure him.
He quakes with a breathy laugh and turns to the side, resting his head on his seat back as his blue eyes settle on me. There’s a trust in his gaze that I’ve missed so much, but there’s a new fondness—a deep tenderness—in his expression now too. I know in my heart that he has never, not once, looked at Ava this way.
“I’m not really worried about the interview,” he says.
I twist to face him, mimicking his position. I tuck his keys in my bag by my feet and lean forward, taking his hand in both of mine. His fingers are callused from falls and summers spent taking snaps and gripping the football. These same rough hands felt so soft on my skin. His palm opens and I weave my fingers through his, and his thumb strokes the side of my hand, tracing a line from knuckle to knuckle.
“Lucas, there is no way your dad can’t be proud of his son getting into MIT,” I say.
He nods half-heartedly. He doesn’t believe that’s true, and maybe I don’t fully either. I’m starting to think his dad might not actually have a heart, but rather a cold stone in his chest that serves as a greedy magnet, driving him to take and take with little or no regard for the people he hurts along the way.
The bell sounds, forcing us to break from this quiet moment inside his cab. Still not sure how things stand about Lucas and me in public, I squeeze his hand just before letting go. I reach for my bag to bring it to my lap, but before I fully open the passenger door, Lucas leans across the short distance between us, gliding his hand along my cheek and into my messy twist of hair. He kisses me hard, with a deep sense of urgency as if my kiss will somehow be his lucky charm to survive the day. Any thought that’s the case, though, dwindles the moment our lips part and my gaze lands on a steaming Ava Pryor standing a dozen feet away.