Lying Out Loud - DropPDF1.droppdf.com/files/U2IsW/lying-out-loud-kody-keplinger.pdf · working...
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Contents
TitlePageDedication123456
7891011121314151617
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29303132AcknowledgmentsAbouttheAuthorCopyright
I,SonnyElizabethArdmore,doherebyconfessthatIamanexcellentliar.ItwasneversomethingI
aspiredtobe,butratheratalentthatIcouldn’tavoid.Itstartedwithliesaboutmyhomework—Icouldactually
convinceteachersthatmydogateit,withfaketearsandeverythingifneeded—andthenItoldliesaboutmyfamily—myfatherwasaninternationalbusinessman,notadeadbeatthiefwho’dbeentossedinjailwhenIwasseven—and,eventually,Iwaslyingabouteverythingelse,too.
ButasexcellentaliarasImaybe,lyinghasn’tledmetomuchexcellencelately.SolettherecordshowthatthistimeIamtellingthetruth.Allofit.Thewholeshebang.Evenifitkillsme.
***
Itellthemostliesonbaddays,andtheFridaymycellphone—oneofthoseold,
clunky,pay-as-you-gobricksthatonlyplayedpolyphonicringtones—decidedtostopworkingaftersixlongyearsofuse,wasaparticularlybadday.Ithadflatlinedsometimein
thenight,apeaceful,quietsortofdeath,andleftmewithoutmyusualfivea.m.alarm.Instead,Iawokewhen
Amy’sphone(thenewest,mostexpensivemodelofsmartphone,naturally)beganblaringanall-too-realisticfiretruck–stylesiren.Iboltedupright,myheart
jackhammering,whilenexttome,onhersideofthebed,mybestfriendsnoozedon.“Amy.”Ishovedherarm.
“Amy,shutthatthingoff.”
Shegroanedandrolledover.Thesirenkeptwailingasshefumbledwiththephone.Finally,itwentsilent.“WhyinGod’snamewould
youwanttowakeuptothatsound?”Iaskedherasshestretchedherlong,thinarmsoverherhead.“It’stheonlyalarmloud
enoughtowakemeup.”
“Anditbarelyaccomplishesthat.”Itwasn’tuntilthenthatI
realizedwhatAmy’shorriblewake-upcallmeant.Iwassupposedtobeupbeforeher.Iwassupposedtogetreadyandsneakoutofherhousebeforeherparentswokeupatsix.Butmyphonewasn’tworkinganditwassix-fifteen
andI,toputitbluntly,wasfuckingscrewed.“Whydon’tyoujusttellmy
parentsyoufellasleepherelastnight?”AmyaskedasIscrambledaroundtheroom,draggingouttheduffelbagofwrinkledclothesIkepthiddenunderherbed.“Theywon’tcare.”“Becausethenthey’llwant
togoreassuringmymomaboutwhereIwas,”Isaid,pullingagreenT-shirtonovermyincrediblyimpressivebedhead.“Andthat’llopenupawholenewsetofquestions,andjustno.”“Istilldon’tseewhyyou
can’tjusttellthemshekickedyouout.”Amystoodupandstartedcombingherdark
curls,which,despiteallthelawsofphysics,stilllookedperfectafteranight’ssleep.Amywasoneofthoserarepeoplewholookedgorgeousfirstthinginthemorning.Itbroughtawholenewmeaningto“beautyrest.”IwouldhavehatedherforitifIdidn’tlovehersomuch.“It’sjusttoocomplicated,
okay?”Itookthecombfromher
andbegantoworkouttheknotsinmyhair.ThatwastheonlythingAmyandIhadincommon—webothhadinsanelycurlyhair.Likecorkscrewcurls.Thekindthateveryonethinkstheywantbut,inreality,youcan’tdoadamnthingwith.But
whereAmy’swerelong,darkbrown,andperfect,minewereshoulderlength,blond,andslowlydestroyingmysanity.Ittookforevertopickoutthetangleseachmorning,andtoday,Ididn’thaveforever.“Well,Ihopeyouandyour
momgetitworkedoutsoon,”shesaid,“becauseIlove
havingyoustayhere,butthisisgettingalittletoocomplicated.”“You’retellingme.”She
wasn’ttheonewhowasabouttomakeatwo-storydropoutofawindow.Inthehall,IcouldhearMr.
Rushmovingaround,gettingreadyforwork.Now,withmyteethunbrushedand
withoutaspeckofdeodoranttocoverupmygloriousnaturalodor,wasthetimetomakemyescape.IranovertoAmy’swindow
andshoveditopen.“IfIdiedoingthis,pleasedeliverasomewhathumorousbutoverallheartbreakingeulogyatmyfuneral,okay?”“Sonny!”Amygrabbedmy
armanddraggedmeawayfromthewindow.“Noway.You’renotdoingthat.”“Whynot?”“Forstarters,it’snotsafe,”
shesaid.Whensherealizedthatwasn’tenoughtodeterme,sheadded,“Andalsoyou’dbedroppingrightpastthekitchenwindow.IfMom’sdownthereeating
breakfastandseesagirlfallingfromthesky…”“Goodpoint.Damnit.What
doIdo?”“Justwaituntileveryone
leaves,”shesaid.“Youcansneakoutandlockthedoorwiththesparekey.It’sunderthe—”“Flowerpotnexttothedoor.
Yeah.Iknow.”
Andwhilethiswasamorepracticalplan,tobesure,itwasn’tthemostsuitedforpunctuality.Amy’sparentsdidn’tleaveuntilseven-thirty,onlyfifteenminutesbeforeIhadtobeatschool.Theminutethefrontdoorslammed,Iscrambleddownthehallandintothebathroomtofinishmynecessary
hygieneritualsbeforeboltingdownstairsandoutthedoormyself.Ilockedup,thencutacross
theirbackyardanddownMiltonStreettotheGrayson’sGroceriesparkinglot,whereIhadleftmycarthenightbefore.“Hello,Gert,”Isaid,
tappingthehoodoftheold
silverstationwagon.Shewasoneuglybeastofacar.Butshewasmine.Iclimbedintothefrontseat.“Hopeyousleptwell,butI’minahurry,sopleasedon’tbeinashittymoodtoday.”Iturnedthekeyinthe
ignition.Itrevved,buttheenginewouldn’tturnover.Igroaned.
“Nottoday,Gert.Havesomemercy.”Itriedagainand,asifshe’d
heardme,Gert’smotorfinallystartedtohum.And,justlikethat,wewereoff.Thebellhadalreadyrung
bythetimeIpulledintotheseniorparkinglot,whichmeantthemaindoorhadlockedandMrs.Garrison,the
perpetuallygrumpyfrontdesklady,hadtobuzzmein.“Sonya,”shesaid,greeting
mewhenIgottothemainoffice.Icringed.Ihated—hated
—myfullfirstname.“You’relate,”she
announced,asifIsomehowwasn’taware.“Iknow.I’msorry,Ijust
…”Showtime.Mylipstartedtoquiverand,
oncue,myeyesbegantowellupwithtears.Ilookeddownatmyshoesandtookadramatic,raspybreath.“Myhamster,Lancelot,died
thismorning.Iwokeupandhewasjust…inhiswheel…lyingsostill….”Icovered
myfacewithmyhandsandbegantosob.“I’msorry.Youprobablythinkit’sstupid,butIlovedhimsomuch.”“Oh,sweetheart.”“Iknowit’snotanexcuse,
but…Ijust…I’msorry,Lancelot.”IwasworriedImightbe
playingituptoomuch,butthensheshovedatissueinto
myhandandpattedmyarmsympathetically.“Letitout,”shesaid.“I
knowitcanbehard.WhenIlostWhiskerslastyear…Listen,I’llwriteyouanoteforfirstblock.I’llsayyouhadafamilyemergency.Don’tworryaboutit.I’llmakesurethisisexcused.”“Thankyou,”Isniffed.
ThetearshaddriedupbythetimeIreachedmyAPEuropeanhistoryclass.Mr.BuckleywasinthemiddleofhislecturewhenIslippedintotheroom.Unfortunately,henevermissedanything,sotherewasnochanceofmesneakingbacktomychairwithouthimnoticing.“Ms.Ardmore,”hesaid.
“Youfinallydecidedtojoinus.”“Sorrytointerrupt,”Isaid.
“Ihaveanote.”Ihandedhimtheslipof
paperI’dbeengivenatthefrontdesk.Hereaditquicklyandnodded.“Fine.Takeyourseat.Isuggestyouborrownotesonthefirstpartofthelecturefromoneofyour
classmates.”“That’sit?”RyderCross
askedasIslidintotheseatbehindhis.“Shecomesinhalfanhourlateandtherearenoconsequences?”“Shehasanotefromthe
office,Mr.Cross,”Mr.Buckleysaid.“Whatconsequenceswouldyousuggest?”
“Idon’tknow,”Ryderadmitted.“Butshedisruptedtheclassbycominginlate,andit’snotasifthisisthefirsttime.BackatmyschoolinDC,theteachersweremuchmorestrict.Excuseswererarelyaccepted.Andthestudentscaredmuchmoreabouttheireducation,too.Here,itseemslikejustabout
anythingcangetexcused.”Irolledmyeyessohardit
hurt.“Thengoback,”Isuggested.“Don’tworryaboutussimplefolkhereinHamilton.We’llmakedowithoutyou.Iassureyou,youwon’tevenbemissed.”Therewasanappreciative
murmurfromtherestoftheclass.EvenMr.Buckleygave
thetiniestofnods.Ryderturnedinhisseatso
thathecouldlookmeintheeye.Thesadthingwas,ifhehadn’tbeensuchatool,heprobablywouldhavebeenpopulararoundhere.Hehadsmoothbrownskinandshockinglybrightgreeneyes.Hisblackhairwaskeptshortandneat,buthewasalways
dressedasifhewasonhiswaytoaconcertforabandnoonehadeverheardof.Slightlydisheveled,butinaverydeliberateway.Hisclothes,though,alwayslookedlikethey’dbeentailoredtofithislean,muscularframe.OnoccasionI’devenseenhimwearthick-rimmedglassesthatIknewhe
didn’tneed.Inotherwords,hewashot,
butinanannoying,hipsterysortofway.Sincehe’darrivedat
HamiltonHighatthebeginningofthesemester,he’ddonenothingbutdiseverythingabouttheschoolanditsstudentbody.ThelunchesathisschoolinDC
weresomuchbetter,thekidsathisschoolinDCwalkedfasterinthehallways,theteachersathisschoolinDCweremorequalified,thefootballteamathisschoolinDCwonmoregames,etcetera,etcetera.Now,Iwasn’texactly
burstingwithschoolspirit,butevenIcouldn’tstandhis
attitude.WhichbecameevenmorerepulsivewhenhestartedpostingsnarkyFacebookstatusesabouthowlameoursmalltownwas.You’dthinkourlackoffive-starfinediningwasputtinghiminphysicalagony.Thelongandshortofitwas,
Rydercamefrommoney.Politicalmoney.Hisfather
wasacongressmanfromMaryland—afactheneverfailedtoshareatanyopportunity—andinhisnot-so-humbleopinion,Hamiltonandeveryonewholivedheresucked.Everyone,thatis,except
Amy.BecauseRyderhaddevelopedadisgustinglyobviousandtotally
unrequitedcrush.Icouldn’tfaulthimforthat,though.Amywasgorgeousandrich,justlikehim.Amy,however,wasthekindofgirlwhogavepersonalizedChristmascardstoallofthelunchladies,andhewasadick.Hewasstillstaringatme,
andIsuddenlybecamealltooawareofthejeansI’dbeen
wearingforalmostaweekwithoutwashingthemandthetornhemonthesleeveofmyT-shirt.Istraightenedupandstaredhimdown,daringhimtocomparemetothegirlsathisschoolinDC,butbeforehecouldsayanything,Mr.Buckleyclearedhisthroat.“Okay,class.Enough’s
enough.Historyislong,but
weonlyhaveayeartogetthroughthismaterial.Now,let’sgetbacktotheGreatSchism,which,Iknow,soundsvaguelyliketoilethumor,butwe’regoingtopresson,regardless.”Ryderturnedbackaroundin
hisseat,andIwentaboutmybusinesstakingnotesonthatunfortunatelynamedmoment
inhistory.Thingswerelookingup
untilthirdblock,whenIrealizedI’dleftmychemistrybookatAmy’s.IhadtoconvinceMrs.Taylor,whowasatotalhard-assandknowntogivedetentionforlesserthings,thatI’dbeentutoringatthelocalchildren’shospitalinOakHillandhad
accidentallyleftitwithoneofthekids.“I’llgetitbackfromher
tomorrow,”Isaid.“I’mgoingtoseeherbeforeshestartshernextroundofchemo.Ipromisetogetitbackthen.”Andsheboughtit.Hook,
line,andsinker.Iwasawareofmystatusas
aterribleperson.ButIliked
tothinkofmylyingabilitiesasgifts.AndwhyelsewouldIhavethemifnottobeused?Especiallyondayslikethis,whereeverythingjustseemedtobegoingwrong.Ididn’thaveenoughmoney
inmywalletforlunch,soratherthanadmittingthatthingswereshittyathomeandIwasbroke,Itoldthe
much-too-soft-heartedcashierthatI’dgivenmylastdollartothehomelessmanwhooccupiedthecornerafewblocksfromschool.Shecovereditforme.Thenthestraponmycrappy
two-dollarflip-flopbroke,avolleyballslammedrightintomyfaceingymclass,and,totopitoff,Istartedmyperiod.
Amywouldcallitkarma.She’dsaythiswastheuniverse’spunishmentforallthelies.But,thetruthwas,thelyinghelped.Wheneverythingfeltoutofcontrol,itputmebackincontrol.Iwassurethedaycouldn’t
getworse,whichwas,perhaps,myfatalflaw.Whenyouletyourselfthinkthat
thingscan’tgetworse,theyinevitablywill.“SoI’llseeyoutonight?”
Amyaskedasweheadedoutintotheseniorparkinglot.“Yep.Ican’ttextyou,
though,soyou’llhavetowatchforme.I’llbeoutsidearoundtheusualtime.”“Okay.”Shegavemea
quickhug.“Havefunat
work.”Iwavedasshehurriedoffto
herLexus.ItriedtotellmyselfIwasn’thorriblyjealousofherandherrichparentsandherfancycar.IhadGert,afterall.Whowouldn’twantGert?Imighthavebeengoodat
lying,butevenIdidn’tbuythatoneforaminute.
Iclimbedintothecarandtossedmybackpackintothepassenger’sseat.“Allright,Gert,”Isaid,stickingthekeyintheignition.“Timeforwork.”ButwhileIwasareliable
employee(mostofthetime),Gerthaddecidedshewasn’tinthemoodtoday.Theenginerevvedandrevved,but
nothinghappened.Thebatterywasdead,andIhadtobeatthemovietheaterformyshiftintwentyminutes.Igrabbedmycell,planning
tocallAmytoaskforaride,onlytothenrememberthatmyancientphonehadrecentlybreatheditslastbreath.Ihoppedoutofthecar,hopingtoflagherdown
beforeshelefttheparkinglot,butIwastoolate.IcouldalreadyseetheLexusspeedingoffintothedistance.Therewasnowayaroundit.
Iwasstuck.I’dhavetofindsomeonetojump-startmycar,andwhoknewhowlongthatwouldtake.Andjustthen,becauseit’s
possiblethatallAmy’s
theoriesabouttheuniverse’srevengeweretrue,theskyopenedupanditbeganpouringrain.Leavingmewithonlyonethingtosay:“Motherfucker.”
Theseniorparkinglotwasalreadyclosetoemptywhentherainstarted.IsatinsideGert,watchingtheexitandhopingsomeonewouldcomeoutsoon.Unfortunately,thefirstpersontoappear,mywould-besavior,wasatall
boyintheT-shirtofanobscureband,adistressedbutstillclearlyexpensivehoodie,andtwo-hundred-dollarjeans.“You’vegottobekidding
me,”IsaidasIreachedforthedoorhandle.Iwantedtojustwaitforthenextpersontocomeout,butwhoknewhowlongthatwouldbe.Chanceswere,therestof
thesecarsbelongedtotheoverachievingtypeswhostayedafterschoolforchessclubandstudentgovernment.Thosenerdsandtheirresume-buildingactivitieswerenogoodtomerightnow.SoRyderCrosswasmyonlychoice.Ihoppedoutofthecar,
holdingmyhistorytextbook
overmyheadtoprotectmycurlsfromthedownpourofdoom.“Ryder!”Ishouted.Hewas
alreadyhalfwayacrosstheparkinglot.“Hey,Ryder!”Hestoppedandturnedto
lookatme.Hedidn’thaveanumbrella,andtherainwasmakinghisclothesclingtohim.Theviewwasn’thalf
bad.Unfortunately,however,mynextquestionwouldrequirehimtospeak.“Mycar’sdead,”Isaid.“Do
youhavejumpercablesorsomething?”Hestartedwalkinginmy
direction,buthewasshakinghishead.“Idon’t.”Isighed.“Ofcoursenot.Let
meguess,thecarsinDC
don’tdie?Orneedrepairs?”“Can’tyoucallsomeone?”“Myphonedoesn’twork.”“Seemslikeeverything
aroundyouisfaulty.”“Well,noteveryonehas
politicianparentstopayforourthings.Someofusactuallyhavetoworkforwhatweown.Yourconcernisappreciated,though.”
Herolledhiseyes.“Ifyou’regoingtobelikethat,thenforgetit.Iwasgoingtoletyouusemyphone.”“Really?”“Yeah.I’mnotanasshole.”“Debatable.”“You’dbecallingAmy,
right?”Andthereitwas.The
ulteriormotiveI’dbeen
expecting.Hewasright,though.WhoelsewouldIcall?Iknewshewouldn’thavejumpercables,butshe’datleastbeabletogivemearidetothetheater.WeclimbedintoGert,both
ofussoaked.Thecarpetedseatswouldbebrilliantlymoldythenextday—somethingtolookforwardto.
Hehandedmehisphone,thesamemodelasAmy’s,andIquicklydialedhernumber.ItwastheonlyoneIhadmemorized.“Hello?”“Hey,Amy.”“Sonny?Whereareyou
callingfrom?Idon’trecognizethenumber.”“Ourfavoritehumanbeing
waskindenoughtobestowthehonoroftelephoneusageonme.”Silence.“I’mborrowingRyder’s
phone.”“Oh.”Ididn’thavetoseeherface
toknowhertinybuttonnosehadwrinkled.“Mycar’sdeadandmy
phoneisbroken.Andmyshiftisin…oh,sevenminutes.Pleasehelp.”“Onmyway.”Ireturnedthephoneto
Ryder.“She’scomingbacktogetme.Soyoucangonow.”Andthen,witheveryounceofwillpowerIhad,Iforcedmyselftoadd,“Andthanks.Forthephone.”
Heshrugged,buthedidn’tmovetogetoutofthecar.“Doyouneedsomething?”I
asked.“No.IjustfiguredI’dstick
arounduntilAmygetshere…justtoseeyouoffsafely.”Isnorted.“Oh,yes.I’msure
mysafetyisapriorityofyours.StopwastingyourtimewiththiscrushonAmy.It’s
annoyingandpatheticand,ifyouwantthetruth,she’snotintoyou.Atall.”“Sorry.Ididn’trealizeyou
spokeforAmynow.”“I’mherbestfriend.Iknow
howshefeelsaboutprettymucheverything.I’mjusttryingtosaveyoutheheartbreak.”“Youcareaboutmy
heartbreakaboutasmuchasIcareaboutyoursafety.”Heshookhishead.“I’dratherhearAmy’sfeelingsfromAmy,ifyoudon’tmind.”“Youwon’t.Asmuchasshe
can’tstandyou,shewouldn’ttellyouthat.She’stoonice.”“Clearlyithasn’trubbedoff
onyou.”Asecondlater,Amy’s
Lexusturnedthecornerintotheparkinglot.Igrabbedmybagandclimbedoutofthestationwagon,Rydernottoofarbehindme.Amyslidintoaparkingspace,andIheardtheclickofthepassenger-sidedoorbeingunlocked.“Later,”Isaid,hoppinginto
theLexus,butRydergrabbedthedoor,stickinghishead
intothecabbeforeIcouldcloseit.“Hello,Amy,”hesaid.“Oh.Hi,Ryder.”“Howareyou?”“I’mfine.”“Whichiscodefor
‘annoyed,’”Isaid.Sheelbowedme.“Sorryforthe
inconvenience,”hesaid.“It
wasreallyniceofyoutocomebackandgetSonny.”“Ofcourse.Thankyoufor
lettingSonnyuseyourphonetocall.”“Sonnyisrighthere,”Isaid.
“AndIalreadythankedhim.”“So,Amy,areyoudoing
anythingthisweekend?”Ryderasked.Amyglancedatme,her
eyeswideninginawaythatclearlymeant,Oh,dearGod,helpmegetawayfromhim.“Um…Idon’tknow,”she
said.“Well,weshould—”“Go,”Iinterjected.“Ican
seeyou’retryingtocourtmylovelyfriendhere—”Ryderflustered.“—butit’srainingand
you’reholdingthedooropenandgettingmyrightsidesoakedintheprocess.”“Andshe’slateforwork,”
Amyadded.“That,too.”“Right.Sorryaboutthat.I
guessI’llseeyouatschoolMonday?”“Probably,”Amysaid.“Excellent.Seeyou
around.”Rydersteppedback,buthe
heldthedooropenforjustasecondlonger,ensuringtherightlegofmyjeanswasthoroughlydrenchedbeforeheclosedthedoor.Iglaredathimoutthewindow.Somehow,hedidn’tseemtomindthathewassoppingwet.Andfromapurely
aestheticperspective,Ididn’tmindthathewaseither.“Whymustsomeoneso
handsomebesuchanass?”IaskedasAmypulledoutoftheparkinglot.“Allofthehandsomeones
are,”shesaid.“Notyourbrother.”“Heusedtobe.”Amy’sbrother,Wesley,was
afewyearsolderthanus.He’dbeenblessedwiththesamegodlikeDNAastherestoftheRushfamily.Hehadthesamedark,curlyhairasAmy,thesametallframe,onlywhereshewasslender,hewasbroadandtoned.ItwouldbefairtosayI’d
hadaslightcrushonWesleygrowingup.Itwouldbemore
accurate,however,tosayIwasmadly,deeply,headoverheelsinlovewithhimupuntilacoupleofyearsago.Throughoutmostofhigh
school,Wesleyhadbeenwhatyoumightcalla“player.”Hehookedupwitheverygirlwhoshowedinterest.Everygirlbutme.Tohim,I
waslittleSonnyArdmore,hissister’stroublemakingbutundeniablyadorablebestfriend.FlirtasImight,Wesleyneverseemedtoseemeasanythingotherthanthenine-year-oldwhohadoncebrokenherarmattemptingtoridethebanisterinhishouse.Notthatitmatteredmuch
now.Hissenioryear,Wesley
hadactuallystarteddatingsomeoneseriously.HernamewasBianca,andnowtheywerebothoffatcollegeinNewYorkCity,stilltogether.Itwasseveralminuteslater
whenwepulledintothemovietheater’sparkinglot.IworkedatatinymovietheaterinOakHill,thenexttownoverfromHamilton,
whereallthebigboxstores,restaurants,andalcoholcouldbefound.Hamiltonwasadry,one-stoplighttownwithaminusculepopulation.OakHillwastheclosestthingtoa“city”wehaduntilyoureachedChicago,whichwasacoupleofhoursaway.Theoh-so-cleverlynamed
CindependentTheateronly
showedforeignandindieflicks.AndIhadthehonorofhandingourpretentiouscustomerstheirextra-buttery,fat-loadedpopcorn.Notexactlymydreamjob,buthey,itpaid.“Thanks,”ItoldAmy.“I’ll
getaridebacktoyourplace.”“Withwho?Noneofyour
coworkersliveinHamilton.”
“Icanhitchhike.Therearesomereallycutetruckdriverswhocomethroughhere.”Amyswattedmyarm,andI
laughed.“I’llfiguresomethingout.”“OrIcouldjustpickyouup
anddriveyoubacktomyplace.”“Butyourparents—”“It’sFridaynight.It’s
normalforyoutostayover.Theywon’tmind,andtheywon’teventhinktocheckinwithyourmom.Andtomorrowmymomcangojumpyourcar.”Shesmiled.“Itdoesn’talwayshavetobecomplicated,youknow?”Inodded.“Fine.”Ileaned
acrosstheseatandhuggedher.“You’rethebest.Idon’t
knowwhatI’ddowithoutyou.”Ifanyonehadsaidthatto
me,Iwouldhavemadeafunnyquiporrepliedwithsomethingsnarky—purelyoutofhabit.ButnotAmy.Shejusthuggedmebackandsaid,“Idon’tknowwhatI’ddowithoutyoueither.”IclimbedoutoftheLexus
andhurriedthroughthenearlyemptyparkinglot,towardthetheater.“You’relate!”avoice
yelledthesecondIwalkedthroughthedoor.“Sorry,Glenda.”“Notgonnacutitthistime,
Sonny.”Myboss,atall,broad-
shoulderedwomanwitha
chin-lengthblackbobandcat-eyeglasses,steppedoutfrombehindthepopcornmachine.Judgingbythescowlonherfaceandtheveinsbulginginherthinneck,Ihadatheory—aninkling,really—thatshemightbepissed.“Wejuststartedscreening
thatnewseaturtle
documentaryandyoumissedtherush.Youleftusshortstaffed.”Iglancedoutthewindow.
Therewere,atmax,sixcarsintheparkinglot.“Rush?Really?”“It’sFriday.”“It’sthree-thirty.”“No.Three-thirtyiswhen
you’resupposedtobehere.
It’salmostfour.”“Glenda—”“I’msickofthis,Sonny.
Thishappensallthetime.Itoldyoulasttimeyouwerelatethatifithappenedagain,you’dbefired.”Shehad,thatwastrue.But
I’dkindoffiguredshewasblowingsmoke.She’dthreatenedtofireGrady,one
ofmycoworkers,athousandtimes,buthewasstillhere.I’dhonestlythoughtitwasimpossibletogetfiredfromCindependent.“Ontopofthat,youcomein
herelookinglikecrap.Lookatyou,Sonny.You’resoakingwet.Noonewantsyouhandlingtheirfoodlikethat.”
“I’msorry,Glenda.Mycarbrokedownandmyphoneisn’tworking.Iwastryingtogethelp,butthenitstartedraining—”“Stop.Yourliesdon’teven
soundbelievableanymore.”“ButI’mnotlying!”Not
thistime,anyway.“WhyshouldIbelieve
you?”Glendaasked.
Icouldn’tthinkofananswer.IntheyearI’dbeenworkingatCindependent,I’dliedtohercountlesstimes.Yes,Ididcleanthegumoffthebottomoftheseatsintheatertwo….No,Ididn’tspitinthatasshole’ssoda….I’mlatebecausemygrandfatherhadaheartattack—don’tworry,he’s
finenow!ShereallyhadnoreasontobelieveawordIsaid.“I’mdone,Sonny,”she
said.“You’refired.”“ButI…”Andagain,I
actuallytoldthetruth.“Ireallyneedthemoney.Rightnowmorethanever.”Herfacesoftened,butonly
alittle.“Thenmaybeyou’ll
bemoreresponsibleatyournextjob.”Andwiththat,sheturnedandheadedtoheroffice.IhadtoborrowGrady’s
phonetocallAmy.Ithadathincoatofbutteronthekeypad,andIkeptitaboutaninchfrommyfacetoavoidcrosscontamination.Amyhadn’tevengottento
Hamiltonyet,soshejustturnedaroundandheadedbacktothetheatertopickmeup.Iwaitedoutside,intherain.
IknewifIwaitedinside,I’djustenduppunchingthepopcornmachine.NotbecauseI’dgottenfired.Whoneededsomeshittyjobatamovietheater?Imean,Idid,
butthatwasbesidethepoint.No,itwasn’tgettingfired—itwaseverything.Everythingwithmymomandmyphoneandmycarandmyawfuldayandmyawfullife.Yes,Iwasawhining,
teenagecliché.And,accordingtoAmy,Ihadaflairforthedramatic,sotherewasaslightchancethat,hadI
stayedinthetheater,ImayhavemademattersworsebypouringaCherrySlushieonGlenda’shead.Itwas,afterall,somethingI’dfantasizedaboutdoingsinceI’dbeenhired.ButIstillhadmydignity—
dentedthoughitmayhavebeen—andIrefusedtogiveintomywrathfuladolescent
urges.“Youokay?”Amyasked
whenIclimbedintotheLexusafewminuteslater.Itwasatestamenttohow
muchshelovedmethatsheletmegetintoherfancycar—twicenow—whileIwassoppingwet.Shehadn’tevencringed.“Swell,”Isaid.“Justswell.
Let’sgetoutofhere.Please.”
***
“Goodnight,girls,”Mrs.Rushsaid,pokingherheadintoAmy’sbedroomlaterthatnight.“We’reheadedtobed.”“Night,Mom,”Amysaid.“Goodnight,Mrs.Rush.”Shesmiledatus,then
slippedbackoutoftheroom.
Itwasjustpasteleven,anddespitebeingdryonceagain,snuginsomefrog-patternedpajamasAmyhadlentme,Iwasstillinanawfulmood.Amywasdoingherbesttocomfortme,seeminglyunawarethatIwasalostcause.“WhataboutGiovanni’s?
ThatItalianrestaurantinOak
Hill?Youcouldgetajobthere,”shesuggestedoncehermotherhadgone.“BrennaStewardworks
there.Shesaystheownermakespassesatalltheyoungwaitresses.”“Ew.Doyouthinkthat’s
true?”“Idon’tknow,butI’drather
notfindout.”Iflopped
backwardontoherbed.“Besides,mydrywit—charmingasIknowyoufindit—isn’talwaysappreciatedbythegeneralpublic.Whichdoesnotbodewellformewhenitcomestotips.”“That’strue.”Iglaredather.“Youwere
supposedtodisagreewithme.”
“Oh,Imean…peopleloveyou,Sonny.I’msureyoursenseofhumor—”“Toolatenow,”Isaid.
“Jumpshipwhileyoucan.”“You’llfindanotherjob,”
sheassuredme.“Mymomwillgohelpyouwithyourcarinthemorning,andyoucanusemyphoneuntilyoursisfixed.NoonebutWesley
evercallsmeanyway.Besidesyou,butyou’realwayshere,so…”“Thanks,”Isaid.“You’re
beingverysweet,andit’sappreciated.Butrightnow,IthinkI’dratherjustwallow.”Amysighed.“Allright.”Iburiedmyfaceinher
pillowandlistenedasshestoodupandwalkedacross
theroom.Iheardherlaptopbootingupatherdesk.Ifiguredshewasdoinghomeworkuntil…“Um,Sonny?Iknowyou’re
busywallowing,butyou’renotgoingtobelievethis.”Ikeptmyfaceinthepillow.
“I’vetoldyoubefore—ifit’saNigerianprinceofferingtowireyoumillionsofdollars,
don’tsendhimyourbankaccountinformation.”“It’snotthat.RyderCross
e-mailedme.”NowIsatup.“Whatdidhe
say?”Iwasacrosstheroom,
peeringoverhershoulder,beforeshecouldanswer.
Hey, Amy —It was really nice talking
to you this afternoon inthe parking lot. I’m justsorry the awful weatherand your friend’sschedule cut ourconversation short.
Isnorted.“‘Yourfriend’?Likehedoesn’tknowmyname.Andwhatconversation?Youwerebarelytalkingtohim.”
“Keepreading,”shesaid.
But I’d really like to keeptalking to you. Maybewe could get dinnersometime? I know therearen’t any nice places toeat in Hamilton, but OakHill has a few decentrestaurants. I wasthinking maybe nextFriday night?
“OhmyGod,”Isaid,unabletoevenreadthelastlittlebitofthee-mail.“Heaskedyouout.”“Iknow.Idon’tevenknow
whyhewould.”“Becauseyou’regorgeous?
Thatpartisobvious.”Sheblushed.“Lessobvious,”Isaid,“is
whyhethinkshehasa
chance.Amy,youhavetoreplytohim.Youhavetosayyou’lldoit.”“What?Idon’twanttogo
outwithRyder.”“Youwon’t.You’lljustsay
youwill.Justtoteasehimabit.”“Ican’tdothat,”Amysaid.
“It’stoomean.”“ThenI’lldoit.Move
over.”“Sonny,youcan’t.”“Please,”Ibegged.“I’ve
hadanawfuldayandfuckingwithRyder’sheadwillmakemefeelsomuchbetter.”“Ithoughtyouwere
wallowing?”“Beingmeanissomuch
morefunthanwallowing.Andhe’ssuchanasshole.
Youknowit,too.Hedeservessometortureafterthewayhe’stalkedaboutHamiltonandeveryonewholiveshere.Letmepickonhimalittlebit.Please?”Shechewedonherbottom
lip.Amywasanythingbutmean.Eventopeopleshehated,shewasalwaysincrediblypoliteand
respectful.Itwasunnerving,really.Butifanyonecould
convinceher,itwasme.SonnyArdmore—abadinfluenceforthirteenyearsandcounting.“Fine,”shesaid,scooting
oversowecouldsqueezetogetheronthechair.“ButonlybecauseIknowitwill
cheeryouup…andbecausehereallyisawful.Maybethiswillgethimtoleavemealone.”“That’smygirl.”IhittheREPLYbuttonand
startedtocomposemymasterpiece,readingitaloudasItypedeachsentence.“Hello,hottie.”“OhGod,”Amysqueaked.
“I’malreadyfeelingweirdaboutthis.”“I’dlovetokeeptalkingto
you.”Ireadittoherinaslow,sexyvoice.“Butnotatarestaurant.Myroomismuchmorecomfortable.AndtheonlythingIwanttobeeatingiswhippedcreamoffyourchest,loverboy.”“Sonny!”Amycried.“You
can’tsaythat!”“Whynot?”“He’llthinkI’msomesort
offreak.”“That’sthepoint.He’llbe
creepedout—andperhapsslightlyturnedon,thoughhe’dneveradmitit—byyourover-the-tope-mailandtooembarrassedtoeverspeaktoyouagain.”
“Butwhatifhetellsotherpeopleaboutthise-mail?”“Whowouldhetell?Noone
canstandhim.Hedoesn’thavefriends.”Shesighed,whichItookas
permissiontocontinue.“Youmentionedmyfriend
inyoure-mail.Sonnywouldalsoliketobepresentforthis‘conversation.’Shelovesto
watchmefoolaroundwithguys.Thoughrecently,IfoundsomecreepyvoodoodollsoftheguysI’vebeenhookingupwithinherdrawer.And,cometothinkofit,afewofthemhavehadsomeseriousaccidents.Ihopethepossibilityofafewbrokenbonesdoesn’tscareyouoff.”
Thistime,shegiggled.Justalittle.“Ihavetosay,Ryder,I’m
sogladyoue-mailedme.I’vehadmyeyeonyousinceyougothere.Itriedtoplayitcool,butsecretly,I’vebeenbuildingashrinetoyouinmyclosetformonths.It’snothingspecial—justafewpicturesItookofyouonmyphone
whileyouweren’tlookingandalife-sizesculptureImadeofyouusinggarbageandgumIscrapedoutfromunderyourdesk.”“Oh,that’ssogross!”Amy
gasped.“Ew.”Icontinued,“Ican’twaitto
showyoumyworkofart.Iknowyou’llappreciateit.Soit’sadate.Fridaynight.I’m
goingtoblowyourmind,Ryder.Youhavenoidea.Love(becausethat’swhatIam,inlovewithyou),Amy.”Isatbackandadmiredmy
brilliantprose.Besideme,Amywasgiggling,butshealsolookedabitnervous.“Youcan’treallysendthat,
youknow,”shesaid.“Yeah,”Iagreed.“That’s
cool.Igotitoutofmysystem.Butyou’vegottoadmit—it’saprettyepicloveletter.”“Sure,”Amysaid.“I’msavingit,”Itoldher.
“You’regoingtowanttolookbackonthisonedaywhenI’msomesortoffamouspoet…orcriminalmastermindbeinghuntedbythe
authorities.Whichevercomesfirst.It’llbeworthsomething.”Ileanedforwardandmoved
toclicktheSAVEbutton,butAmy’selbowbumpedminebyaccident,andmyhandslipped.InsteadofSAVE,IclickedSEND.“Uh-oh.”Amysawitatthesametime
Idid.Hereyeswentwideandsheslappedahandoverhermouth.“Whatjusthappened?”Iclickedovertodrafts,
hopingtoseethee-mailthere,safeandsound.Butno.“Itsent,”Isaid.“No,no,no!”Amylooked
horrified.“OhmyGod.”“Well…he’llneverask
yououtagain?”Ioffered.“Ugh.I’msorry.Thatreallywasn’tonpurpose.Iswear.”“Iknow.Ibumpedyou.”
Shebitatherpinkienail.“Thisisawful.Ican’tbelievewesentthat.It’ssomeanand…There’snowayof,like,gettingitback,right?”“That’snotexactlyhowthe
Internetworks.”
“Ugh.”Sheburiedherfaceinherhands.“Ihopehedoesn’treadit.”“Hemightnot,”Isaid.“He
mightrealizetoolatethataskingyououtwasamistakeandhedoesn’thaveachanceinhell,sohewon’treadthee-mail.He’llsavehimselffromtheheartache.There’sactuallyagoodchanceof
that.”Amylookedskeptical.“I’mserious,”Isaid.ButIwasjustsayingthatto
makeAmyfeelbetter.Iknewhe’dreadit.He’dbeanidiotnotto.Ijusthopedhedidn’tforwardittoanyone.IfsomeoneteasedAmyaboutthis,I’dneverforgivemyself.Iwasn’tconvincingher,
though.Icouldtellshefeltawful,andIwishedthatI’djustwallowedearlier.“Ishouldsendhiman
apologye-mail,”shesaid.“No,”Isaid.“I’lldoit.I’m
theonewhowrotethestupidthing.I’lle-mailtheapology.”“Areyousure?”“Yep.”Iwouldhateevery
secondofit,butI’ddoitforher.“Thankyou,”shesaid.
“Nowlet’sgotobed.I’mexhausted.”“Yeah,”Isaid.“I’mtired,
too.Practicallyfallingasleepaswespeak.”Itwasn’tthelastlieI’dtell
thatnight.
IpretendedtosleepuntilAmystartedsnoring.Itreallywasastonishingthatsomeonesoadorablecouldmakesuchahorrificnoise.Itwasabouttentimeslouderthanherspeakingvoice,anditcamefromdeepinherthroat.Amy
wasn’tusuallyamouth-breather,butatnight?Jesus.Itusedtokeepmeupwhen
wewerelittle.We’dhavesleepovers,andI’dstayupallnight,staringattheceiling.Eventually,IgotsousedtothedemonthatpossessedAmy’sbodyatnightthatitbecameasortofrhythmic,gutturallullaby.
Nottonight,though.TonightIwaswide-awake.Slowly,Icrawledacrossthe
hugebedandclimbedoverAmy.Shekeptsnoring.Onceshestarted,therewasnostoppingheruntilsomeoneshookherawakethenextmorning.Shetookbeingaheavysleepertoawholenewlevel.
Evenso,Ifoundmyselftiptoeingacrossthecarpettowardherdesk.Ipickedupherlaptopandslippedoutthedooranddownthehall.TheRushes’housewas
ridiculous.Threefloors,giantbathrooms,ginormouswalk-inclosets—Wesley’sroomevenhadafreakingbalcony.Butmyfavorite,favorite
roomintheRushhousewastherecreationroom.ItwasjustdownthehallfromAmy’sroom,anditwaseveryteenager’sdream.Therewasapooltable;huge,comfycouches;and,asofAmy’sseventeenthbirthday,anold-fashionedpinballmachine.Butthebestpartwas,hardlyanyoneknewit
washere.I’dbeentoafewpartiesat
theRushhouse—usuallythrownbyWesleywhenhewashomefromcollege—andnooneeverseemedtofindthisroom.Withthedoorshut,itwaseasytomistakeitforjustanotherbedroom.Whichmadeittheperfectlittlehideawaywhenyou
wantedabreakfromtherowdyyouths.Or,youknow,whenyouwantedtomakeout.TheonlytimeI’dever
foundtherecroomoccupiedduringapartywasthisyear,ontheFourthofJuly,whenIcaughtCaseyBlythe,aformerHamiltonHighcheerleader,suckingface
withherboyfriend,thisnerdykidnamedTobyTucker.ButCaseywasbestfriendswithWesley’sgirlfriend,soshehadinsideintelonwhereallthebestplacestofoolaroundintheRushhousewere.Otherthanthatlittle
incident,nooneeverseemedtocomeintotherecroombesidesmeandAmy.We
hungoutinheresometimes,whenwedidn’thavehomeworktodo.I’dplayagameofpoolagainstmyselfwhileAmyutterlydestroyedonthepinballmachine.Tonight,though,itwasjust
me.Iwasn’tinthemoodforasologameofpool,soinsteadIgotcozyononeofthecouchesandpropped
openAmy’slaptop.IhadapaperdueinEnglish,andIfiguredImightaswellgetstartedonitwhiletheproductivityboosterknownasinsomniastuckaround.I’djustopenedanewWord
documentwhenIheardasmallpingandfrowned.Thentherewasasecondping.Thesamesound,butsomehow
moreinsistent.Ihadn’trealizedanInternet
windowwasevenopen,butwhenIclickedaroundforasecond,IdiscoveredIhadaninstantmessageonmye-mailserver.FromRyderCross.
RYDER:I know I’m notthe most well-liked guyright now, but that e-
mail really wasn’tnecessary.RYDER:I was puttingmyself out there, and Idon’t appreciate youand your friend (I knowyou didn’t work alone)mocking me.
Ishrankbackintothecushions,shamewrithinginmygut.Ididn’tgiveashitifI
wasajerktoRyder,butIhatedthathethoughtAmyhadbeenpartofit.Imean,shehad,butnotwillingly.Neitherofushadactuallywantedtosendthate-mail.Isighedand,sinceI
promisedAmyI’dapologizetohim,startedtowriteback.
ME:I know. I’m sorry.We got carried away.
It’s not an excuse, but Ihad a shitty day and Itook it out on you. Wereally never meant to hitsend. I’m sorry.
Asecondlater,heresponded.
RYDER:I accept andappreciate yourapology.
RYDER:I’m sorry aboutyour bad day.ME:Thanks.
IopenedmyWorddocagain,thinkingthatwastheendofit,butbarelytwominuteslater,therewasanotherpingandIgroaned.“Damnit,Ryder.Ialready
apologized.Whatmoredoyouwantfromme?”
ButwhenIsawhisinstantmessage,Icouldn’thelpbutsmilealittle.
RYDER:I know this israndom, particularlysince we’re not in thesame class, but youhave Mrs. Perkins forEnglish, right? Have youwritten the paper onJulius Caesar yet?
ME:Funny. I wasliterally about to start onthat. I know. I’veprocrastinated.
Andthen,becauseIcouldn’thelpmyself:
ME:I bet the kids backat your school in DCweren’t so irresponsible.RYDER:Ha-ha. I know.
I bring up my old schooltoo much. Is it thatannoying?ME:Yes.ME:Incredibly.RYDER:Sorry.RYDER:But, if it helps,whether the kids in myold school procrastinateor not, I do. At least withEnglish.
RYDER:Especially withShakespeare.ME:Not a fan of thebard?RYDER:I wouldn’t sayI’m not a fan. But I amnot the best with iambicpentameter. Every wordof dialogue goes rightover my head.ME:Alert the press!
Ryder Cross justadmitted he’s notperfect at something.Quick, has hell frozenover?RYDER:Never mind.Forget I said anything.ME:I suck withShakespeare, too.RYDER:Yeah?ME:Yeah.
Itwastrue.IwasthemostmiserabletranslatortohaveevertouchedtheworkofSirWilliam.Lastyear,whenwewerestudyingMacbeth,IgotsolosttryingtounderstanditthatatonepointIthrewmybookacrossAmy’sbedroomandsworeI’dnevergotoschoolagain.“WhoneedsEnglish?”I’daskedher.“I’ll
beamime.I’lljointhecircus.Screwmyeducation!”Luckyforme,Amyis
excellentatdecipheringShakespeare’slongmonologues,andshetaughtmeatrick—itallstartsmakingsenseifyouhearit.Seeingthewordsonthepageistoomuch,toodifficulttofindtherhythm,butifyou
hearit,itbecomesclearer.Andluckyforme,Amy,whowouldmakeabrilliantthespianifsheweren’tsopainfullyshy,waswillingtoreadtome.I’dgottenanAonmyMacbethpaperbecauseofher,andnowIwasabouttohaveanencoreperformancewithmyJuliusCaesarpaper.
Amyhadreadmetheplaytwonightsago,andshehadn’thadtodonearlyasmuchexplainingthistime.
ME:It helps to hear it.RYDER:What?ME:If you can getsomeone to read it toyou — someone whounderstands it — itstarts making a lot more
sense.RYDER:Oh. I don’treally have anyone whocould read it to me.RYDER:My mom could,but I’m not asking her.ME:What about a studybuddy? Someone elsefrom English class?RYDER:Again, I’m notthe most well-liked guy
at school right now.Even the teachers can’tstand me.
Ididn’tknowwhy,butsomehowhishonestyaboutthissurprisedme.Notthatitwasasecret.NoonereallytriedtoohardtohidetheirdisdainforRyder,buthewassoarrogant,soconceited,thatIjustassumedhethoughtthe
worldwasasfondofhimashewasofhimself.Butjustthen,hedidn’tseem
tooconceited.Actually,hewasalmosttolerable.
RYDER:Which, if youask me, is entirelyunprofessional. Not thatI’m surprised. Most ofthese people are hardlyqualified to call
themselves educators.
Scratchthatpartabouttolerable.
ME:I’m going to ignorethat.ME:Maybe you couldwatch a staged play? Ibet you could find avideo online. Or at thelibrary?
RYDER:That’s not abad idea, actually.
Whenhedidn’ttypeanythingelse,Iassumedtheconversationwasover.Iwentbacktomypaper,butafterwriting,deleting,rewriting,anddeletingthefirstparagraph,IrealizedtherewasnowayIcouldfocusrightnow.SomethingRyder
saidhadlingeredinmyhead,andperhapsIamnosy,butIjusthadtoask.
ME:Why won’t you askyour mom for help?RYDER:It’s …complicated.
Aminutelater:
RYDER:Do you reallywant to know?
ME:Sure. It’s not likeI’m doing anything elseright now.RYDER:What aboutyour paper?ME:I already told youI’m a procrastinator. I’msure your parentaldrama is far moreinteresting than Brutus’sbetrayal of Caesar.
ME:Though hopefullyless bloody?RYDER:LOL. Yes, lessbloody.ME:My, my, RyderCross. I never took youfor the chat-speak type.LOL indeed.RYDER:That’s my dirtylittle secret. I sometimeswrite like an actual
teenager. Don’t tellanyone.ME:Too late. I nowhave dirt on you.Mission accomplished.
Hewrotebackwithanemoticonofafacestickingitstongueoutatme.Ilaughed.
ME:More dirt! This ismy lucky night!
RYDER:Damn it. I’mplaying right into yourhands, aren’t I?ME:That you are, sir.That you are.
Whoa,wait.WasIbanteringwithRyderCross?Myarchnemesis?TheLexLuthortomySuperman?TheLokitomyThor?Thepeanutbuttertomyjelly?Okay,Iknow
mostoftheworldthinksthoselasttwogotogether,butIpersonallyfindthecombinationratherabhorrentandjustew.ButItotallywas.Ryder
CrossandIwereteasingeachotherinasurprisinglynonhostileway.IsupposethiswasthepoweroftheInternet.
ME:So … your mom?
IttookRyderalittlewhiletotypeouthisresponse.
RYDER:My mom leftmy dad. But instead ofjust divorcing him andmoving to a new houseand letting me continueat the school I’ve beenattending since I wasfive, she insisted onpacking up everything,
moving hundreds ofmiles away, anddragging me with her.It’s like she didn’t carewhat I wanted. I hadfriends in DC. I had agirlfriend. I was at one ofthe top schools in thecountry. But that didn’tmatter. She had gottena new job and I had to
come with her to thistiny town in the middleof nowhere. I freakinghate it here.RYDER:Sorry. I knowmy saying that is whyeveryone here hatesme. I guess to be fair,it’s not so much thetown as the situation. Idon’t want to be here.
ME:No … I get it,actually.
AndIdid.IknewRyderdidn’tlikeHamilton—everyoneknewthat—butI’dneverreallythoughtaboutitfromhisperspective.Beingpulledoutofaplacewhereyouwerehappy,whereyouhadfriends,couldn’tbeeasy.Icouldn’timaginehow
miserableI’dbeifI’dbeenforcedtomovesomewherehundredsofmilesfromHamilton.FromAmy.I’dprobablybekindofan
asshole,too.
RYDER:So, yes. That’swhy I’m not asking mymom for help. I’vebarely spoken to hersince we got here in
August. Petty, I know.ME:You’re seventeen. Ithink you’re allowed tobe petty. Especiallyabout something likethis.ME:But why can’t yougo back? Live with yourdad?
Again,Rydertookawhiletowritehisanswer.
RYDER:I asked. Beforewe left, I asked to stay.But my mom wouldn’t letme.ME:Why?RYDER:I have no idea.Because she’s selfish?Because she wants topunish my dad bykeeping me away? Notthat she has any right to
punish him. She’s theone who left. She’s theone who asked for thedivorce. Dad doesn’twant it. He still hasn’tsigned the papers.ME:Do you think theymight get backtogether?RYDER:That would bedifficult with her being a
few states away and all.RYDER:I don’t know.And lately, I can neverget ahold of my dad. Hissecretary always sayshe’s busy, and hedoesn’t answer his cell. Iknow he’s got a lotgoing on in Washington,but …RYDER:Okay, I know
this isn’t the cool thingto say, but I miss him.ME:I’m sorry, Ryder.RYDER:I don’t wantyou to be sorry. I don’twant anyone to besorry. Except maybe mymom.
IpulledupGoogleandtriedtofindapictureofRyderandhisfamily.Ifiguredit
wouldn’tbehardsincehisdadwasinCongress.Theyprobablyhadplentyofphotosfromthecampaigntrail.Withinaminute,I’dfound
one.Inthepicture,Ryderwasstandingbetweenhisparents.HisdadwasolderthanIexpected.Ormaybehejustlookedoldbecauseofstress.Iknewpoliticianssupposedly
agedquickly.Hishairwasgraybutwellkept.HehadRyder’sbrightgreeneyesandacharismaticsmilethatcoulddefinitelywinavoteortwo.OnRyder’sothersidewashismom,averyprettyblackwomaninaperfectlytailoredsuit.Shewastall—tallerthanherhusband—andwhilehereyesweredarker
thanRyder’s,theyhadthesameshape,largeandstriking.Andinthemiddlewas
Ryder,dressedinasuitverysimilartohisdad’s.Hishairwasalittlelongerthen,butnottoomuch.WhatIcouldn’thelpnoticing,though,washissmile.Itwashugeandgenuineand…so
happy.I’dneverseentheboyfrommyclasssmilelikethatbefore.Ididn’tknowhecould.
ME:I could help youParent Trap them if youlike?RYDER:What?ME:The Parent Trap?RYDER:Sorry. Still lost.ME:Oh. My. God.
ME:You’re kidding,right?ME:THE PARENTTRAP? Twin girls meetfor the first time atsummer camp andscheme to reunite theirparents? The remakestarred pre-train-wreckLindsay Lohan?ME:YOU HAVE
NEVER SEEN THEFREAKING PARENTTRAP????RYDER:I have not, butdoes this really warrantcyber-shouting?ME:YES!!!!!!RYDER:Okay.ME:I weep for yourchildhood.
Ispentthenexttwenty
minutesexplainingtheplotofTheParentTraptohim,completewithYouTubeclipsfromboththeoriginalfilmandtheremake.WhenIwasdone,Ryderinformedmethatitdidn’tsoundlikethatgreatofamovie,andItoldhimto,withallduerespect,shoveit.ButwekeptIMingafter
that.Aboutothermovies(he
wastotallyintoindieart-houseflicks,themoresubtitlesthebetter,whichis,frankly,disgusting)andbooks(webothstruggledwithShakespeareandhatedNathanielHawthornewithequalpassion)andjust…randomstuff.
ME:Okay, deep darksecret time. I am a
wannabe grunge rocker.RYDER:Seriously?ME:Seriously. I don’tplay any instruments. Ican’t sing to save mylife. But I guess thatdidn’t stop CourtneyLove. And I have a lot ofsecret angst.ME:If I could pull offflannel, I’d wear it every
day.RYDER:I think you’dlook cute in flannel.
Iblushed,thenrealizedIwasblushingandimmediatelyfeltdisgustedwithmyself.
RYDER:So what areyou secretly angstyabout?
RYDER:If I can ask.ME:Mostly my mom.RYDER:This seems tobe a running theme thisevening.ME:She is … flaky. Tosay the least.Unreliable. Truthfully,sometimes I think shewishes she never hadme. Sometimes I think
she pretends she didn’t.
ThesecondIsentthatmessage,Iregrettedit.ItwaswaymorethanI’dplannedtoshare.Itwastoohonest.Toomuch.Tooclose.Ididn’ttalkaboutmymom.
Notindetail.NotevenwithAmy.Iwasthequeenofglossingoverthings.Ofturningsmalltruthsintobig
lies.ButnowRyderCross,ofall
people,knewoneofmydarkestsecrets.Or,atleast,atinypieceofit.Ifeltuncomfortable,suddenly,andIwaseternallygratefulthathecouldn’tseeme.ThateventhoughI’dsharedtoomuch,Icouldatleasthidebehindthiscomputerscreen.
RYDER:Wow. Thatdoes sound likeinspiration for a grungealbum.RYDER:I won’t pushyou to talk about it, butobviously I understandcomplicated familysituations, so if you everwant to share, I’m hereto listen.
ME:Thank you.
Wechattedforalittlewhilelonger,mostlyabouthisfavoriteband—GoatsVoteforMelons,whichI’dneverheardof,despitehisfearsthattheywerebecomingtoo“mainstream.”
ME:God, you are sucha hipster.
RYDER:Ugh. I’m NOTa hipster.ME:Exactly what ahipster would say.
Hesentmethesmileyfacewithitstonguestickingout.Verymatureandall.Thenhewrote:
RYDER:I shouldprobably go. It’s late.
RYDER:Whoa — lookout your window.ME:Both creepy andcryptic, but all right.
Iglancedupandgasped,startled.Outsidethewindow,thesunwasjustbeginningtopeekoverthetrees.Ilookedattheclockandwasstunnedtoseethatitwasnearlysixinthemorning.
I’dbeenIMingwithRyderallnight.
ME:Wow.RYDER:I know.ME:I had no idea wewere on here this long.RYDER:Me either.ME:I should get to bed.RYDER:Me, too. But Ireally liked “talking” toyou.
ME:I liked “talking” toyou, too.
And,weirdly,Ihad.
ME:Let’s do this againsometime.RYDER:I’d like that.ME:Okay, well … goodnight. Or, goodmorning?RYDER:LOL. Good
morning, Amy.
Ifrowned,readinghismessageagain.Amy?Iwasabouttowriteback,to
correcthim,buthe’dalreadyloggedoff.Ifiguredmaybeitwasjustatypo,amistake.Wewerebothsleepdeprived,afterall.ButasIwasabouttologout,aterriblerealization
hitme.Amyhadneverloggedout
earlier.Whywouldshe?Itwashercomputer,afterall.I’dbeeninstantmessaging
withRyderforhours,andthiswholetime—thiswholedamntime—hethoughtIwasAmyRush.Andthat’showthiswhole
stupidthingbegan—witha
liethatI,foronce,hadn’tevenmeanttotell.
“Wait…sohethinkshewastalkingtome?”Amyturnedtofaceme,stoppingourSaturdaymorningtrekthroughthehubofcommercialismandpublicmassagechairsknownasOakHillMall.
Igaveherasheepishgrin,oneIhadperfectedalongtimeago.Amydidn’tlooksomuchangryas…horrified.“Iknow.I’msorry.Ididn’t
realizeyouwereloggedin.Ontheplusside,he’snotmadaboutthee-mail.”Iexpectedhertopointout
thatitwasherlaptopandRyderhade-mailedhersoof
courseshewasloggedinandhowcouldIbesostupid?ButthiswasAmy.Ever-sweet,ever-forgivingAmy.“It’sanhonestmistake,”she
said.Wekeptwalking,dodgingaroundagroupofmiddleschoolgirlswhowereemergingfromHotTopic.“Butwhatdoesthismean?Whatdidyoutwoeventalk
aboutallnight?”“Nothing,”Isaid.“And…
everything?Itwasbizarre.He’sobnoxious,but…maybehe’snotquiteasawfulasIthought?”“Well,Iguessthat’sniceto
know.”Westeppedintothefood
courtandheadedtowardtheclosestcounter.Abored-
lookingguystoodbehindthecashregister,readjustinghisnavy-bluehatthatwas,byfar,theworstpartofhisworkuniform.ItmademewishIdidn’thavetoaskhimmynextquestion,butalas,agirl’sgottamakealiving.Oratleastmakeenough
moneytobuyanewcellphone.
“Hey,”Isaidtotheboredguy.“Thisplacehiring?”“Yeah.”Thatwasseriouslyallhe
said.Thenhestaredatme,hiseyesnearlyasdeadashismonotonevoice.DearGod,Ihopedsomethingbesidesthisjobhadbeenresponsibleforsuckingouthissoul.“CanIgetanapplication?”I
asked.“Iguess.”Heturnedaroundandwent
insearchofanapplication,movingslowandstiff,likeazombie.Azombiethatsmelledlikedelimeat.IturnedtoAmyandraised
aneyebrow.Sheshrugged.“So,anyway,”shesaid.
“AboutRyder—”
“Amy!”Amyjumpedandweboth
turnedtoseeathin,blondgirlwaving.Shewasprobablyafewyearsolderthanus,andshewassittingalone,eatingaburrito.Shekeptwaving,thensignaledAmytocomeoverandjoinher.IlookedatAmy.Thesmile
shegaveinreturnwasfake,
butonlyIwould’veknownthat.Sheraisedherhandinasmall,embarrassedwaveandthenturnedaway,duckingherheadasifshehadn’trealizedthegirlwantedus—well,notus,Amy—tojoinher.Iglancedbetweenthe
disappointed-lookingblondandmyanxious-looking
friend.BeforeIcouldsayanything,though,ZombieCashierreturnedwithmyapplication.“Here.”Amysnatcheditfromhim,
saidaquick,“Thanks,”thentuggedmeoutofthefoodcourt.“Iwasgonnaapplyatsome
otherplaces,”Isaid.
“Youcandoitlater.”Shehandedmetheapplication.“Youwantedtoapplytothebookstore,too,right?”“Yeah.”Ifrownedather.
“Sowhowasthatgirl?”“Madison,”Amysaid.“Who?”“Sheusedtodatemy
brother.BeforeBianca.”“Huh.”Iglancedbackaswe
walkedawayfromthefoodcourt.Thegirl,Madison,wasstilleatingalone.Andshelookedratherannoyedaboutit.“ForsomereasonIdon’trememberher.”“Weird.”Sheshrugged.
“Anyway,aboutRyder…”“Right.”Wewalkedintothe
bookstoreandmadeourwaytowardthefrontcounter.“I
stillcan’tbelieveIchattedwithhimallnight.”“Doyouthinkyoulike
him?”sheasked.“Ofcoursenot,”Isaid.“I
just…maybedon’tdespisehim?Plus,it’sweirdnowthatIknowhethoughthewastalkingtoyou.Butmaybeit’snotabigdeal.”Wereachedthecounterand
Iaskedthewomanbehindtheregisterforanapplication.OnceIhaditinhand,AmyandIdecidedtobrowsetheshelvesforawhile.“So,whatareyougoingto
do?”Amyasked,pickingupacopyofCyranodeBergerac.Shewassupposedtoreadandanalyzeaplayforherdramaclass.
AndthenIsaidpossiblythemostironicthingthathasevercomeoutofmymouth.“I’lljusttellhimthetruth.”Amyglancedupatme,and
thesurpriseonherfacedidnotgounnoticed.“That’sit?Thatsimple?”“Imean,it’llbeweird,”I
admitted.“‘Hey,Ryder.SoIknowyouthoughtyouwere
talkingtoasmokinghot,boobaliciousladytheothernight,butactuallyitwasme,hermoderatelyattractivebutstillutterlycharmingbestfriend.Sorryaboutthat.’”Amybalked.“Sonny,don’t
saythat.”“What?Thatyou’re
boobalicious?”“Well,that,too,”shesaid.
“Butthatyou’reonlymoderatelyattractive.You’rebeautiful.”Ilaughed.“Ilovethat
you’retryingtoboostmyegorightafterIrefertomyselfasutterlycharming.Butlet’sbeserious.Nexttoyou,anyonelooksonlymoderatelyattractive.”Sheduckedherheadand
pickedupanotherplayinordertohideherface.“Anyway,it’llbefine.I’ll
tellRyderwhathappened.Itdoesn’thavetobedramatic.”Andthefunnythingis,at
thetime,Ireallybelievedthat.
***
WhenAmyandIreturnedfromthemallthatafternoon,
Mrs.Rushdrovemeouttothehighschool.Luckily,itappearedthatthebatteryhaddiedbecauseI’daccidentallyleftthelightson,notbecauseitneededtobereplaced—thatwouldhavebeenanightmare.Butwithalittleeffortandapairofjumpercables,Mrs.RushmanagedtogetGertpurringagain.Or
wheezing,whichwasamoreaccuratedescription.Eitherway,Iwasmobileonceagain.WhichmeantIwasableto
parkGertinthegrocerystoreparkinglot,whereshewaitedformeonMondaymorning.Amyhadsetherownphone
alarmtomyschedule,andwhiletheshrillsirennoise
sentmeboltingupright,Amyhadn’tevenstirred.I’dresetthealarmtoherschedule(andturnedthevolumeupalittle)beforesneakingoutofthehouse.Mostdays,Igotupearly,
gotreadyatAmy’s,thensatintheparkinglotuntilitwastimetoheadtoschool.Usually,IdozedoffinGert’s
frontseat,thenhadtorushtoavoidbeinglateforclass.Nottoday,though.TodayIforcedmyselftostayawake.IknewRyderalways
arrivedtoclassearly,andIwantedachancetotalktohimbeforeMr.BuckleystartedlecturingabouttheCrusadesortheInquisitionorwhatevertragicreligious
conflictwewerelearningaboutnow.IwashopingtoexplainwhathadhappenedinourIMs,makeitknownthatInolongerthoughtofhimacompletetoolbag(onlyapartialtoolbag)andmaybe,justmaybe,invitehimtositwithmeatlunch.Ryderhadotherplans,
however.
Asexpected,hewasalreadyintheclassroomwhenIwalkedthroughthedoor.Hewasflippingthroughthepagesofourtextbookandjottingdownnotesonayellowlegalpadashewent.HewaswearingadarkgreenT-shirtwithsomestrangelogoonitthat,evenacrosstheroom,madehiseyespop
morethanusual.Onceagain,Iwasstruckbyhowattractivehewas.AndnowthatIknewhewasn’t100percentawful…well,let’sjustsaytherewasanuptickinhishotnessfactor.Allofasudden,Iwas
nervous.Itookadeepbreathandtriedtoshakeitoffbeforewalkingovertohim.
“Hey,”Isaid,slidingintomyseat.Hedidn’tlookup,andI
thoughtmaybehehadn’theardme.SoIclearedmythroatandsaidagain,“Hey.”“Hey.”Hisvoicewasflat
andhekeptonworking,notevenglancingbackatme.Okay,somaybethiswould
beharderthanI’dthought.
“So,uh…Ineedtotalktoyouaboutsomething.Theothernight—”Suddenly,Ryderspun
aroundinhisseat,facingme.Butthelookonhisfacewaslessthankind.Hiseyeswerenarrowedandcold.Eveninallourbickering,he’dneverlookedthispissed.IwassosurprisedthatIsatup
straight.“Theothernight,”hesaid.
“Youmeanthate-mailIreceived?”“Um…”“BecauseIknowthatwasn’t
allAmy,”hesaid.“No,itwasn’t.But,Ryder
—”“Forthelifeofme,Ican’t
understandwhyshe’dbe
friendswithsomeonelikeyou,Sonny.”No,thisdefinitelywasn’t
goingasplanned.Igrittedmyteeth.“Willyoujustshutupandlistentomeforasecond?”“I’mdonelisteningtoyou,”
hesnapped.“Despiteeverythingyou’vesaid,AmyandIhaveaconnection.We
chattedonlineallnightafterthatridiculouse-mail.”“I’maware,”Imuttered.“She’sfunnyandsmartand
beautiful…”Irolledmyeyes.Becauseof
course.Ofcoursehementionedhowbeautifulsheis.“Andyou,”hesaid,glaring
atme.“You’rejusta…”
Iwaited,knowingwhathewasgoingtosay.Abitch.Amywasfunnyandsmartandbeautiful,andI,Sonny,wasjustabitch.Buthedidn’tsayit.Hejust
shookhishead,turnedbackaroundinhisseat,andmumbledsomething.Idon’tthinkhemeantmetohearit,butIdid.
“Andyou’renotgoodenoughforher.”Myfistsclenchedbeneath
mydesk.“Yeah?”Isaid.“Well,neitherareyou.”Justthen,Mr.Buckley
walkedintheroom,puttingastoptoanysnappyretortRydermighthavethrownatmenext.Fuckit,Ithought.I’dbeen
wrong.Ryderwasanasshole.Thatall-nightchathadclearlybeenafluke,andtherewasnopointtellinghimthetruthaboutit.Evenifheletmegetawordout,hewouldn’tbelieveme.Oritwouldjustpisshimoffevenmore.SoIgotmytextbookand
wentrightbacktohatingRyderCross.
Idon’tknowhowImetAmyRush.I’dlovetotellyouthischarmingstoryabouthowwebondedoverasharedboxofcrayonsinpreschoolorsomething—andwhoknows,maybewedid—butIcan’tremember.That’show
longagoitwas.Iknowwewereyoung,
threeorfour,maybe.Itwasbeforemydadwasarrestedforthefirsttime.Heusedtodrivemetoherhouseforplaydatesontheweekends.DadtoldmeIcouldinviteAmyover,too,ifIwanted,butIneverdid.Becauseevenasalittlekid,
Iwasembarrassed.Atthatpoint,myparentsandIwerelivinginatraileroutontheedgeofHamilton.AndAmylivedinamansion.Plus,therewasmymom,who,Iwasconvinced,wouldforgettomakeusdinnerorsomething.Ididn’twantAmytoseewhereIlived.Iguesstherehavealwaysbeenpartsofmy
lifeIkepthidden,evenfromher.Butthatdidn’tstopusfrom
becominginsanely,maybeunhealthilyclose.Weweretwohalvesofawhole.Weneededeachotherforbalance.Shekeptmecalm,putmeat
easewhenIwasfreakingout.Likewhenwewereseven
andIaccidentallybrokethearmoffmyfavoritedoll.Mydadhadjustbeenarrested,andRamonawasthelastgifthe’dgivenme.AsIsatthere,onthevergeofanall-outtantrum,AmygentlyremovedRamonafrommyarms,retrievedsomegluefromherdad’sdesk,andputthedollbacktogether.Sure,
herarmwasalittlecrookedafterthat,butthatwasokay.Amyhad,forthemostpart,solvedtheproblem.Meanwhile,Ispokeupfor
her,gotangryforher,whenshewastooscaredorembarrassedto.LikewhenwewerefreshmenandthisgrossupperclassmannamedRandysmackedherassinthe
hallway.Amywassoupsetand
humiliated,andIwaspissedonherbehalf.SothenexttimeIsawRandy,Ithrewhimupagainstthewallandgavehimaswiftkneetothegroin.WhocaredifIwashalfhissize?Hellhathnofurylikeagirldefendingherbestie.Igottwoweeksin
detentionforthat,butheneverbotheredAmyagain,soitwasworthit.AmyandIneededeach
other.Neitherofusreallyhadotherclosefriends.Wewerethetypewhowerefriendlywitheveryone—excludingRyderCross,ofcourse—butIthinkmostpeoplefeltsortofleftoutwhentheyspent
timewithAmyandme.Therewastoomuchhistory,toomanyinsidejokes,and,yeah,maybeourclosenesswasalittlebitweirdtosome.Butwewereokaywiththat.
Itwasjustus.SonnyandAmy.AmyandSonny.Whereshewent,Iwent.WhichwaswhyIgotalittle
panickedwhenIsawthe
stackofcollegeapplicationssittingonherdesk.“Isitalreadytimefor
these?”Iasked,pickingupaCornellapplication.“Yep.Igotthosefromthe
guidanceofficetoday.”She’djustletmeintothehouseafterherparentshadgoneofftobed,sowehadtokeepourvoiceslow.
“Wow.”Iflippedthroughthestack.“Dartmouth,Stanford,Columbia…Veryambitious,Ms.Rush.”“Thereareafewsafety
schoolsinthere,”shesaidasshechangedintoherpajamas.“Haveyouthoughtaboutwhereyou’reapplying?”“Notreally,”Iadmitted.“I
figuredI’dfollowyou
whereveryouwereacceptedandliveunderyourbedinyourdormroom.”Shelaughed.ButIhadn’texactlybeen
kidding.“Youbetterstartthinking
aboutit,”shesaid.“Thesenextfewmonthsaregoingtogofast.Iknowyougetoverwhelmedwithpaperwork
—”“False.”Sherolledhereyes.“You
takethreedaystofilloutaone-pagejobapplication.”“I…liketobethorough.”“Anyway,”shesaid.“I’dbe
gladtohelpyoufillthemout.”“Thanks,”Isaid.“We’ll
see.”
Thetruthwas,Iwassortofdeliberatelyavoidingthoughtsofcollege.Sure,Ihaddecentgrades(IwasanAPstudent,afterall),butIwasn’tgoingtobeabletoaffordtuition.EspeciallynottotheschoolsAmywasapplyingto.Injustafewmonths,we’dbeseparated.She’dbeoffatsomeIvy
Leagueuniversity,andI’dbestuckhere.Andthatterrifiedme.I’dbeenavoidingit,
pretendingcollegewasalongwayawayandIhadnoreasontoworryaboutityet,butwewereseniorsnow,whichmeantitwastimetostartfiguringmyshitout.Iwasn’treadytodealwithit
yet,though.Maybethat’swhyIgotso
enragedwhenRyderhatedonHamilton,becauseIknewthisplacewasgoingtobemyhomeforavery,verylongtime.WhetherIlikeditornot.Amyfinishedrunninga
combthroughherhair.“Okay.Youreadyforbed?”
Ishookmyhead.Allthecollegetalkhadgottenmetooworkeduptosleep.“Ineedtoworkonapaper.MindifIuseyourcomputer?”“Ofcoursenot.It’sall
yours.”“Thanks.”Ipickedupthe
laptopandsteppedoutintothehallway.“Sleeptight.”“Seeyouinthemorning.”
I’dbarelygottenthelaptopsetupintherecroomwhenIheardapingfromthee-mailtab.Irolledmyeyes,knowingbeforeIevenlookedwhowasmessagingme.OrAmy,rather.“Notnow,Ryder,”I
mumbled.“Notinthemood.”Aminutelater,therewas
anotherping.
RYDER:How was yourday?RYDER:Are you donewith that English paperyet?
Iwasdeterminedtoignorehim.Afterthewayhe’dtalkedtomeinclassthatmorning,hedidn’tdeservemytime.Butfiveminuteslater,therewasanotherping,
andthistime,Icouldn’tignorehismessage.
RYDER:So Pearl Jamis going to have aconcert in Oak Hill.ME:WHAT?!?! When?Where? Link????RYDER:Ha. I knew thatwould get your attention.
Isighed,disappointed.
ME:Not cool.RYDER:Sorry. I had totry.ME:How did you know Ilike Pearl Jam?RYDER:You lovegrunge, so I just thoughtof the most clichégrunge band I could.Other than Nirvana, ofcourse.
ME:Wow. So nowyou’re calling me acliché. Nice.RYDER:You call me ahipster. It only seemsfair.
Hesignedthatoneoffwithasmileyface.
ME:I’m a cliché, butyou are the King of the
Emoticons. Tell me,Ryder, how many selfieshave you taken today?RYDER:None. I don’teven have anInstagram.ME:Hipster.RYDER:I can’t win withyou.ME:This is probablytrue.
RYDER:That’s notgoing to stop me fromtrying.
Despitemybetterjudgment,thismademesmile.AndthatwashowIended
upchattingwithRyder—again—formostofthenight.
RYDER:My mom is
driving me insane.ME:Welcome toadolescence. You’ll fit inwell here.RYDER:She won’teven let me watch thecoverage of Dad’scampaign. It’s hardenough to find it anywaysince he doesn’trepresent this district,
but if she hears one ofhis ads on my computer,she shouts at me to turnit off.ME:Wow. Harsh.RYDER:Hopefully I canget to DC forThanksgiving nextmonth. I’m desperate toget out of this stupidboring town.
ME:Again. Harsh.RYDER:Sorry. I’mworking on it.ME:But I hope you areable to go back to DC.I’m sure your dad andyour friends will be gladto see you.
Ihatedmyselfforkeepinguptheconversation.ButasmuchasIwantedtodespise
him,Ryderwaskindofbeingtolerable.
ME:So, you had agirlfriend in DC?RYDER:Yeah.Eugenia.ME:Whoa. Terriblename.RYDER:It really, reallyis.ME:So what
happened?RYDER:Nothing. Webroke up when I movedand she’s already datingsomeone else. My bestfriend, actually.ME:Oh. Ouch.RYDER:I’m honestlynot that upset about it.We dated for over ayear, but it never really
felt serious. Moreconvenient thananything.ME:So romantic.RYDER:I don’t carethat she started datingAaron (my friend).That’s fine. I’m moreupset that she andAaron and everyoneseem to have moved on
without me so fast. Theywere the reasons I wasupset to leave DC.They’ve been my friendssince elementaryschool. And now, just afew months afterleaving, I hardly hearfrom them. I get theoccasional comment onmy Facebook posts, but
that’s it.ME:Well, if you don’tmind me saying so, theysuck.RYDER:Ha.RYDER:They don’t,really. That’s the worstpart. I get it. It’s easy todrift apart. It probablywouldn’t be so bad if I’dactually managed to
make friends here. If I’dmoved on, too.ME:Not to harp on this,but if you’d just ease upon the constantHamilton bashing, youmight be surprised howmany friends you’dmake.RYDER:I know. I reallyam trying.
RYDER:But even if Istopped, I don’t knowhow simple it would beto make friends.Hamilton’s a smallschool. You all haveknown each otherforever. I’m an outsiderhere.ME:Maybe, but itwouldn’t be too difficult
for you. If you’d be cool,people at Hamiltonwould love you.Especially the girls.You’re fresh meat, a boywe’ve never seen throwup on the school bus orgo through the worstparts of puberty. Plus,you’re not a bad-lookingguy, you know.
IcouldnotbelieveI’djusttypedthat.Mortifieddoesn’tevenbegintocoverit.Itwastrue,ofcourse.Hewashot,andifhewasn’tsuchadickaboutourhometown,girlsprobablywouldhavethrownthemselvesathim.No,notprobably.Mostdefinitely.ButIdidn’thavetotellhim
that.
Rydersentbackasmileyfaceemoji.Isentbackonerollingitseyes.Andeventuallythisdevolvedintoanoh-so-sophisticatedemojiwar.Thebattlewaslongandthereweremanycasualties,buteventually,withthepeaceofferingofemojisushi,acease-firewascalled.Ifonlyitweresoeasyin
reallife.
***
Thenextday,though,Ryderwasbacktobeingunbearable.“Mr.Buckley,”hesaid,
raisinghishand.“WhenarewegoingtostartpracticingDBQs?”“Excuseme?”“DBQs,”Ryderrepeated.
“Itstandsfordata-based
questions.They’llbeontheAPtestinthespring.”“I’mawarewhataDBQis,
Mr.Cross.Iamtheteacherhere,afterall.”IexpectedRydertomakea
snidecommentaboutthis,buthemanagedtorestrainhimselfandinsteadasked,“Sowhenwillwestartpracticingthem?”
“AfterThanksgiving.”“Don’tyouthinkthat’s
awfullylate?”“Ohdear,”Isaid.Iwasless
abletorestrainmyself.“That’sfartoolate.DidyouknowthatinDC,studentsstartpreparingforAPtestsjustoutofutero?”Ryderturnedtofaceme,
mid-eye-roll.“Whileyour
hyperboleisridiculous,wedostartpreparingwayinadvance.AndourAPtestresultsreflectit.”“Ifonlyyou’dspentas
muchtimeworkingonyoursocialskills.”“Youaregoingtolectureme
onsocialskills?”“I’msorry.Dousignorant
countryfolkhereinHamilton
notcommunicatetoyourliking?”“It’snotaproblemwitheveryoneinHamilton.”“Enough,”Mr.Buckley
said.Iwasactuallyamazedathowlonghe’dletthisgoon.Isuspectedhegotasmuchentertainmentoutofthesparringastherestoftheclassdid.
And…IthinkIkindofenjoyedit,too.Honestly,though,itwas
amazinghowfunnyandpleasantRydercouldbeoverIM,onlytoturnaroundandbeapompousjerkinreallife.Iwasgettingsomeseriouswhiplash.WhichwaswhyIcouldn’t
respondtohisIMsanymore.
Nomás.Iwasdone.Itwasalreadyweirdenoughsince,bothtimes,I’dbeenonAmy’saccount.Shedidn’tknowaboutthesecondconversation,andI’dhadtoliewhensheaskedmeifIknewwhyRyderhadgivenheramixtape(seriously?Whohastapesanymore?)ofsomeweird,poorlyrecorded
bandandaskedifshe’dsitwithhimatlunch.“Noidea,”I’dsaid.“Imean,
weknowhelikesyou….Whatdidyousay?”“Thankyou,butthatI
alwayssitwithyou,”she’dreplied.Well,thatwaseasyenough.
Ryderwouldneversitatalunchtablewithme.SoIjust
shrugged.Lyingwaseasy.Whatwas
worsewasthattheseconversationshadtotallyconfusedmyonceunwaveringdisdainforRyderCross.IthadbeeneasierwhenI
hatedhim.
Iwould.Not.Respond.Onceagain,insomniahad
mesittingintheRushes’recroomwellaftermidnight,onlythistimeIdidn’thaveanyhomeworklefttodo.Instead,Iwastorturingmyselfbylookinguphowfar
allofthecollegesAmywasapplyingtowerefromHamilton.Answer:Reallyfreakingfar.WhatthehellwasIgoingto
do?Ihadn’theardbackfromanyofthejobsI’dappliedfor,Ihadnomoney,andwhenAmyleftforcollege,I’dessentiallybehomeless.Itwasn’tasifIcouldkeep
sneakingintoherparents’house.Needlesstosay,Iwas
alreadyfeelingabitdepressedandalittlelonelywhenIheardtheping.“Notfallingforitthistime,
Ryder,”Imumbled.Ping.Nope.Ping.
“Damnit.”ItoldmyselfIwasjust
goingtologoutofAmy’se-mail.ItoldmyselfIwasn’tgoingtolookatthemessage.But,aswe’veestablished,Iamaliar,evenwhenI’mtalkingtomyself.
RYDER:Hey, Amy, areyou there?RYDER:I’m sorry. It’s
late, and you’reprobably not even nearyour computer. But I justfound something outand I need to talk tosomeone. You were theonly person I could thinkof.RYDER:Sorry. Nevermind.
AsmuchasIwantedto
ignorehim,Icouldn’t.TherewassomethingsortofdesperateinthosemessagesthatIcouldn’tjustwalkawayfrom.Tomysurprise,Iwas…
concerned.AboutRyderCross.
ME:Hey, I’m here.What’s going on? Areyou okay?
RYDER:Not really.RYDER:Do you have afew minutes?
Ishould’vesaidno.Ishould’veloggedoff.Butmyownloneliness—
mixedwithmyconcernandcuriosity—gotthebetterofme.
ME:I’ve got all night.
IclosedouttheotherInternettabs,almostgladforthedistraction.Icouldn’tkeepthinkingaboutAmyleavingmeforcollege.Iwantedtogobacktocoveringmyearsandpretendingitwasn’thappening.AndifmyonlydistractionwasRyder,sobeit.
RYDER:My friend
Aaron called me tonight.I knew something wasup when I saw his nameon my phone. He hasn’tcalled me in over amonth.ME:This is the onewho’s dating your ex-girlfriend, right? The girlwith the terrible name?RYDER:Right, but it
wasn’t about that.RYDER:He was callingbecause he saw mydad, and he wanted towarn me.ME:Warn you aboutwhat?RYDER:He saw mydad leaving our house(Aaron lives next door)with this woman.
RYDER:This model.
HesentalinktoaGoogleImagespage,andIclickedit.Myscreenfilledwithdozensofshotsofabeautifulbrunette—AnnaliseStone.ShewasarunwaymodelfromNewYorkandonlyafewyearsolderthanRyderandme.
ME:Wow. She’s pretty.ME:Wait. Do you thinkhe’s seeing her?RYDER:Why elsewould she be leavingour house?
Iwantedtomakesomesortofjokeinresponsetothisquestion,butIgotthesensethatthiswasn’ttheappropriatetime.
ME:I don’t understand.I thought he didn’t wantto divorce your mom.RYDER:That’s what Ithought, too. So I askedher.RYDER:She didn’twant to tell me, butapparently that’s whyshe left. Because he’sbeen seeing this woman
for a while.ME:He’s beencheating?RYDER:Yeah.RYDER:But he refusesto give Mom a divorcebecause he thinks it’llhurt his chances in theelection in a couple ofweeks.ME:Well, so will
sneaking around with amodel half his age.RYDER:I’m guessinghe’s trying to keep thatsecret. But if Aaroncould find out, the othercandidates could, too.ME:I’m sorry, Ryder.
AndIwas.Iknewjusthowfraughtwithdisappointmentparentalrelationshipscould
be.Andhowfuckingmuchitcouldhurtwhenthepeoplewhoraisedyouletyoudown.
RYDER:I feel like anidiot.ME:Why???RYDER:This wholetime I’ve been blamingmy mom. I’ve thought ofher as selfish and cold.In reality, she was trying
to keep me from hatingDad. No matter howmuch he hurt her.ME:That doesn’t makeyou an idiot.RYDER:Maybe not, butworshipping Dad does.I’ve been thinking hewas this saint. Evenwhen I couldn’t get himon the phone, I made
excuses for him.ME:He’s your dad. Noone blames you forloving him.RYDER:Maybe theyshould.
Ididn’tknowhowtorespondtothat.Ihadn’tspokentomyownfatherinyears,andmymom…well,Iwashardlythepersontogive
adviceonthesubject.Luckily,Rydersavedme
fromhavingtocomeupwithareply.
RYDER:Sorry. Thisconversation gotincredibly emoincredibly fast. Quick,say something funny.ME:Something funny.RYDER:Ha.
RYDER:You’re such ariot.ME:I know. I shouldreally do stand-up.RYDER:I’d pay to seethat.ME:I bet you would.Getting tickets to myshows will be nearlyimpossible. The criticswill love me. I’ll be
known as the funniestcomedian to ever comeout of Hamilton.RYDER:Do you reallyhave any competition inthat regard?ME:Probably not.RYDER:I didn’t thinkso.ME:… You’re not anidiot, Ryder. You don’t
have anything to feelbad about. Your daddoes.RYDER:Thank you.RYDER:For listening, Imean. Or reading?Anyway, I mean it.When I found out, youwere the only person Iactually wanted to talkto.
RYDER:That probablysounds ridiculous.ME:No, it doesn’t. I’mflattered, actually.ME:And the feeling’smutual.
Ihatedadmittingit,butI’dbeenthinkingaboutourotherIMconversationsalot,too.WhenInoticedTheParentTrapwasonTV,I’dwanted
tomessagehim.WhenIgotanoldNirvanasongstuckinmyhead,I’dwantedtosendhimthelinktothevideo.Itwasabsurd,especially
consideringthefactthatI’dwantedlittlemorethantostranglehimlessthanaweekago.ButIcouldn’tdenyit.SomethingaboutRyderCrosshadgottentome,andas
muchasItried,Icouldn’tshakethefeelingofnothatinghim.Ofmaybesortoflikinghim.
RYDER:I’m glad tohear that, Amy.
Amy.Damnit.I’ddoneitagain.
I’dactuallyletmyselfforget.HethoughtIwasAmy.He
wasn’topeninguptomebuttoher.BecausewhileImaybesortoflikedRyder,hemaybesortofhatedme.Ishouldhavetoldhimthe
truthrightthen.IknowIshouldhave.Ishould’vetypedoutsomethinglike,Yeah,aboutthat.ThisisactuallySonny.Sorryfortheconfusion.ButIdidn’twant
tomakehimfeelweirdorembarrassedafteropeningupabouthisparents.SoIdecidedtowait.
RYDER:By the way, Iwatched The ParentTrap.ME:YOU DID?!?!RYDER:Don’t start withthe shouting again. Ha-ha.
RYDER:It was on TVon Saturday, and since Ihave yet to develop asocial life here …ME:And?ME:AND???RYDER:It was okay.ME:Just okay?RYDER:Just okay.ME:Our friendship isover. Done. Kaput. I
can’t associate withanyone who doesn’tlove The Parent Trap.RYDER:So we’refriends, then?
Ichewedonmylowerlip,myfingershoveringoverthekeyboard.Werewefriends?No.No,wecouldn’tbe.Notwhenwe’donlyreallyhadtwopleasantconversations
beforetonight.NotwhenhethoughtIwassomeoneelse.Butitfeltlikewewere.
ME:Well, we were untilyou expressed yourincorrect opinion of afilm classic.RYDER:It was theLindsay Lohan version.ME:Still a classic!RYDER:I take it back,
then. The film wasbrilliant.RYDER:So we can befriends now?
Ihesitatedbeforereplying.BecausewhatIwasabouttosaywasn’ttherightanswer.
ME:Yes.RYDER:Good.ME:Good.
ButthecloserRyderandIgotonline,themoreweseemedtoargueinreallife.Everyday,hesaidsomethingentirelyasshole-ish,which,ofcourse,Ihadtocallhimouton.ItwassocommonplacenowthatMr.Buckleyseemedresignedtolettingusfightitout.Butwheneveranyoneelse
saidsomethingrudetooraboutRyder,Ifeltalittledefensiveonhisbehalf.Like,itwasokayformetomockhim,butnooneelse.Becauseunlikethem,IknewtheothersideofRyder.Evenifhedidn’trealizeit.NotthatIhadn’ttriedtotell
thetruth.TwiceI’dattemptedtoIMhimfrommyaccount
toexplain,andbothtimeshe’dloggedoffimmediately.Sothatwasabust.ButprettymuchanytimeI
wasonAmy’saccount,he’dmessageme.Andacoupleoftimes,Iwastheonewhostartedtheconversation.
ME:Do you watch thelocal news?RYDER:Huh??
ME:The six o’clocknews. Do you watch it?RYDER:Um, no. Noone under the age offifty watches the localnews.ME:Well, give me awalker and call meGranny. Because I do.Every night.RYDER:I can’t decide if
that’s pathetic oradorable.ME:So one of theanchors, Greg Johnson,lives in Hamilton.RYDER:And?ME:And I ran into himtoday. I was pumpinggas when he and hisstepdaughter pulled up.She goes to school with
us, but she’s a fewyears younger. Asophomore, I think.RYDER:Uh-huh.ME:Anyway, I told himwhat a fan of his I was,and when we went in topay for our gas, he waslike, “Don’t worry, I gotthis. Anything for a fan.”RYDER:That’s nice of
him.ME:HE PAID FOR MYGAS!RYDER:WHY AREYOU SHOUTING?ME:BECAUSE IT’S ABIG DEAL!RYDER:Is it, though?ME:Excuse me, Mr. BigCity, but around hereGreg Johnson is
practically famous. He’sthe closest thing wehave to a celebrity inHamilton.RYDER:Again, not sureif this is sad or adorable.ME:He’s also veryhandsome, so there’sthat, too.RYDER:Is it weird thatI’m a little jealous of this
guy now?
Ifeltasmilespreadacrossmyface.Iknewitwaswrong.Iknewhethoughthewasflirtingwithmybestfriend,notme.ButIcouldn’thelpit.
ME:If you pay for mygas, I’ll call youhandsome, too.
RYDER:Duly noted.
BytheendofOctober,therewasnowayaroundit.Somehow,I’ddevelopedabig,stinkingcrushonRyderCross.Andhehadoneonmybest
friend.Butsomehow,IthoughtI
couldfixthat.IcouldturnthisaroundandmakeRyderseethatI,notAmy,wasthegirlheshouldbewith.Itwouldjusttakesomeplanning,alotoflying…Andalittlehelpfrommy
bestfriend.“Youwantmetodowhat?”
Amy’seyeswerewideandtotallyfreakedout.
Iglancedaroundourtabletomakesurenoonewaslistening.ItwasMonday,andI’dspenttheweekendpiecingtogethermyplanbeforespringingitonheroverlunch.Satisfiedthatweweren’t
beingspiedon—andthatRyderwasnowherenearus—Iexplained.
“Notjustyou.I’minonthis,too.”“That’snotexactly
comforting.”“Fairpoint.”Ipoppeda
soggyfrenchfryintomymouth.Onceagain,I’dliedtothecafeterialadysoIcouldgetafreelunch.NowthatIwasunemployed,thiswouldlikelybecomeanall-too-
regularoccurrence.Amyhadaskedthat
morningifIneededlunchmoney,butI’dsaidno.Shewasalreadydoingsomuchforme,lettingmestayinherroom,andIwouldn’ttakemoneyfromher,too.ItoldherIhadalittlecashsaved.And,ofcourse,shebelievedme.
“Trustme,though,”Isaid.“Thiswillwork.”“I’mnotsurewhatthisis.”“Right.Okay.”Ipushedmy
emptytrayasideandleanedforwardwithmyelbowsonthetable.“SoRyderlikesme,buthethinksI’myou.AndhehatesthemehethinksIam.Following?”“Barely.ButI’mconfused.
Youchattedwithhimagainafterthefirsttime?”“Just…once,”Isaid,
cringingalittle.Ithadbeenmorelikehalfa
dozentimes.“Oh,”Amysaid,clearly
madealittleuncomfortablebythis.“Thatmighthavebeennicetoknow.Itwould’veexplainedwhyhe
keptwavingtomeinthehallway,ifhethoughtwe’dbeenchattingonline.Iwishyou’dtoldmesooner.”“Iknow,”Isaid.“Butitjust
sortofhappened.Ididn’tmeantodoitagain.”Andagain…andagain…“Well,I’mstillnotsurewhy
youcan’tjusttellhimit’syouhe’sbeentalkingto.”
“We’vebeenoverthis,”Isaidwithagroan.“I’vetried.Hewon’tletmegetawordoutinperson,andwhenItryoverIM,hejustlogsoff.AndI’mscaredifItellhimnoworwriteitinane-mail,he’llthinkI’vejustbeenscrewingwithhim.”“Sothealternativeis…
lyingtohimmore?”
“Precisely.Butforagoodcause.”“Agoodcause,”Amy
repeated,dubious.“Mylovelife,”Isaid.“It’s
indesperateneedofsomecharity.Helpingmewouldreallyjustbedoingagooddeed.”“Idon’tknow…”“What’stherenottoknow?”
Iasked.“Itwon’tbehardanditwon’ttakelong.Basically,wejusthavetoconvinceRyderthatit’sme,notyou,he’sinterestedin.Really,it’llbebeneficialtobothofus.”“Howdowedothat?”“I’mgladyouasked,my
dearest,bestestfriend.It’ssimple.Westartbymakinghimwarmuptome.I’llact
likeI’mjustplayingniceforyoursake,andhe’llagreebecausehe’sintoyou.Butthen,weconvincehimthatyouaren’tatallthekindofgirlhewantstobewith,makehimthinkhewaswrongaboutyou.Bythenhe’sgottenclosertome,realizedjusthowcharmingIactuallyam,andbam!RyderandIare
makingoutinGert’sbackseatwhileBoyzIIMenplaysonthestereo.”“Who?”Igaveheradisappointed
stare.“YoushouldreallylistentothatninetiesplaylistImadeyou.You’dunderstandsomanymoreofmyreferences.”Amydecidedtoignorethis
andreturnedtothemoreimportantconversation.“I’mstillnotsurewhatyouexpectmetodo,”shesaid.“HowdowemakeRyderthinkI’mwrongforhim?”“Well,first,Iwon’tIMhim
onyouraccountagain.AndifheIMsyou,youignorehim.Orsaysomethingrude.”Amygrimaced,asifthe
ideaofbeingrude,eventosomeoneshedisliked,wasphysicallypainful.“Oryoucanaskmetosay
somethingrude.Whatever.”“Andwhataboutin
person?”sheasked.“Wegotoschooltogether.Hethinkswe’vebeentalkingthiswholetime—he’salreadytryingtohangoutwithme.”
“Youblowhimoff,”Isay.“Actflaky.Orself-absorbed.”EvenasIsaidit,Iknewthis
wasgoingtoprovetobeachallengeforAmy.“I’llhelpyou,”Isaid.“You
guysdon’thaveanyclassestogether,anyway.Butwhenhedoescomeuptoyou,I’llbeyourdirector.We’reprettymuchtogetherallthetimeas
itis,andIknowexactlywhatittakestopissoffRyderCross.ImightaswellhaveaPhDinit.”“I’mstillnotsure…”“Please,Amy.”Iclasped
myhandstogetherandgaveherthebiggest,saddesteyesIcouldmanage.“Please.Ineedthis.”“Youreallylikehimthat
much?”sheasked.“Yeah.IthinkIdo.”Iwasnotaparticularly
romanticperson.Upuntilnow,I’donlyeverhadtwocrushesinmylife.ThefirstwasmychildishobsessionwithAmy’sbrother.ThesecondequallyasunattainablecrushwasonGregJohnson,thenews
anchor.Acelebritycrush,ifyouwill.ButRyderwasdifferent.
TheflutteryfeelingIgotinmystomachwasn’tbasedonhowhelooked(thoughstaringathiminhistoryclasswasnotentirelyunpleasant)orjustbecausehewasnicetome(becausehewasn’talways).Myfeelingsforhim
hadformedoverthecourseofourinstantmessageconversations—allofwhichhadlastedhours.I’dnevertalkedtoanyoneforhoursbefore,asidefromAmy.We’djustclicked.Hewassmartandsurprisinglyfunny.Evenifhewasalsoa
pretentioushipster.“Youhatedhimacoupleof
weeksago,”Amysaid.“Whatifyouchangeyourmindabouthimagain?”“Iwon’t,”Iassuredher.
“Believeme,Amy.He’snottheassholewethought.Imean,hesortofis,butnotexactly.Ugh.IknowIsoundcrazy.Justtellmeyou’llhelp.Youhaveto.”Shelookeddownather
half-eatenlunch.“IguessIwill.Aslongasitdoesn’tgoontoolong—”“Eee!Thankyou!”Isprang
acrossthetabletothrowmyarmsaroundher,mychestlandingrightinherplateoffrenchfries.“Iloveyou,Iloveyou,Iloveyou!Youaremyfavoritehumanbeing,AmyRush.”Andwiththat,I
plantedakissrightonhercheek.Sheblushed,eitherpleased
orembarrassed.Thenshesaid,“Um…Mr.Buckleyjustwalkedintothecafeteria,andhe’sgivingusaverystrangelook.Probablybecauseyou’reontopofthetable,so…”Ilaughedandpushedmyself
upandawayfromher,easingbackintomyseat.“I’vedoneweirderthingsinclass.He’susedtoit.”“Idon’tknowifthat’s
somethingtobragabout,”shesaid.Thenhereyeswidened.“Oh,no!Yourshirt.”“What?”Ilookeddown.Ketchup.Onmywhiteshirt.
Allovermyboobs.“Fan-freaking-tastic,”Isaid,
eventhoughIwaslaughing.“Sorry,”Amymoaned.Asif
itwasherfaultI’dlaunchedmyselfacrossthelunchtable.“It’scool,”Isaid.“I’lljust
telleveryoneI’mdressedasamurdervictim.Imean,we’reonlyafewdaysfromHalloween.Noonewillthink
twice.”Thebellrangandwethrew
ourtrashoutbeforeheadingtoourthirdblockclasses.“Ihavemygymclothesin
mylocker,”Amysaid.“YoucouldborrowthatT-shirt.Itmightbealittlestinky,butthere’snoketchuponit.”“It’sfine,”Isaid.“Maybe
I’llstartanewtrend.”
ButmymindchangedwhenIspottedRyderheadingdownthehallwaytowardus.TherealityofwhatImustlooklikehitme,andIwassuddenlyfarlesscomfortablewithit.Iwassupposedtobemakingagoodimpression,afterall,andperhapsitwasn’tbesttostartoffwithagiantredsplotchacrossmy
breasts.Iduckedintoanalcove,
draggingAmywithme.Wepressedagainstthewallandstayedquietashewalkedby,alone.Hewasalwaysalone.Myheartachedforhima
little,almostoverridingmyembarrassment.Oncehe’dturnedthenext
corner,headingtowardthelibrary,IletoutabreathIdidn’tknowI’dbeenholding.Amygavemeasmall,knowingsmile.“So…,”Isaid.“Yeah.
AboutthatstinkyT-shirt.”
“HowdoIlook?”Amysquintedtwovery
sleepyeyesatme.Shewasn’treallysupposedtobeawakeyet,butIwasabouttosneakoutbeforeherparentsgotup,andIneededheropiniononthiscrucialmatter.So,with
greateffort,I’dshakenheroutofsleeptoshowhertheoutfitI’dchosen.Jeans,newlycleanandalittlesnug,andahunter-greencowl-necksweaterwithelbow-lengthsleeves.ItwastheonlynicetopI’d
broughttoAmy’swithme,andI’dbeensavingitforspecialoccasionsor,nowthat
Iwasunemployed,jobinterviews.Interviewsthat,tomyintensedistress,hadnotyetoccurred.Itwasmygood-impressiontop,andtodayIneededtomakeadamngoodimpression.“Idon’tthinkyou’veever
askedmethatquestionbefore,”Amysaid.“Well,I’maskingyou
now.”Iglancedatthefull-lengthmirrorthathungonthebackofherbedroomdoor.Mycurls,despitemybestefforts,werestillalittlewild,buttheyweren’ttoooutrageous.“I’vegottobefriendlywithRydertoday,andSnobbyMcSnobbersonwon’tbesowillingifIlooklikethehomelessruffianthat
Iam.”“It’stooearlyforyoutouse
wordslike‘ruffian,’”Amymumbled.Shestretchedherarmsoverherheadandletoutahugeyawn.“Andifhe’ssosnobby,whyareyoudoingthis?”“Becausehe’scuteandI
wanttokisshisface.”“Right.”
“Theproblemis,hewantstokissyourface.Sotodayisthebeginningofourmasterplantochangethat.WhichmeansIneedtolookdecent,so…howdoIlook?”“Likeaback-to-school
clothingcommercial.”“Perfect.”Ipickedupmy
backpack,gavemyhaironelastcheck,andgrinnedat
Amy.“Today,itbegins.”“Mm-hm.”Sheflopped
backonthebed,eyesalreadyclosed.IhurriedoutoftheRushes’
houseanddownthestreettowhereGertwaited.And,tomyrelief,shedecidedtorunthatmorning.Iarrivedatschoolwith
enoughtimetopopintothe
bathroomandgivemyselfonemoreonce-overbeforeheadingtoMr.Buckley’sclass.Iwasfeelinguncharacteristicallynervous.Imighthavehadamajor
crushonRyder,buthestillcouldn’tstandme.WhichmeantIhadtoeasehimintoit.IfIcouldgethimtotolerateme,itwouldonlybe
amatteroftimebeforeherealizedthatI,notAmy,wasthepersonhewantedtomakeoutwith.Thiswasthemostcrucial
stepoftheplan,andIcouldn’taffordtoscrewitup.Theclassroomwasalmost
fullbythetimeIslidintomyseatbehindRyder.Hedidn’tevenlookupasIwalkedpast.
“Goodmorning,”Isaid.Noresponse.Butthat
wasn’tasurprise.I’dgoneoverandoverthe
wordsIwantedtosaytohim,thephrasingI’dusetoconvincehimtohearmeout.Butstaringatthebackofhishead,atthehunchedmusclesinhisshoulders,Ifeltmyselfstarttopanic.Whatifitjust
wentdownlikelasttime?Whatifhedidn’tletmegetawordout?WhatifImadehimhatemeevenmore?Whatifthiswasalljusta
wasteoftime?BeforeIcouldclimboutof
thedoomspiralI’dbeguntosinkinto,thebellrangandMr.Buckleyappeared.“So,”hesaid,walkingtothe
whiteboard.“WhowantstotalkabouttheTudors?”Isankbackintomyseat,the
momentlost.Iwouldn’tgetachancetotalktoRyderagainuntiltheendofclass,andthatwasonlyifhedidn’trushout,inahurrytogettohisnextclass.Theboydidputalotofemphasisonpunctuality.JustwhenIstartedtothink
I’dwastedmynicesweater,anideahitme.RyderandImayhavehad
somecommunicationproblemsoftheface-to-facevariety,butwewereaceswhenitcametocorrespondingviatext.Sure,hewasn’tawareofthatfact,butIwas.Andhecouldn’tinterruptmeifmywords
wereonpaper.Irippedasheetfrommy
notebookandpretendedtotakenotesonMr.Buckley’slecturewhilesecretlyscribblinganotetoRyder.Ittookmeafewtriestofigureouttherightwords,buteventually,Ihadit.
Hey.So,Iknowwehaveourissues,butyou’vebeen
talkingtoAmy,right?She’smybestfriend,andasawfulasyouthinkIam,Idowanthertobehappy.Socanweplaynice?Callatruce?Forher,attheleast.—S
I’llbehonest—writingsomeofthatmademenauseous.Ihadtofighttheurgetoripupthepaperand
justwritethetruth,thatitwasmehe’dbeentalkingto.ButIknewthatwouldgetmenowhere.He’djustthinkIwaslying,ironically.Orthatithadallbeensomemeanjoke.BeforeIcouldsecond-guess
mydecision,Ifoldeduptheslipofpaper,tappedRyderontheshoulder,andtossedit
intohislap.Iwatchedhimeyeitforaminute,nottouchingthepaper.Likehethoughtitmightexplodeorcontainanthraxorsomething.“Don’tbesodramatic,”I
whispered.Hesighed,justloudenough
formetohear,thenpickedupthenote.Slowly,heunfoldeditandbegantoread.
Ittookhimforever.Hiseyesmusthavescannedoverthewordsathousandtimes.Itwasagonizing.But,atlast,hepickedupapenandbegantoscribblehisownresponse.IheldmybreathasRyder
foldedthepaperbackup,neaterthanIhad,andquicklytosseditoverhisshoulderontomydesk.
IscoopeditupandalmosttorethepaperasIscrambledtoread.
Fine.ForAmy’ssake—truce.
Igrinnedaseverymuscleinmybodyrelaxed,relieved.Onlytothengorigidonce
moreasMr.Buckley’slectureshiftedawayfromsomeHenryoranotherand
ontoRyder.“Mr.Cross,”hesaid.“DidI
justseeyoupassMs.Ardmoreanote?”“Uh…”“BecauseIdon’tknowhow
theydidthingsatyouroldschoolinWashington,DC”—Mr.Buckleypausedassomeofourclassmateschuckled—“butatHamilton,
wedon’tcondonenotepassing.”“Mr.Buckley,I—”Ryder
began.“Hewasn’tpassingmea
note,”Icutin.Mr.BuckleyandRyderboth
turnedtofaceme.ButIwastotallycool.BecausewhilecommunicatingwithRydermayhavemademeanervous
wreck,lyingaboutitwassomethingIcoulddoinmysleep.“Excuseme,Ms.
Ardmore?”“Ryderwasn’tpassingmea
note,”Isaid.I’dalreadyswipedthepaperoffmydeskandhiddenitinmylapwhileMr.BuckleywaslookingatRyder.“Hewas…tossing
mesomethingelse.”“Oh?Andwhat’sthat?”“I’mnotsureifIshould
say,Mr.Buckley.”“Youcaneithersayittome
ortheprincipal,Ms.Ardmore.Yourchoice.”“Oh,okay.Ryderwas
tossingmea…uh…sanitarynapkin.Itfelloutofmypurseandhewasgivingit
backtome.”“A…oh.”Mr.Buckley’s
facehadturnedquitered.Ryder,however,looked
confused.Iwonderedifhe’deverheardapadreferredtoasasanitarynapkin.Sincehehadn’tgrownupreadingJudyBlumenovels,Idoubtedit.“Sorryaboutthat,Ms.
Ardmore,”Mr.Buckley
chokedout.“Ididn’tmeantodrawattentionto…suchaprivatematter.”“Nobigdeal,”Isaid.“It’s
justapad.”NowRyderhadcaughtup.
But,tohiscredit,helookedonlyslightlyuncomfortable.WhichwasmorethanIcouldsayforMr.Buckley.Whiletheclassbrokeoutinto
giggles,helookedtotallymortified.God,maleteacherswereso
easy.“Let’sgetbacktoEngland,
shallwe?”Heturnedtotheboard.Isatbackinmychair,
fightingasmirk.Itpaidtobeshameless.Afteranotherhalfhourof
takingnotes,thebellrang.IleanedforwardasRydershovedpapersintohisneatlylabeledhistoryfolder.“SorryifIembarrassed
you,”Isaid.“Youdidn’t.”Hisvoicewasstiff,andhe
didn’tlookatmeashegottohisfeet.Istood,too,andforaminute,Ithoughthewas
goingtowalkoutoftheclassroomwithoutanotherword.Buttomysurprise,heturnedtofaceme.“Thankyou,”hesaid.“For
thelie.Theweird,slightlyover-the-topliethat,nonetheless,keptmeoutoftrouble.”Didhejustusenonetheless
incasualconversation?Oh,I
knewIlikedhim.“Hey,whatarenon-enemies
for?”Iasked.“Besides,itwasmynote.Icouldn’tletyoutakecreditformyrulebreaking.Peoplemightstartthinkingyouwerecool.”Thecornersofhismouth
twitched,likehislipswantedtosmilebuthisbrainrefusedtoletthem.
Isawit,though.Andsomehow,IknewI’djustsucceededatsomething.“Seeyouaround,Ryder,”I
said,myshouldergrazinghisasImovedpasthim,headingfortheclassroomdoor.Ididn’tlookback,butpart
ofme,thepartthathadseenathousandbadromanticcomedies,hopedhewas
watchingmewalkaway.Amywaswaitingforme
outsideoftheclassroom,andweheadedtowardsecondblocktogether.“Howdiditgo?”sheasked.Ismirkedupather,Ryder’s
almost-smilefloodingmewithunexpectedconfidence.“He’llbeminesoonenough.”
Okay,somaybeIwasalittleoverconfident.Just,like,atinybit.Butsofarmyplanwas
workingprettybrilliantly.OnTuesday,IaskedRyderifIcouldborrowapen,andheletme.AndonThursday,he
helpedmepickupmybooksafterIaccidentally-on-purposeknockedthemoffmydesk.Progress!Myplanhadonefatalflaw,
however,becausewhileIwasmakingRydernotdespiseme,makinghimnotadoreAmywasprovingtobeimpossible.
Ryder,obviouslythinkingheandAmyhadagreatcyberconnection,kepttryingtoconnectwithherinreallife.Overthenextweek,hewalkeduptoherinthehallwaysatschool,wavedtoherintheparkinglot,andhecontinuedaskinghertositwithhimatlunch.Amyalwaysgavean
excuse,butthatwastheproblem.Amywassosweet,sopolite,thatnoonewouldrealizeshewastryingtoavoidthem.“We’vegottodosomething
aboutthis,”Isaid.“Steeringclearofhimisn’tgoingtobeenough.”“Idon’tknowwhatelseto
do,”shesaid.We’dmetin
theparkinglotbeforeschoolthatmorningandwerewalkingintothebuildingtogether.“Andhekeepstextingmethesushiemoji.”Ilaughed.“Idon’tgetit,”shesaid.“It’saninsidejoke.Wehad
anemojiwaronce.Itendedoveremojisushi.”“Well,Idon’tknowhowto
respondtoit.”“Don’t,”Isaid.“Infact…
letmedoit.Youmightbetoonicetoscarehimoff,butI’mnot.Here.Givemeyourphone.”Shepulleditfromherpurse
andhandeditover.“Youcanholdontoit,”shesaid.“LikeItoldyoubefore—theonlypeoplewhoevercallortext
meareyouandmybrother.Well,andRydernow,Iguess,buthe’sactuallytextingyou,so…”Ipocketedthephoneand
gaveheraone-armedhug.“Thankyou.HaveItoldyoulatelythatyou’rethebest,mostgenerous,prettiestfriendIhave?”“Yes.LastnightwhenIlet
youborrowmynailpolish.”“Right.”“Andagainfiveminutesago
whenIletyouhavethelastsipofmycoffee.”“Noted.I’mavery
appreciativeperson.You’reluckytohaveme.”“Andyou’resomodest,
too.”Sheelbowedmewithagrin.“Butwhatarewegoing
todoaboutRyder?Ifmeavoidinghimisn’tgoingtowork,then—”ButbeforeAmyhadeven
gottenthequestionout,wefoundourselvesface-to-facewiththedevilhimself.Ryderhadjustroundedthecorner,andhewasheadingourway.Amyonlyhadtimeto
mutteranervous“Crap”
beforehewasstandingrightinfrontofus.“Amy,”hesaidwitha
brightsmile.Asmilethatshould’vebeen
forme.ButIshookoffthesudden,irrationalpangofjealousy.“Hi,”Amysaid,fidgeting
nexttome.“Howareyou?”heasked.
“Okay.”Sheglancedatme,hereyesbeggingforhelp.OnlythendidRyderactuallyseemtonoticethatIwasstandingthere.“Oh,Sonny,”hesaid.“Hito
you,too.”“Hey.Didyoureadthe
chaptersforMr.Buckley’sclass?”“Ialwaysreadthe
chapters.”Hisvoicewasflatandobvious,withoutatraceofhumor.“Right,”Isaid,feelinglike
anidiotforasking.Becauseofcoursehehad.HewasRyderCross.Anddespitetheprogresswe’dmade,apparentlyweweren’tquiteatsmalltalklevelyet.“Reallyinterestingstuffwe’vebeen
readingabout.Englandandbeheadingsandall.”Buthiseyeswerealready
backonAmy.“Listen,”hesaid.“Iknow
you’vebeenbusylately,butIwasthinkingmaybewecouldgettogetherthisweekend.There’sanIranianfilmthatjustcameout,andIthoughtwecouldgoseeittogether.”
“Um…well.”Amylookedatmeagain,asifIcouldsomehowhelpheroutofthisone.WhenIjustshrugged,her
eyesbegansearchingelsewhere,andafterasecondshegrabbedmyarm.“Ihavetopee,”she
announced.“Berightback.”Andshepromptlybegan
draggingmetowardthebathroom,leavingRyderwithalookofpronouncedconfusionetchedonhisface.“Well,that’sonewayto
makehimstopworshippingyou,”Isaidoncewewerestandinginfrontoftherowofsinks.“Talkingaboutyourbodilyfunctions.”“Hekeepsaskingmeout,”
shesaid.“Andhe’sjustgoingtoaskagainifItellhimI’mbusythisweekend.”“Iknow,”Isaid.“We’ve
gottacomeupwithanotherwayto…Wait.”“What?”“Ihaveanidea.Avoiding
himisn’tgoingtowork,right?You’retooniceandhejustkeepstrying.Somaybe
whenyoudohavetotalktohim,youcoulddothingslikewhatyoujustdid.”“Talkaboutmybodily
functions?”“Amongotherthings,”I
said.“Beweird.Beallthethingshecan’tstand.”“Idon’tknowwhathecan’t
stand,”shesaid.“Well…Iknowhedoesn’t
likepeoplewhoareflaky.Orpeoplewhoarelateforthings.Hehateswhenpeopleareirresponsibleandhe’skindofasnob,sopopculturereferencesgetonhisnerves.”“So…Ishouldactlike
you?”sheoffered.“Heynow.”“I’mkidding.”Shechewed
onherbottomlip.“But…I
don’tknow.Idon’twanttoberude.”“Yes,”Isaid.“Youdo.For
onceinyourlifeyoudo.”“Sonny…”“Itwon’tkillyou,”Iassured
her.“Comeon.Please.Justbealittleweird.Andnotcute,adorkableweird.He’dprobablybeintothat.”“Idon’t—”
“Notime,”Isaid.“Let’sgo.”Idraggedherbackoutof
thebathroom.Asexpected,Ryderwasstillwaitingrightwherewe’dlefthim.HesmiledatAmy.“Everythingokay?”he
asked.“Oh,ye—”Shestopped,
glancedatme,andthen
clearedherthroat.“No.I’malittlebloated,so…”Ryderraisedaneyebrow.
“Okay…anyway.Soaboutthatdate?”“Can’t,”Amysaid.“I,uh…
There’saRealHousewivesmarathononthisweekend.Ihavetowatchit.”“YouwatchrealityTV?”As
expected,heappearedtobe
disgustedbythisrevelation.“She’sobsessed,”Isaid,
chimingin.“Deeplyobsessed.She’sseeneveryseasonofTheRealWorld,too.Eventheoldonesthatcameonbackinthenineties.”Amynodded.“Yep.SoI’ll
bebusythisweekend.”“Can’tyourecordit?”
Ryderasked.“The
marathon?”“I…um…No.Ican’t.I
haveto,uh,live-tweetit.”Butshecouldn’tresistadding,“Sorry.”“That’sokay.Maybe
anothertime.NextSaturday—”“Amy,don’tyouneedtoget
toclass?”Iasked.“Thebell’sabouttoring.You’llbelate.
Again.”“Huh?Oh.”Shenodded.
“Right.Late.I’malwayslate.LateAmy.That’swhatmyteacherscallme,so…Okay.Bye.”Shetookoffdownthe
hallway.Ryderfrownedafterher,thenheturnedtome.“Thatwas…different.Issheokay?”
“What?No.She’salwayslikethat,”Ilied.“Sheis?”Ryderlooked
skeptical.“Thatdidn’tseemliketheAmyIknow.”“Youdon’tknowheras
wellasyouthink.”“Hmm.”“Comeon,”Isaid,eagerto
changethesubject.“Weshouldgettoclass,too.”
RydernoddedandhefellintostepwithmeasweheadedforMr.Buckley’sclassroom.Despitemyfailedattemptbefore,Itriedtostartaconversationwithhimagain.Iskippedthesmalltalk,though,andwentstraightforthebigguns.“Sohow’syourdad’s
campaigngoing?”
Rydershrugged.“Noidea.Why?”“I’mjustcurious.Tuesday
iselectionday,andIknowhe’srunningforreelection.”ButsinceSenatorCrossdidn’trepresentourregion,Irealizedthatmighthavebeenaweebitstrange,soIadded,“Amytoldme.”“MydadandIaren’t
exactlyspeakingrightnow.AndIdon’tseethatchanginganytimesoon.”“Oh.I’msorrytohearthat.I
knowhiscampaigniskindofabigdeal.IjustthoughtyoumightbegoingtoDCtohelphimwithit.”“I’msureyouandeveryone
elseinthisschoolwouldlovethat,”hesaidasweentered
theclassroomandtookourseats.“No,”Isaidquickly.
“That’snotwhatImeant.Iwasjustwondering.”“Well,toansweryour
question,no.Idon’tparticularlywanthimtowin,so…”“That’sprettyharsh,”Isaid,
surprised.Iknewwhathis
dadhaddone,butI’dalsodonesomeresearchonSenatorCross.Hewas,withoutquestion,ashittyhusband,butbyallaccounts,hewasagoodpolitician.He’dbeenthechampionofseveralprogressivebillsoverthepastfewyears,andheseemedtobedoingalottohelpthepoorandmiddle
classinMaryland.Hotsupermodelmistress
aside,Iwould’vevotedfortheguy.“Nothinghedoesn’t
deserve,”Rydersaid.Iwasn’tsurehowto
respondtothat,notwhenItechnicallywasn’tsupposedtoknowthedetailsofthefalling-outwithhisdad.Iwas
savedthetrouble,however,whenthebellrangandclasswasunderway.Anhourandahalflater,I
caughtupwithAmyassheleftherfirstblockclass.“Ifitisn’tLateAmy,”I
teased.“Youstillbloated?Also,wow,thatsoundslikeapregnancyjoke.”“Ugh.”Shegroaned.“I
didn’tknowwhattosay.Thatwassoawful.”“No,itwasn’t,”Itoldher.
Wewereweavingourwaythroughthecrowdedhallway.Foraschoolthatbarelyhadfourhundredstudents,HamiltonHighcouldgetsurprisinglycongested.“Actually,youwereperfect.Justdothateverytimeyou
seeRyder,andhe’llbeoveryouinnotime.”“ButIdon’twanttodo
that,”Amysaid.“Itwassoawkward.”“Itwassupposedtobe.”I
loopedmyarmthroughhers.“Don’tworry.It’llbefine.Justafewmoreencounterswithweird,flakyAmyandthisthingwillallbedone.”
Amylookedlikeshewasabouttoprotest,butthenIrealizedsomething.“Crap.Ileftmytoothbrush
inyourbathroomthismorning.Youdon’tthinkyourparentswillgointhere,right?Andnotice?”“Noticeyourtoothbrush?”
Amyshookherhead.“Idoubtit.Theyhavenoreason
togointhere.Theyhavetheirownbathroom.”“Good,”Isaid,relieved,as
weslidintoourseatsinMrs.Perkins’sEnglishclass.“I’vebeengettingsloppylately.Ileftmyshoesonthemattheothernight,andtwodaysagoIforgottolockthefrontdooronmywayout.”“Well,”Amysaid,pulling
outhertextbook,“theyhaven’tsaidanythingtomeaboutanyofthosethings.”“Yeah.Iknow.I’mjust
paranoid.”“Ifyou’rereallythat
worriedaboutit,wecouldjusttellthem,”shesuggested.“Theywon’tcarethatyou’restaying,Sonny.I’vetoldyou.Ifyoujusttellthemyouwere
kickedout—”Ishookmyhead.“No.It’ll
betoocomplicated.They’llwanttotalktomymomand…justno.It’sbetterifwekeepthingsthewaytheyare.”Amysighed.“Okay,”she
said.“Istilldon’tseewhattheproblemis,butit’syourchoice.AfewweeksagoI
would’vesaidthere’snowaywecouldkeepitfrommyparentsforthislong,butclearlythat’snotthecase.”“Iamamagnificentsneak,”
Isaid.“TheRussiansshouldhiremeasaspy.Infact,forallyouknow,maybetheyalreadyhave.”“Youjusttoldmelikethree
thingsthatcould’vegiven
youaway,”Amypointedout.“Buttheydidn’t!”I
declared.Amyshookherhead,
giggling.“Ishouldstopworrying
aboutit,though,”IsaidasMrs.Perkinsenteredtheroomandbeganscribblinginstructionsonthewhiteboard.“Yourparents
figuringthingsout,Imean.It’sbeenafewweeks.IftheyweregoingtofindoutIwaslivingwithyou,theywouldhavebynow.I’mprobablyintheclear.”
“WeknowSonny’sbeenlivinghere.”SomaybeI’dspokentoo
soon.Itwasthenextday,
Saturday,whichmeantI’dbeensecretlylivingintheRushes’houseforalmosta
month.I’dreallythoughtIwasintheclear,butwhenMr.RushhadaskedAmyandmetocometalktohimandMrs.Rushinthelivingroom,Iknewwewerebusted.“What…whatareyou
talkingabout?”Amysqueaked.Poorthing.Theguiltwasalloverherprettylittleface.Shehadtheworst
pokerfaceI’deverseen.“We’veknownforawhile,”
Mr.Rushsaid.“Contrarytopopularbelief,mywifeandIaren’ttotallyoblivious.”“You’veleftafewclues,”
Mrs.Rushpointedout.“Andwe’veheardyousneakinginatnight.You’renotexactlythequietestperson,Sonny.”“Wealsoseemedtobe
runningoutoffoodfasterthanusual,”Mr.Rushadded.“Whydidn’tyousay
anythingbefore?”Iasked.“Ifyou’veknown…”“Wewerehopingyou’d
cometouswithwhateverwasgoingonwhenyouwereready,”Mr.Rushsaid.“Butitwasbecomingclearthatmightnothappenanytime
soon.”Ileanedbackagainstthe
couchcushion¸pullingmysockedfeetupandhuggingmykneestomychest.Iwasholdingdownthewaveofpanicrisinginmystomach.“Sonowwehavesome
questionsofourown,”Mr.Rushcontinued.“Yes,”Mrs.Rushagreed.
“Like,Sonny,whyhaveyoubeenlivinghereforthepastfewweeks?Youknowyou’realwayswelcomehere,butyousecretlymovinginissomethingelseentirely.We’reconcernedandwe’dliketoknowwhat’sgoingonunderourownroof.”“I…I…”Iswallowed.Comeon,Sonny.Yougotthis.
You’regoodatthis.Justlie.Lie,lie,lie.“Idon’tknow.It’snothing,really.Homeisjustboring,so…”Damnit.Notmybestwork.Butmyheartwasracingandmypalmswereallsweaty.“I’lljustgohome.It’sfine.”Buttheideaofgoingback
tomyhousemadethepanicevenworse.
Istartedtostandup,butAmycaughtmyarm.“No,”shesaid.“Tellthem,
Sonny.”Mr.Rushraisedaneyebrow
whilehiswifefrownedwithconfusion.“Telluswhat?”sheasked.ButI’dlostmywords.I
couldalwayscomeupwithananswer.Ihadalieready
foranything.AndI’dliedaboutthis,aboutmymom,athousandtimesovertheyears.Itshould’vebeeneasy.Butthisliewasalittlebigger—itinvolvedmorepeoplewithmorepotentialtopokeholesinwhateverIsaid—andIfeltsuddenlystuck.Icouldn’tthinkofalieto
tell.Notonethatwouldn’t
involvemorequestions.Ineededasecondtothink.Luckily,Amyboughtmea
littletime.“Shewaskickedout,”she
toldherparents.“Shedidn’twanttotellyou,buthermomkickedherout.Soshe’sbeenstayinghere.”“What?”Mr.Rushsaid.
“Whywouldshekickyou
out,Sonny?”Istaredatmyfeet,theheat
ofembarrassmentcreepingupmyneck.Icouldn’tseetheirfaces,andIhopedtheycouldn’tseemineasIshovedouttheonlylieIcouldthinkof.“Pot,”Imuttered.“Really?”Amywhispered.
“Youdidn’ttellmethatpart.”
Amyhadbeenbegging,inherindirectsortofway,fordetailsofmyejectionfrommymother’shomeforweeks.I’dalwayschangedthesubjectorsaidIdidn’twanttotalkaboutitorpretendedIhadn’theardherask.ThelessItalkedaboutmymom,thebetter.“Marijuana?”Mrs.Rush
said.“That…doesn’tsoundlikeyou,Sonny.”“No,”Mr.Rushagreed.“It
doesn’t.”“I…Ionlyuseditonce,”I
managed.“Butmymomfoundout,and…”“Andshekickedyouout,”
Mr.Rushfinishedthesentenceforme.“Well,Iwouldn’tbethrilledifIwere
hereither,butthatseemslikeabitofanoverreaction.”“That’swhyshe’sbeen
stayinghere,”Amysaid.“I’msorrywedidn’ttellyoutwosooner.Butcanshekeepstayinghere?Please?”“Sonny’salwayswelcome,”
Mrs.Rushsaid.“ButIthinkweshouldspeaktohermotherabout—”
“No.”Myheadshotup.“No,that’sabadidea.”“It’sbeenweekssinceshe
kickedyouout,”Mr.Rushsaid.“Surelyshe’srealizedwhatanoverreactionthisis.”“Weshouldtalktoher.Try
toconvinceher…,”Mrs.Rushbegan.ButIwasshakingmyhead
sohardithurt.“No,”Isaid
again.“I’ve…I’vetried.She’sreallystrictaboutthisstuff.She’snothavingit.”“Doessheatleastknow
whereyouare?”Mrs.Rushasked.Inodded.“Yeah.Imean,
whereelsewouldIbe?”Amysqueezedmyhand.“Weshouldstillcallher,”
Mr.Rushsaid.“Justsoshe
knowsforsurethatyou’resafeand—”“I’lldoit,”Isaidquickly.“Areyousure?”Mrs.Rush
asked.“Shemightwanttospeaktousabout—”“Ifshedoes,I’lltellyou,”I
said.“Justletmedoit.Please.Thatis,ifyou’regoingtoletmestayhere?”Amy’sparentsglancedat
eachother,thenbackatme.“Sonny,ofcourseyoucan
stayhere,”Mrs.Rushsaid.“Infact,youshould’vetoldussooner.Wewouldn’thavebeenupset.”“Thatsaid,wedon’t
condoneillegalsubstancesinthishouseeither,”Mr.Rushsaid.“Soifyouaregoingtocontinuestayinghere,no
pot.”“Noproblem,”Isaid.Truthbetold,I’dnever
smokedpotinmylife.Notforanymoralorethicalreason(clearlymymoralswereallovertheplace),butIjusthadn’thadmuchofaninterest.Ilikedtobeabletothinkquickonmyfeet.Allthebetterforlying,mydear.
Adrugthatsloweddownthebrain,evenjustforalittlebit?Nothanks.“Youhavethesamecurfew
asAmy,then,”Mrs.Rushsaid.“Allthesamerules.”“Andyouhavetocallyour
mother.Rightafterwefinishuphere,”Mr.Rushsaid.“Iknowyouthinksheknowswhereyouare,butI’drather
notleaveherguessing.Shestillcaresaboutyou.She’llwanttoknowyou’resafe.”Inodded.ButIwasn’tsosurehewas
right.Mrs.Rushgottoherfeet.“I
bettergogettheguestroomsetup,then.”“That’sokay,”Isaid.“I
don’tmindstayinginAmy’s
room.”“Areyousure?”Mrs.Rush
asked.“It’sgottobealittlecrowdedinthereforthebothofyou.Aslumberpartyisonething,butfull-time…”“Wedon’tmindsharing,”
Amyassuredher.“Well,I’matleastgoingto
cleartheclosetsoshecanhangherclothesup,”Mrs.
Rushsaid.“Goodlord,Sonny.Haveyoubeenlivingoutofaduffelbagthiswholetime?”Inodded.Sheshookherheadand
gavemeahug,asifthiswasthesaddestthingshe’deverheard.Oncesheletgo,sheheadedforthestairs.“Amy,honey,whydon’tyougoput
somefreshtowelsforbothofyouinthebathroom.”“Okay.”Amystoodup,
gavemeafleetingglance,thenfollowedhermotherupthestairs.WhichleftonlyMr.Rush
andme.Therewasalongsilenceat
first,anditwassopainfullyawkwardthatIhadtosay
somethingormybrainmightexplode.“Thankyouforlettingme
stay.”“Don’tevenmentionit,”he
said.“YouandAmyhavebeenbestfriendsforhowlong?Wemightaswellmakeyoulivinghereofficial.”Hesmiled,buttherewasasadnessinit.“Sonny,areyou
sureyoudon’twantmetocallyourmother?”“I’lldoit,”Isaid.“I’lltell
herwhereIam.”Henodded.“Butifyoudo
needtotalkaboutsomething,don’thesitatetocometoMrs.Rushorme.Iknowthatprobablygoeswithoutsaying,but…”“Thankyou,”Isaid.“I
will.”“Good.”Hestoodup.“I’m
goingtogogetdinnerstarted.Callyourmother,okay?”“Yes,sir.”IstillhadAmy’scellphone,
andwhenMr.Rushlefttheroom,Ipulleditout.Istaredatthekeypadforalongtimebeforedialingthefamiliarnumber.OneI’ddialedover
andoverandoveragaininthepastfewweeks.“Sorry,butthenumberyouhavedialedisdisconnectedorisnolongerinservice.”Ihungupandputthephone
away,blinkingbacktears.“Theclosetandthedresser
areempty,”Mrs.Rushannouncedasshemadeherwaybackdownthestairs.
“They’reallyours.”“Thankyou.”Istoodup.
“I’llgoputmyclothesaway.”“Didyoucallyourmother?”
sheasked.Inodded.“Yeah.Shesaid
she’snotreadyformetocomehomeyet,butshe’sgladI’mokay.Shesaysthanksforlettingmestay.”
Mrs.Rushsmiledandtouchedmyshoulder.“Good,”shesaid.“Letmeknowifyouneedanything,okay?”“Iwill.Thankyou.”Icouldn’tsayitenough.
Thankyouforlettingmestay.Thankyoufornotaskingmorequestions.ItwasmorethanIdeserved.More
thanmostpeoplewouldgivetheirdaughter’sdelinquentbestfriend.Iwasn’tactuallya
delinquent,butbasedontheliesI’djusttold,theythoughtIwas.Butstill,theywerelettingmelivehere.That’sjustthekindofpeopletheRusheswere.IwentuptoAmy’sroom
andgrabbedmybag.Itookittotheguestroomandstartedtossingmywrinkledclothesintodrawersandputtingthenicerthings(i.e.,myonenicesweater)onhangers.Iwasalmostdonewhen
Amy’sphonebuzzedinmybackpocket.IlookedatthescreenandsawthatitwasatextfromRyder.
My dad knows I knowabout the model andnow he won’t stopcalling. I never answer.He won’t take the hint.
Iwassupposedtorespondwithsomethingobnoxiousorbizarre.Somethingtomakehimquestionwhyhe’deverlikeAmy.ThatwaswhyIhadthephone,afterall.But
justthen,withmymother’ssilenceringinginmyears,Icouldn’tholdbackthewordsIreallywantedtosaytohim.
Answer him. He mightbe a dick, but at least hewants to talk to you.
ItonlytookRyderasecondtorespond.
That wasn’t the reply I
expected. Is everythingokay?
Notforthefirsttime,Ifounditwaseasiertobehonestintextformthaninreallife.
Not really.
Is it your mom?
Yes.
Do you want to talkabout it? I’m here tolisten. You’ve listened tome complain plentyabout my parents.
Actually, I’d rather talkabout anything but thatright now.
We can do that, too.
Weshouldn’thave.I
shouldn’thave.Butwedid.
***
Thenextday,myhuntforemploymentfinallypaidoff.Igotane-mailfromthe
bookstoreatthemall,invitingmeforaninterview.Isatdownwiththemanager
afterschoolonMonday,butonlyforafewminutes.Igot
thesensetheywouldhireprettymuchanyone.“It’sretail,”themanager,
Sheila,said.“Wegetprettybusyaroundtheholidays.”“Sothiswouldjustbe
seasonal?”Iasked,alittledisappointed.Anyjobwoulddo,butIwasgoingtoneedonewellpasttheendoftheyear.
“Yes,”Sheilasaid.“Butthere’salwayspotentialforyoutobehiredoninthenewyear,too.”“Potentialisgood.”“Soyou’rein?”“Definitely.”WhileIfeltalittleguilty
aboutmoochingofftheRushes,atleastnowI’dhavemoneytopayformygasand
lunchwithouthavingtolieorborrowfromAmy.Icouldalsostartsavingupfornewclothes,sinceIhadn’tpackedmanywinteroutfitswhenIleftmyhouse.“Also,”AmysaidwhenI
toldherthegoodnewsthatnight,“youcangetmeadiscountonbooks.”“Becauseyoudon’thave
enoughofthose,”Isaid,gesturingtotheoverflowingbookcasenexttoherdesk.“Haveyouevenreadallofthose?Orevenhalf?”“It’smoreaboutthe
collection,”shesaid.Irolledmyeyes.“Oneday,
you’regoingtobeonarealityTVshow,buriedunderyourcollectionandneedinga
seriousmentalhealthintervention.”“Andyou’llbethe
concernedfriendwho,insteadoffindingmethehelpIneed,decidestogetmeonTV.”“Hey,girl.Ineedmyclose-
up,too.”Webothburstintogiggles,
foroncenotworriedaboutbeingtooloudorwakingher
parents.Ihavetoadmit,itwasnicetobedonewiththesneakingaround.Betweenthatandthenewjob,ahugeweighthadbeenliftedoffmyshoulders.Unfortunately,therewere
stillacouplemoreIcouldn’tseemtoshake.
IhadthisrecurringnightmarethatstartedwhenIwaseleven,whenthingswithmymombegangoingsouth.Ormoresouththanthey’d
alreadybeen.Thedreambeganinmy
bedroombackhome.Iwas
doingsomething—homeworkorreading,Iwasneverreallysure—whenIheardthefrontdoorslam.Fromthere,itwasalwaysthesame.I’dgetupandcallouttomymom,buttherewouldonlybesilence.Thick,unnaturalsilence.Eventhebirdsoutsidemywindowseemedmutedallofa
sudden.SoI’dleavemybedroomandfindthatthehousewasnearlypitch-black.Thesun,whichhadbeenshiningthroughmybedroomwindow,vanished.I’dkeepcallingformymomandhuntingforalightswitch,buttheyweren’twheretheyweresupposedtobe.Andneitherwasthefurniture.I’dreachto
putmyhandonthecounterorgotositonachairandfindnothingthere.Eventually,I’dgotomymom’sroom,sureshe’dbethere.Sureshe’dbeabletofixwhateverhadhappenedtoourhouse.Butthedoortoherroom
wasliketheentrancetoablackhole.Thedarknesswasthicker.Darkerthanblack.I
screamedforMom,buttheholeswalloweditup.ThatwaswhenI’dwakeup,
shakinganddesperateforasound,anysound,justtoknowIwasn’talone.SometimesI’dgomonths
withouthavingthedream,andsometimesithappenedeveryothernight.Ithadbeenawhilethis
time.IguessAmy’ssnoreshadchasedanynightmaresofsilenceaway.ButthedayafterIgotmynewjob,thenightmarecameagain.Iwokeupwithanother
screamonmylips,andIhadtobiteitback.Theroomwassodarkthat,foraminute,Icouldn’trememberwhereIwas.Nexttome,Amy
snored,loudandlong.Itwasasmallcomfort,butafterafewsecondsofdeepbreathsandcalmingthoughts,Istillcouldn’trelax,letalonegetbacktosleep.“Amy,”Iwhispered,
nudgingherarmandfeelingonlyalittleguiltyaboutdisruptingherbeautysleep.“Hey,Amy.”
Apparently,Iwasn’tinterruptinganythingtonightbecauseallshedidwassnortandrollawayfromme.Don’tbestupid,Ithought.You’renotalone.She’srightthere,evenifshecan’thearyou.Gobacktosleep,Sonny.Buttheroomseemedtoo
dark,andtheideaofclosingmyeyes,ofaddinganother
layerofblackness,mademyheartthumpuncomfortablyinmychest.“Screwit,”Imumbled,
throwingtheblanketsoffofme.IclimbedoverAmy,grabbedhercellphonefromthedresser,andtiptoedoutoftheroom.Theminutethelightinthe
recroomflickeredon,itwas
instantlyeasiertobreathe.Likethedarknesshadactuallybeenpressingdownonme,crushingmychest.Iwalkedovertothecouchandfloppeddownonmyback,Amy’sphonestillinmyhand.Oneofthebenefitsofborrowingherphonewhileminewasoutofcommission:Shehadasmartphone.Which
meantgames.I’dalreadydownloadedafewfreeones,alongwithsomehumorous,inappropriatetexttonesthatAmyhadn’tfoundquiteasfunnyasIhad.Butevensillyphonegames
withtheirbrightcolorsandfunnysoundscouldn’tchaseawaythelingeringnightmare.Ortheknowledgethat,even
thoughtherecroomwasbrightandfamiliar,Iwasstillaloneinhere.Ican’texplainwhatIdid
next.Itwasstupidandself-destructiveandwrongonmany,manylevelsIdidn’tcaretothinkabout.ButIwaslonely,andIneededtotalktosomeone.Anyonewouldhavedone,really.Butthere
wasonlyonepersonIknewmightbeawakeatoneinthemorningonaschoolnight.WhichjustsohappenedtobethefirstTuesdayinNovember.Well,IguesstechnicallyitwasWednesdaynow.Whatever.
So did your dad win theelection?
Ryderhadtextedafew
timesinthepastcoupleofdays,butI’deithernotrespondedorjustrepliedwithemojisthatmadenosenseinthecontextofhiscommentorquestion.Andwhenhesentbackaquestionmark,Ididn’treply.Howwasthatforflaky?Honestly,itwasprobablyprettygoodprogressonthemake-him-think-Amy-
was-a-weirdofront,buthereIwas.Messingitallupagain.JustasI’dexpected,hewas
awake,anditonlytookhimasecondtotextmeback.
He did. Unfortunately.
Not so unfortunate forhis constituents, though.I looked him up. Heseems to be doing some
good things.
Sure. When he’s notdoing the model.
BeforeIcouldrespond,Rydersentanothermessage.
He still wants me tocome visit forThanksgiving.
Will you?
Of course not.
But don’t you want tovisit DC? I know youmiss it.
I don’t think I doanymore. I’m pretty sickof DC.
Ifrowned.Iknewthingswerebadwithhisdad,butthiswasasharpturnaround
fortheguywho’dcomparedeverylittledetailofHamiltontotheinfinitelysuperiorWashington,DC,sincehe’darrived.But,thinkingaboutit,IhadseenfarfewersnarkyFacebookstatusessincehe’dlearnedthetruthabouthisdad.Still,DCwashishome.Itwaswherehe’dgrownup.Itwaswherehisoldfriends
were,eveniftheyhaddriftedapartsome.Iwouldhaveexpectedhimtotakeanyopportunitytovisit,evenifforonlyadayortwo.Hedidn’tseemeagertotalk
aboutthat,though,becausehesentanothermessagestraightaway.
I know it’s only been aweek, but I’ve missed
these late-night chats.
Yeah. Me, too. I’ve beenkeeping my insomniamostly at bay. But Icouldn’t sleep tonight.Nightmare.
What about?
It wouldn’t make anysense if I explained it.
Try me.
Ialmostdidn’treply.Ialmostendedtheconversationrightthere.Ishouldhave.I’dnevertoldanyoneabout
mynightmare.NotevenAmy.I’dcalledherinthemiddleofthenightafewtimes,panickedanddesperatetohearsomeone’svoice,butI’dalwaysglossedoverwhat
thedreamwasabout.I’djustsaysomethinglike,“Somethingbadhappenedtomymom”or“Iwastrappedinadarkhouse.”Ineverwentintodetails.Ididn’twanttoopenthatdoor.Toexposethatdark,brokenplaceinsideofmewhereallthebadthingslived.Butforsomereason,I
wantedtotellRyder.Maybebecause—andyes,Iknewthiswassick—hewouldn’tknowitwasme.Therewassecurityinknowinghe’dthinkitwasAmy’snightmare.Amy’sdark,brokenplace.Iwasstillfreakedoutand
didn’twanttocutoffthecontactwithanotherperson
justyet,soIfoundmyselfwritingoutthedream,takingupseverallongtextstodoso.WhenIhitSENDonthelastone,theonethatexplainedmymother’sbedroom,Ifeltapangofregret.Toomuch,Ithought.Toohonest.Tooclose.Ididn’tthinkhe’dreply.
Maybethiswouldhelphim
getoverAmyonceandforall.Butthen:
Things really are badwith your mom, aren’tthey?
Yeah.
I’m sorry about thenightmare. But they sayif you talk about it, you
won’t dream it again.
Does that count withtexting?
I guess you’ll find out.
Ismiled.Actually,Ididfeelalittlebetterhavingitoffmychest.Theshakinghadstoppedandmyheartbeathadsloweddown.Imightevenmanagetofallbacktosleepif
Itriedto.Butrightnow,forbetteror
worse(definitelyworse),Iwantedtokeeptalkingtohim.
Thanks for letting meshare.
Of course. I just wish Iwas there with you.
Ifeltamischievoussmile
tuggingatmylipsasItypedmyresponse.
Oh, yeah? Why? Whatwould you do if youwere here?
Foraminute,hedidn’trespond,andIwasworriedImighthavescaredhimoff.Ishould’veknownbetter,though.Attheendoftheday,hewasstillaguy.
Are we really doing this?
Do you WANT to dothis?
I do, but I have no ideahow. I’ve never done itbefore.
You never sent sexytexts to Eugenia?
No. Have you?
No, I have never sextedwith Eugenia.
You’re hilarious.
I know.
Pause.
If I were there, I wouldlie on the bed next toyou and pull you into myarms.
I’m actually on a couchright now.
Are you TRYING tomake this difficult forme?
No. Sorry. Continue.
Then I would … kissyour neck?
Isnorted.
You seem unsure aboutthat.
You make me nervous.I’d be nervous if I werethere with you.
Ifeltmyheartpoundharder.Therewassomethingsosweetabouthimsayingthat.Aboutthesnobby,confidentRyderadmittinghe’dbenervousifwewerealone
together.
I’d be nervous, too.
Here’sanothertruth:Iwasavirgin.Notonlythat,butinseventeenyears,I’donlybeenkissedonetime,byDavyJenningsattheninth-gradehomecomingdance.Hisbreathtastedlikerootbeerandithadbeenenoughtokillourfledglingromance.
MostofwhatIknewaboutsexcamefromcopiousamountsoftelevision,unintentionallyhilariousCosmoarticles,andmyinterrogationofAmy,whohadswipedherV-cardatsummercamplastyear.That’ssomethingIdoubted
anyonewouldexpect.Thatoutofthetwoofus,Iwasthe
virginwithvirtuallynosexualexperiencewhilegoody-goodyAmywasnot.Butrightnow,tryingto
thinkofthingstosaytoRyder,IfoundmyselfwishingIhadmoreexperiencetopullfrom.Hewasright.Thiswasdifficult.
It’s your turn.
BRB. Googling how to
do this.
LOL! So you give me ahard time, but you don’tknow what you’re doingeither.
OK, some of thesesexting examples arehilarious. So that was nohelp.
We don’t have to do this
if you don’t want to.
No. Now I amdetermined to type atleast one sexy thing,damn it.
Itookadeepbreathandclosedmyeyes.Ihadtobeoverthinkingthis.Iwenttomyimagination,whereRyderwaslyingnexttome.Wherehe’djustnervouslykissedmy
neck.Whatnext?Itriedtoletthesceneplayout.
I’d slide my hand downyour chest. Slowly.
Idon’tknowwhy,butIfeltlikeeverythingsoundedalittlesexierwhenyouaddedslowly.Iheldmybreath,myface
scorchingred,asIwaitedforRydertorespond.
I’d reach for the hem ofyour nightgown …
Nightgown? You think Isleep in a nightgown?What century is this?
I don’t know what girlssleep in.
Well, right now I’m injust a baggy T-shirt andunderwear.
Wow. That’s actuallyhotter than a nightgown.
Wewentonlikethisforaboutanhour,fumblingourwaythroughtextsthatwereusuallymoreawkwardandfunnythanseductive.ButIwasleftgigglingandfeelingflutterynonetheless.
We’ll get better at thiseventually.
Itwasn’tuntilIreadthatmessagefromRyder,though,thatthedirtyfeelingbegantosinkin.Notfun,I’ve-been-sending-sexy-textsdirtyeither.Thegross,I-need-a-showerdirtythatcamewithsuddenlyrememberingthatallthosemessages,allthosethingshe’dimaginedusdoing,hadbeenforAmy.
Everyvirtualkissandtouch,he’dimagineddoingtomybestfriend.He’dpicturedherhands,herlong,thinbody.Herdark,curlyhair.Herface.Herlips.Andhethoughtwe’dget
betteratit.Thatwe’ddoitagain.IthoughtIwasgoingtobe
sick.
Ididn’twritebackafterthat.Ididn’tsaygood-byeorgoodnight.Instead,Iwentthroughanddeletedeverysingletextwe’dsentoverthepasthour,knowingAmywouldkillme(andhaveeveryrightto)ifshesawthosemessages.WhenIcreptbackinto
Amy’sroom,shewasstillsnoring.Icrawledovertomy
sideofthebedandpulledthecoversovermyhead,wishingIcouldhidefromtheguiltandtheshameofwhatI’djustdone.
TheArdmoreshadneverbeenbigonThanksgiving.Oranyholidaythatinvolvedgathering,really.Mydadwasn’tclosetohis
parents.I’donlymetthemonce,whenIwasfive,andnowallIknewaboutthem
wasthattheylivedinFloridasomewhere.MymaternalgrandmotherhadpassedawayafewmonthsafterIwasborn,andmygrandfatherhaddiedwhenIwasnine.Hemighthavelefthishousetohisonlychild,mymom,butbeforethat,he’dbeenthecold,unfriendlysort.Momneversawthepointof
makingafussoveradinnerforthreepeople,andaftermydadwasarrested,Iguessitseemedevenmorepointless.TheRushes,ontheother
hand,lovedThanksgiving.Therewereafewyearsa
whilebackwhereAmy’sparentsweren’thomemuch.Theyjettedfromonebusinesstriptoanother,andAmy
spentmostofthetimeathergrandmother’s.Buteventhen,whenthefamilyseemedtobedriftingapart,Mr.andMrs.RushalwayscamehomeforThanksgiving.Theymadeabigdealoutofit:ahugeturkey,thebeststuffingyou’devertasted,andenoughsidedishestofeedanarmyofhungrysoldiers.Theyalso
invitedeveryonetheyknew:theirextendedfamily,theirfriends,theirkids’friends.WhichmeantIgottobeapartoftheannualfeast.Itwasalwaysahighlightofmyyear,anditwasalwayshardtogohome,fullandhappy,toadark,quiethouse.Thisyearwasdifferent,
though.ThisyearIwasable
toexperiencetheThanksgivingfestivitiesfromthetimeIwokeupinthemorninguntilIwenttobedthatnight.Iwasincrediblyexcited
aboutthis,andevenMrs.Rush’srequesttoinvitemymomcouldn’tbringmedown.“Therewillbemorethan
enoughfood.Iknowthingsareroughwithyoutworightnow,butshe’salwaysinvitedtoThanksgivingdinnerandwe’dbeheretoserveasabuffer.Itmightbegoodforbothofyou,”Mrs.RushsaidasIhelpedhercleanthehousethatmorning.“I’llsee,”Isaid.“ButI
thinkshe’llprobablyhaveto
worktoday.Youknowhowretailisthesedays….”Mrs.Rushshookherhead.
“ForcingpeopletoworkonThanksgivingisjustterrible.”Inodded,relievedwhen
therewerenofollow-upquestions.Afterthat,thedaywas
fabulous.Goodfood,lotsofpeople,theMacy’s
ThanksgivingDayParadeoninthebackground.TheRushescelebratedThanksgivingallday.Andintothenextmorning,
too.BecausetheRushesnotonly
lovedThanksgiving,theyalsolovedBlackFriday.“Idon’tunderstand,”Itold
Amyaswestoodonthe
sidewalkoutsideofTechPlus,anelectronicsstore(theonlynon-grocerystoreinHamilton)atfoura.m.IhadtoworkatthebookstorelaterthatafternoonandknewIwasgonnaregretbeingupthisearly.“You’reloaded.Isn’tBlackFridaymeantforpoorpeoplelikeme?Soyouallcanwatchusfighttothe
death,HungerGamesstyle,overahalf-priceiPod?”“We’renotloaded,”Amy
said.“Excuseme.Whatkindof
cardoyoudrive?”“ALexus.”“Andyourbrother?”Shesighed.“APorsche.”“Irestmycase.”Sheshrugged.“Iguessmy
parentslikedeals.”Atthatmoment,Mr.and
Mrs.RushwereinOakHill,waitingoutsidethemalltodosomehardcoreChristmasshopping.AsmuchasIhatedbeingawakebeforeseven(okay,let’sbereal,IhatedbeingupbeforenoonifIcouldhelpit),Icouldn’tcomplainmuch.AmyandI
didhavetheeasiestoftheBlackFridaytasks.Wejusthadtorunin,grabthenewestvideogameconsole,andgetout.“YourbrotherbetterknowI
wasapartofthisgift,”Itoldher.“Imaynotbecontributingfinancially,butitisatestamenttomyaffectionforhimthatIgotmyassout
ofbedforthis.”“AndhereIthoughtitwas
soIwouldn’tbefightingthecrowdsalone,”Amysaid.“Nah.WhywouldIeverdo
anythingforyou?”Shegiggled,thenletouta
hugeyawn.“Whattimedoesthestoreopenagain?”“Five.”Shewhimpered.
“Iknow,”Isaid,pattingherontheback.“It’scrueltohavesalesstartsoearlyrightaftereveryone’sloadedthemselveswithsleepyturkeychemicals.”Tomakemattersworse,it
wasalsocold.Wewerebundledupinoursweatersandcoats,buttheydidn’tdomuchtodeflectthe
occasionalgustofwindthatblewintoourfaces.TheamazingpartaboutthiswasthatAmy’shairstilllookedflawless.Foura.m.,coldandwindymorning,andshestilllookedlikeamodelwithaclassy,curlyupdo.Iwasn’ttheonlyonewho
noticedeither.“OhmyGod.Youhaveto
tellmehowyoudidthat.”AmyandIbothturned
whenweheardthevoicebehindus.Therewasagirlthere,drinkingStarbucks.Shecouldn’thavebeenmucholderthanus,andshelookedalittlefamiliar.ProbablyaHamiltonHighgrad.Shewaswearingsomeamazingblackbootsovermulticolored
leggingsthatIonlywishedIcouldpulloff.“Sorry?”Amysaid.“Yourhair,”thegirlsaid.
“Youhavetotellmehowyoudidthat.”ItwasonlythenthatI
noticedherowncurls.Browncorkscrews,eventighterthanmineorAmy’s.Theywerealittlefrizzybecauseofthe
wind,buttheystilllookedtentimesbetterthanmine.Damnit.“Oh,”Amysaid,pattingher
hairself-consciously.“It’sreallyeasy.Youjustneedahairtieandafewbobbypins.”“Andby‘easy,’shemeans
impossibleforuscommoners,”Isaid.
“Right?”Thegirllaughed.“Bobbypinsandhairtiesjustleavemewitharat’snestontopofmyhead.”“It’sreallynotthathard.
Youjust—”“Chloe!”Twomorepeoplewere
comingourway:agirlwithstraightblackhairandacuteboyIrecognizedasCash
Sterling,aformerplayerontheHamiltonHighsoccerteam.(SoccerwastheonlysportIkeptupwith.Mostlybecauseitwasanexcusetostareatboyswithreallynicelegs.)“Sorrywe’relate,”Cash
saidtothecurly-hairedgirl,Chloe.“You’renot.Thestore
hasn’topenedyet.”“Iknow,”Cashsaid.“But
accordingtoLissa,weweresupposedtobeherebyfour.SoIwastoldtoapologizeformakingherlate.”Lissa,meanwhile,wastoo
busydigginginherpursetoarguewithCash.“Ihaveamap,”shesaid.“Idrewitlastnight.Ifiguredoutthebest
routetogetbacktotheTVswhenthedoorsopen.”“OhdearGod,”Chloe
moaned.“Wehavetodothis?”“IfIhavetodoBlack
Friday,”Lissasaid,“I’mdoingitefficiently.”Shesighed.“WhydoesmystupidbrotherwantaTVforaweddingpresent?Why
couldn’thejustaskforablenderlikeeveryoneelse?”“He’sgonnaneedaTVto
drownJennaout,”Cashsaid.“Istillcan’tbelievethey’regettingmarried.”“Ijustcan’tbelievehe’s
gettingmarriedbeforeIhadachancetohookupwithhim.”“Ew,Chloe.Ican’tdeal
withyoulustingaftermy
brotherrightnow.I’malreadyfreakingoutoverthecrowdhere.Ugh.It’sgonnabeawfulinthere.Here.Let’sstudythemap.”AmyandIglancedateach
other,thenturnedaround,clearlynolongerapartofthisconversation.“Weshould’vemadea
map,”Amywhispered.
“Idon’tthinkwe’reneuroticenoughforthat,”Iwhisperedback.Theminuteslurchedbyas
thelinegotlongerandlongeronthesidewalkbehindus.Therewasnodoubtaboutit—whenthosedoorsopened,wewereinforafreakingstampede.“Ready?”Amyaskedwhen
therewasonlyaminutetogo.“WhydoIfeellikeI’m
abouttogotowar?”Iasked.Butshedidn’thavetimeto
answerbecauserightthenthefrontdoorsofTechPlusswungopen.Andeveryonecharged
forward.Iran,trippingovermyown
feetinordertoavoidbeing
trampled.Withmyrelativelyshortlegs,thiswasnoteasy.Butafteralotofpushingandshovingandcursingatcompletestrangers,Imadeitinsidethedoors.Itwasstillamadhouse,butpeoplespreadout,runningfortheitemsthey’dcometobuy.“Okay,wherearethegame
consoles,Amy?”
ButwhenIturnedtolookather,Amywasn’tthere.Shewasn’tanywherenearme.“Shit,”Imuttered,realizing
toolatethatwe’dbeenseparatedbythecrowd.Findingherinthischaos,especiallywhenIwasn’tallthatfamiliarwiththelayoutofTechPlus,wasgoingtobeimpossible.
Maybepackingamapwasn’tasneuroticasI’dthought.Iwovemywaythroughthe
crowd,hopingtospotatall,curlyheadsomewhere.Afewtimes,IpoppeduponmytiptoessoIcouldlookovertheheadsofthepeoplearoundme.Unfortunately,withmyneckcranedandmy
balancecompromised,IendedupfallingflatonmyassinfrontofaniPoddisplay.“I’msosorry.Areyou
okay?”Ilookedupattheperson
who’djustslammedintomeandwasmetwithtwoverysurprisedgreeneyes.“Sonny,”Rydersaid.“I
didn’trecognizeyou.”“I’msureIlookdifferent
fromthisangle,”Isaid.“Helpagirlup?”“Sorry.”Hetookmyhand
andpulledmetomyfeet.Iwantedtorelishthatmomentofhavinghishandinmine,butitwasoversofastIbarelygottoenjoyit.“Areyouallright?”
“I’mfine.Justsurprisedtofindyouhere.”Lie.ConfessionTime:Ryder,
notAmyorWesley,wasthereasonIwasatTechPlusthatmorning.Ithadbeenacoupleof
weekssinceourlittletextingtryst(whichstillmademefeelickywhenIthought
aboutit)andRyderhadbeensendingmessagesalmosteverydaysince.I’dignoredmostofthem,knowingthatrespondingwascounterproductive.Thatlastconversationhad,apparently,givenhimtheconfidencetoapproachAmyinpersonagain.Luckily,IwaswithAmyprettymuchanytime
shewasn’tinclass,whichmeantIwasabletoshutdowntheconversationandhurryherawaybeforeshefoundoutaboutthetexting.IknewIshouldn’trisk
givinghimmoreencouragementtopursueAmy,nomatterhowtempingitwastoreplytohismessages.Weweremaking
someprogressinperson,butnotasquicklyasI’dhoped,andtextingwastheonlywayIreallygottotalktohim.I’dbeenholdingontomy
lastshredofwillpower,fightingmyself-destructiveurges,butThanksgivingbreakmeantnotevenseeinghimatschool,andwhenhesentatextaboutneedinga
newiPod,Icouldn’thelpsuggestinghegotoTechPlusonBlackFriday.IknewAmywouldbegoing,anditwouldmakeperfectsenseformetojoinher.SohereIwas,inthemiddle
ofBlackFridaymadness,allsoIcouldrunintoaguywhodidn’tevenknowhelikedme.
“I’msurprisedtofindmehere,too,”headmitted.“ButmyiPodbrokeandAmysaidthisplacewouldhavethemonsale,so…Hey,ifyou’rehere,isshe?”“Um,yeah.Somewhere.
I’velosther.”AndIsortofhopedshe
stayedlost.AtleastuntilRyderandIhadhadafew
minutestogether.Notthatthiswasthemost
romanticsetting,butI’dtakewhatIcouldget.“Oh.Doyouthinkwe
shouldgolookforher?”“No,no.Shehadsome
shoppingtodo.I’msureI’llfindhersoon.”Iclearedmythroat.“So.AnewiPod?Whatsortofmusicdoyou
listento?”“IfItoldyou,you’d
probablycallmeapretentioushipster.”“Yeah…probably.ButI
alreadydothat.”Helaughed.“Atleastyou’re
honest.”NotsomethingIheard
often.“Soindiestuffnooneelse
hasheardof,then?LikeGoatsVoteforMelons,maybe?”Ryder’seyeswidened,
shocked.“YouknowGoatsVoteforMelons?”“I’veheardasongortwo.”I’dcheckedoutsomeof
theirstuffafterRyderhadravedaboutthem.Asexpected,itwaspretty
terribleforthemostpart.Allacoustic,nocatchyhook.Yes,Iwaspartofthemasses.Iadmitit.Ilovedbadpopmusic,especiallyifitwasreleasedinthenineties,andgrunge,ofcourse,butthatwasawesome.GVMjustwentwayovermyhead.Theydidhaveonedecent
lovesong,though,
inexplicablytitled“OfLionsandRobots,”whichI’dbeenlisteningtoalotlately.“Well,I’malsotryingto
broadenmymusicalhorizons.”“Oh,yeah?”Henodded.“I’vebeen
exploringsomeothergenres.Kindofgettingintoninetiesgrunge,actually.”
Thegrinthatsplitmyfacewasalmostpainful.Grunge!Hewasbroadeninghismusicalhorizonsbecauseofme!Iwantedtosqueal.Tohughim.Andthentomakeoutwithhim,righthere,inthemiddleofthiscrowdedelectronicsstore.ButIcouldn’t.Because,inRyder’smind,
wewerelittlemorethanacquaintances.SometimesIhadtoremind
myselfofthat.“Grungeisgreat,”Isaid.
“Whatalbumshaveyoutried?Anythingyoureallylike?”Heopenedhismouthto
respond,buthisanswerwasdrownedoutbyanother
voice.“Sonny!”Igroaned,andthenfelt
awfulforit.Amyhadfoundus.Shewas
comingupbehindme,aboxtuckedunderherarm.“Thereyouare,”shesaid.“I’msosorrywegotseparated.Ididn’tmeantoloseyou.Ilooked—”Shestopped
midsentencewhenshenoticedRyder.“Oh.Hi.”“Hey,Amy,”hesaid,his
facetotallylightingup.AndnowIwantedtoshake
him.Evenifhiscontinuing
affectionforherwassortofmyfault.“Youplayvideogames?”he
asked,gesturingtothebox
underherarm.“Huh?Oh.No.Thisisfor
mybrother.”“Hey,speakingof
shopping,”Isaid,myvoicelouderthanI’dintended.“YoushouldprobablygetthatiPod,Ryder.Youdon’twantthemalltobetaken.”“Goodpoint.I’llberight
back.”
Hewalkedafewfeetaway,disappearingintoacrowdofdesperatepeopleclamberingtogettheirhandsonAppleproducts.IgrabbedAmy’sarm.
“Whenhecomesback,dosomething.”“Somethinglikewhat?”“Idon’tknow.Something
weird.Somethinghewon’t
like.”“Sonny,youknowI’mbad
atthis.”“You’renot.You’dbea
greatactressifyoutried.”“ButIdon’thaveascript
here,”shepointedout.“Idon’tknowwhattodo.Idon’tknowhowtobeweird.”“You’retheonlyteenager
withthatproblem.”Iglanced
around,searchingforinspiration,andfounditstandingafewfeetaway.Therewasaguy—blond,earlytwenties,builtlikeaKendoll—ontheothersideoftheaisle.AndhewastotallytryingtocatchAmy’seye.“Perfect,”Isaid.“What?”Ijerkedmyheadtowardthe
stranger.“Him.”“Whatabouthim?”“WhenRydercomesback,
goflirtwithhim.RightinfrontofRyder,”Iwhispered.“It’llmakehimthinkyou’resuperflakyandkindofmean.”“Sonny,Idon’twanttodo
that,”Amywhisperedback.“That’stoomuch.It’scruel
toRyderandtothatguy.”“Please.You’llbemaking
theotherguy’sday.Plus,he’scute.Soitcouldbeworse.”“But—”“Herehecomes.Getready.”“Idon’t—”“GottheiPod,”Ryder
announcedashemovedtowardus.“Someguywithamullettriedtotakeitrightout
ofmyhands,butImanagedtoholdontoit.”“Gladyousurvived,”Isaid.“Me,too.”Heglancedover
atAmy,asifwaitingforhertosaysomething.AndIelbowedher.Hard.Sheletoutatinysqueak.“I,
um…”Shelookedatme,hereyesdesperate.Go,Ithought,staringback
ather.Justdoitalready.AmyturnedtoRyder,a
forcedsmileonherprettypinklips.“Justasecond,”shesaid.ThenshewalkedovertotheKendoll,whowascheckingoutsometabletsnow,justdowntheaisle.HisfacebrightenedwhenhesawAmyapproaching.Andeventhoughhergreetingof“Hey
…you”wassuperawkward,hedidn’tstopsmiling.“Hi,”KenDollsaid.Therestoftheir
conversationwasdrownedoutbyapackofwomennearby,shoutingataTechPlusemployeeaboutaguywhohadtakenoneoftheiritemsbeforetheycouldcheckout.Butwecouldstillsee
whatwashappening.TheguyleanedtowardAmy;shegiggled,battedhisarm.Allthetypicalobviousflirtingmoves.Actually,itwasprobablymoreconvincingthisway,withAmy’sinevitablyembarrassingwordsonmute.“Doessheknowthatguy?”
Ryderasked,frowningas
KenDolltookastepclosertoAmy.“No,”Isaid.“That’sjust
Amy.She’salwaysflirtingwithsomeone.”“Oh.”Webothwatchedthescene
foraminutelonger,thenRyder,facefallen,tookastepback.“Ishouldgopay,”hesaid.“I’mprettyexhausted.”
EventhoughIknewthiswasinbothofourbestinterests,Ifeltbadforhim.HethoughthehadaconnectionwithAmy,andhereshewas,seeminglyapathetictothatandhittingonotherdudesrightinfrontofhim.Ithadtosting.Itwassupposedtosting.“Itwasnicerunninginto
you,”Isaid.“Literally.”“Yeah.Sorryaboutthat.
Anyway…tellAmyIsaidgood-bye.”“Okay.”HegaveAmyonelast
glancebeforeturningaway,disappearingintothecrowd.Assoonashewasgone,I
ranovertoAmy,interruptingherconversationwiththeKen
doll.“Hey,”Isaid.“He’sgone.
We’regood.”“Excuseme?”KenDoll
asked.“Hey.Sorry.She’s
seventeen,sothisisn’tgonnahappenforyou.Thanksforplaying.”IgrabbedAmy’sarmanddraggedheraway,towardthecheckoutcounter.
ThoughImadesuretotakeadifferentroutethanRyderhadsoasnottoriskcrossingpaths.IfullyexpectedAmyto
scoldmeforhowI’dtalkedtoKenDoll.Topointouthowrudeitwas.Butshedidn’t.Shedidn’tsayanything.Infact,shewassilentthe
restofthetimewewereinthestoreandthewholewaybacktoherhouse.Herparentsstillweren’t
homefromtheirownBlackFridayadventurebythetimewepulledintothedriveway.Amygrabbedtheconsoleandcarrieditintothehouse,metrailingbehindher.“Doyouwantmetohelp
youwrapthat?”Iasked.“No.Icandoit,”she
mumbled.“Okay…Hey,thanksfor
yourhelp.Ithinkitmayhaveworked.Ryderseemedprettyupset.”“Ididn’twanttodothat,
Sonny,”Amysaid.Sheputthegameconsoledownonthecoffeetable.“Itwas
awkwardandembarrassing.Andgross.YoumademeflirtwithaguyIdidn’tknowanddidn’tlike.”“Iknow,”Isaid.“I’msorry,
but—”“Idon’tthinkyoudo
know,”shesaid.Afterapause,sheshookherhead.“I’mtired.I’mgonnagotakeanap.”
Shewentupstairstoherroom,andforonce,IhadthestrongsensethatIwasn’tsupposedtofollowher.Shejustneedsherspace,I
thought.Sheneedssometimetoherself,andit’llbefine.ButIknew,deepdown,that
itwasmorethanthat.That,withoutmerealizingit,I’dcrossedalinethatday.
Andforthefirsttimeever,inoveradecadeofvisitingtheRushes’house,Ididn’tsleepinAmy’sbedroomwhenIgothomefromworkthatnight.Orthenightafterthat.
ThenexttimeIranintoRyderoutsideofclasswasn’ttheresultofanyscheming—foronce.Thistime,onachillySaturdayinthebeginningofDecember,webothendedupattheHamiltonPublicLibraryby
sheercoincidence.Iwaswalkingaroundthe
firstfloor,scanningtheshelves,whenafamiliarvoicecalledmyname.Ilookedupandsawhimsittingatoneofthewoodentablesinthecorner,alegalpadandahuge,leather-boundbookinfrontofhim.Hewaswearinggiantretro-styleheadphones.
Whenheraisedahandtowavemeover,myheartbeganpoundingjustalittletoohard.“Hey,”Isaid,approaching
thedesk.“Whatareyoudoinghere?”“Research,”hesaid,tugging
hisheadphonesdownsotheyhungaroundhisneck.“Forthehistoryessay,actually.”
Hetappedtheleather-boundbooknexttohim.“TakingsomenotesontheFrenchRevolution.”“Yayguillotines.”“Asentencethathasoft
beenuttered.”Ismiledandpickedupthe
book.Itwasmassiveandheavy.“Areyouactuallyreadingthiswholething?”I
asked.“Youknow,theyhavethisnewinvention.It’scalledtheInternet.Itcontainsallofthisandmore—withoutthepapercuts.”“Papercutsarelikebattle
scarsfortheacademic,”hesaid,smilingback.“IguessI’moldschool.Iliketogetmyinformationfromarealbook,andItakemynotesby
hand.”“I,ontheotherhand,am
bestfriendswithWikipedia.”“Youknowthatsiteis
woefullyinaccuratealotofthetime,right?Becauseanyonecanchangetheinformation.”“Yep.I’mthegirlchanging
theinformationtomakeitwoefullyinaccurate.”
“Sohalfthehighschoolersaroundthecountryhaveyoutothankfortheirfailinggradesonresearchpapers.”“Yes,sir.I’mpracticallya
celebrity.Or,Iwouldbeifitwasn’tanonymous.”Helaughed,andeven
thoughtherewerestillbutterfliesinmystomach,Ifeltrelaxed.Thisfeltnatural.
Itfeltlikeithadwhenwewereinstantmessagingallthoseweeksago.Likeitdidinourtextmessages,which,admittedly,I’dbeensendingagain.Ihadn’tsleptinAmy’s
roomsincetheBlackFridaydebacle,andthesilenceoftheguestroomhadcontributedtomyinsomnia.Andtomy
recurringnightmare,whichI’dhadatleastthreetimesinthepasttwoweeks.WhenIwokeup,panickedandalone,itwaseasytotexthim.Toreachoutandknowsomeoneelsewouldanswer.IkepttellingmyselfIwould
stopsoon.Orthatitwasn’tactuallydetrimentalfortheplan—thatmaybe,
somehow,itmadeAmyseemevenflakiertobetextinghimwhenshewassoweirdinperson.I’dtoldmyselfsomanylies,
Ididn’tevenknowwhattobelieveanymore.IjustknewthatIlikedhim.Alot.Andfinally,aftermorethan
amonthofinchingcloserandcloser,wewerehavingthat
sameconnectionface-to-face.“Sowhatareyoudoing
here?”heasked.“Ifyou’resuchadenizenofthetwenty-firstcentury.”“Droppingoffsomebooks
forAmy,”Isaid.“MyonedayofffromthebookstorejobandIstillfindmyselfsurroundedbybooks.”“Isthatabadthing?”Ryder
asked.“No.Justironic.Iactually
appliedforajobhere,too.Unfortunately,Iwasinformedthatthelasttimethelibrarianhiredteenagerstohelpher,theywerecaughtmakingoutbetweentheshelves…multipletimes.”“Interesting,”Rydersaid,
tappinghischinwiththeend
ofhispen.“WhoknewtheHamiltonLibrarywassuchascandalousplace.”“Right?Ishouldhangout
heremoreoften.”Henodded,andthenwejust
staredateachotherforthislong,intensemoment.Atleast,Ithoughtitwasintense.Alittlevoiceinmyheadwassilentlycallingouttohim:
Seeme.Figureoutthatit’sbeenmeallalong.Ofcourse,thatwouldbeadisaster.IthadbeenlongenoughthatanyhopeofRydernotbeingpissedthatI’dbeensortof,accidentally,andthendeliberatelycatfishinghimwasoutofthequestion.Ididn’twanthimtoknow
thatitwasmesendingall
thosemessages.Ididwanthimtoknowthat
Iwasthegirlheshouldbewith.IfIhadn’tbeensabotaging
myselfwiththosetextmessages,maybehewouldhavebynow.“Hey,”hesaid,aftera
second.“Wouldyouwanttogetoutofhere?Goforawalk
orsomething?”Ithoughtmybrainmightexplode.Hewantedtogosomewherewithme.Hewantedtotakeawalkwithme.TherewasnoAmy,noreasonweshouldtalkaboutschool.ItwasjustRyderaskingmetohangoutwithhim.Finally.
“Yeah,”Isaid.“Sure.Let’sgo.”However,myexuberance
fadedprettymuchassoonaswesteppedoutintothecoldafternoonandRydersaid:“Iwashopingtotalktoyou
aboutAmy.”Fuck.Ofcourse.Whatwaswrongwiththis
boy?Asfarashewasconcerned,AmyhadbeenleadinghimonforoveramonthwithIMsandtexts,onlytobeacompletelydifferentperson(literally)inreallife.Iknewitwaspartlymy
faultforkeepingupthecorrespondence,butcomeon.Wasthatreallyenoughto
keephimclingingtotheideaofher?Theyhadn’tevenkissed.Hell,theyhadn’teventouched.“Amy.Right.”Ishovedmy
handsdeepintothepocketsofmyold,batteredcoat.“Whatabouther?”“It’sjust…I’mconfused.
Reallyconfused.”Hekickedatapebbleonthesidewalk,
andIwatchedasitrolledawayfromus,wishingIcouldfollowit,awayfromthisconversation.“Doyouknowwhysheavoidsorignoresmewhenwe’reinthesameroom?”Ishrugged.“Thatsounds
likeaquestionforAmy.”“I’veasked,”hesaid.“A
thousandtimes.Inevergeta
straightanswer.”Itwastrue.Eversinceour
firstboutoftextingbackatthestartofNovember,Ryderhadsentmultiplemessages,askingwhyI(read:Amy)didn’ttalktohiminperson.Whytheyhadn’tbeenonadateyet.WhythingsweresodifferentintextsandIMsthantheywereinreallife.
Mostofthetime,Iignoredthesemessages.They’dcomemidconversation,andthey’dserveastheendofthecorrespondence.SometimesI’drespondwithsomethingvague—asimpleIdon’tknoworablatantlyuntrueIdon’tavoidyou!Iwashopingallthe
inconsistencieswouldscare
himawayfromAmy.Buthejustkepttrying,in
reallifeandviatextmessage.“You’reherbestfriend,”he
said.“Ifiguredifanyonewouldknowwhat’sgoingonwithher,youwould.AndsinceyouandIarefriendsnow….”Friends.Hethoughtwewerefriends.
Asmileflutteredontomylips,andIhadtohurrytohideit.Atleastithadn’tallbeeninvain.“Doyouhaveanyideawhy
she’davoidme?”heasked.“Doesshe…doessheevenlikeme?No.No,Iknowshedoes.Ofcourseshedoes.It’sjustthatwhenwe’retogether,she’sso…different.”
“Idon’tknow,”Isaid.“Sheseemsprettynormaltome.”“Shedoesn’tactlikethe
AmyIknow.”“Thenmaybeyoudon’t
knowherthatwell.”“Ido,though,”heinsisted.
“OrIthinkIdo.Whenwe’retextingortalkingonline,she’sso…She’sgreat.She’sfunnyandsmartandit’sso
easytotalktoher.ThevirtualAmyisincredible.”Igotallshiverywhenhe
saidthat,andnotjustbecauseitwascold.“IjustwishtheAmyIsaw
inreallifewasmorelikethat.”Myhandsballedintofistsin
mypockets.Iwantedtotellhim.Iwantedtocomeclean
sobad.Thatpersonhethoughtwas“incredible,”thepersonhe’dfallenfor,wasstandingrighthere.InsteadIsaid,“I’msorry,
Ryder.Idon’tknowwhattotellyou.”“Whyareyoufriendswith
her?”heasked.Iwastakenaback.“Excuse
me?”
“Whyareyoufriendswithher?WhatdoyoulikeaboutAmy?”“Well…”Iprobablyshould
havesaidsomethingvague.Orsomethingshallow.Somethingtoreinforcethisimageoftheflaky,bizarreAmyhecouldn’tfigureout.Butthis,Amy,wasonethingIcouldn’tlieabout.“She’s
generous,foronething.She’ddoanythingforthepeopleshecaresabout.Hell,she’slettingmelivewithherrightnow.She’salwaysbeentherewhenIneededher.”Henodded.“Whatelse?”“Shebalancesmeout.I’m
theloud,dramaticoneandshe’sthequiet,practicalone.She’smyotherhalf,inalot
ofways.Peopletalkaboutsoulmatesinaromanticway,butIthinkifsoulmatesdoexist,Amywouldbemine.IthinkI’dbelostwithouther.”Ihadtoshakeoffapangof
guilt.SinceThanksgivingbreak,I’dbeentellingmyselfthingswerefinebetweenus.Mesleepingintheguestroomwasjustanatural
progression.Wecouldn’tsleepinthesameroomforever,afterall.Amydidn’tactmadatme.Shewasstillsweetandgigglyandwestillhungout.Butsomethingwasdifferent.“Ilikethewayyoudescribe
her,”Rydersaid.“Whydoesn’tsheshowthatsidewhenshe’saroundme?”
Ididn’tanswer.Therewereonlysomanytimesyoucouldsay“Idon’tknow.”“Doyouthinkithas
somethingtodowithhermom?”“What?”“She’stoldmealittleabout
hermom.”Ittookmeaminuteto
understandwhathewas
talkingabout.Mrs.Rushwasamazing—whatwouldAmy’sweirdnesshavetodowithher?ButthenIremembered.I’dtalkedtohimaboutmymom.Great.AnothersubjectI’drathernotdiscuss.“Oh.Yeah.Hermom.”“Shesaidoncethatshe
thinkshermommightregret
evenhavingher,”Rydersaid.“Yeah,”Isaid.“Amy’s
momis…Well,she’sinteresting.Complicated.Thatrelationshiphasdefinitelyscrewedherupinalotofways.”“Iknowhowshefeels,”he
said.Ishookmyhead.“Idon’t
thinkyoudo.”Seeingan
openingtochangethesubject,though,Iadded,“But,hey,congratsonyourdadwinningtheelection.”“Thanks,”hesaid,voice
flat.“It’sofficial:Myparentsaregettingadivorce.”Thatseemedlikeagood
thingtome.Atleastthingswerebeingdecided.ButIcouldn’tsaythatbecauseI
wasn’tsupposedtoknowthebackstory.SoinsteadIreplied,“Ithoughttheywerealreadydivorced?”Rydershookhishead.“My
dad’sbeenholdingout.Asshole.He’sstillwaitingafewmonthssoitdoesn’tlooklikehewasjustwaitinguntilhegotelected.Eventhoughthat’spreciselywhathewas
doing.”“Thatsucks,”Isaid.“God.He’ssuchacliché.
Cheatingonmymomwithsomeyoungmodel,”Rydersaidbitterly.“Thenasshittyasitis,
maybethedivorceisforthebest.”“He’sstilladick.AndI’m
donetalkingtohim.”
GuessRyderandhisdadhadn’tresolvedtheirissuesyet.Wewerepassingthe
elementaryschool,andwithoutevensayingaword,webothstartedwalkingtowardtheemptyplayground.“Whatdoesyourmomhave
tosayaboutthat?Aboutyounottalkingtohim?”
“Idon’treallytalktoheraboutDad,”headmitted.“Shegetsupsetaboutit.Mad,even.Ican’tblameher.She’sagreatperson,andhescrewedherover.”Iwantedtopointoutthat,
notlongago,Ryderwas(rightfully)upsetthatshe’ddraggedhimallthewaytoIllinoiswithoutevenasking
howhefeltfirst.ButSonnywouldn’tknow
that;Amywould.SoIhadtobitemytongue.“Whataboutyou?”heasked
aswemadeourwaytowardtheswings.“What’syourfamilydrama?”Ishruggedandsatdownon
oneoftheswings.Theleatherwascold,eventhroughmy
jeans.“It’sprettyboring.”“Thatseemsunlikely,”he
said,sittingontheswingbesidemine.“Youjustsaidyou’relivingwithAmy.Doesn’tsoundtooboringtome.Whereareyourparents?”I’dalreadyhadtomovethe
conversationawayfrommymother,andIwasn’teagertoreturntoit.Soinstead,I
blurtedoutsomethingIhadn’ttalkedaboutinyears:“Mydad’sinprison.”“Oh.”Ryderlookedstartled,
andIcouldn’thelpbutnoticethewayhemovedawayfrommealittle.LikehesuddenlyrememberedthatIwasn’ttherich,beautifulgirlhewanted.Iwaspoorwhitetrash.Atleastbyhisstandards.
But,tomysurprise,Rydershiftedagainonhisswing,hishandswrappedaroundthechains,andswiveledtofaceme.Andhedidn’tlookdisgustedatall.“Howlong?”“InandoutsinceIwas
seven.ButIhaven’tseenhimin…Idon’tevenrememberthelasttimeIsawhim.Mymomstoppedtakingmeto
visitaftershedivorcedhim,whenIwasstillinelementaryschool.”“Doesheevertrytowriteto
you?”Ryderasked.“Orcall?”“No,”Isaid.“AlthoughI’ve
movedsincethelasttimeIsawhim.Mygranddaddiedandwemovedintohisoldhouse.Plus,Idon’thavethe
samecellphonenumber.SoIguessIdon’treallyknow.Ijustassumedhehadn’tbecausemymomalwaystoldmewhatadeadbeathewas.Notthatshe’sthemostreliable…”Ishookmyhead,andbefore
hecouldaskaboutmymother,Istartedtalkingagain.
“I’vethoughtabouthimsome.I’veconsideredwritinghimafewtimes,butIalwaystalkmyselfoutofit.”“Why?”Ryder’sgreeneyeswere
watchingme,gluedtome.Intent.Itsentashiverupmyspine.Andyet…itwaseasy.Tellinghimallthis.BeinghonestaboutsomethingI
usuallywasn’t.“I’mscared.”Itwas
somethingI’dneversaidoutloud.“I’mscaredhe’llletmedown…orthathewon’twantme.AndIfiguremaybeit’seasierifIjustdon’tgivehimthechance.”“Sonny.”Hereachedout
andputahandonmyarm.Itwaslikeaboltofelectricity
shotthroughme,startingwherehispalmtouchedmyarm.Maybehefeltit,too,becausehepulledbackandwrappedhishandaroundthechainagain.“Sorry,”hesaid.Iwasn’tsureifhewas
apologizingfortouchingmeorforeverythingI’dsaidaboutmyfather.“It’sokay,”Isaid,deciding
I’dratherheapologizedforthelatter.“HeprobablyisthedeadbeatI’vealwaysimagined.ChancesareI’mbetteroff.”“Maybe.”Wesatontheswingsfora
while,nottalking.Andthatwasokay,too.AsmuchasIlikedtalking,ortyping,toRyder,itwaskindofniceto
justsitwithhimandwatchasthesunbegantosetinthedistance.“Weshouldgetgoing,”he
saidafterawhile.“It’sabouttogetdark.”“Oh,yes,”Isaid.“Because
elementaryschoolplaygroundsareknowntobeahotbedofcrimeanddebaucheryaftersundown.”
“Imeantbecauseit’sgoingtogetevencolder,smart-ass.”Hestoodupandofferedmehishand.Itookitandhepulledmetomyfeet.Ourfingersstayedlockedtogetherforjustaninstantlongerthantheyshouldhave,andwhenheletgo,myhandfelttoocold.Ishovedbothhandsinmy
pocketsandfollowedRydertowardthesidewalk.Wewalkedbacktothe
libraryinsilence,ourshouldersbrushinglightlyagainsteachother.“Thisisme,”Isaidwhen
wereachedGert.Islappedtheoldclunkeronherhood.“Sweetride,huh?”“Isitgoingtostart?”Ryder
asked,raisinganeyebrow.“Isn’tthatthemillion-dollar
question.”Ipulledmykeysfrommypurseandunlockedthedriver’ssidedoor.“Itwasnicehangingoutwithyoutoday,Ryder.”“You,too.”Iexpectedhimtowalk
away,butwhenhedidn’t,Ilookedathimagain.
“Youshouldwritetoyourdad,”hesaid.Ifrownedathim.“Why?I
toldyou,he’sprobablythedeadbeatlosermymomalwaystoldmehewas.”“Buthemightnotbe,”
Rydersaid.“It’sbeenyears,yousaidityourself.Andifyou’vebeenthinkingabouthimanyway…Maybeit’s
worthashot.”“But…butwhatifhe
doesn’tcareaboutme?”Myvoicetrembledalittleonthelastwords.“Whatifheletsmedown?”“Youwon’tknowunless
youtry,”hesaid.“Ifthere’sonethingI’velearnedsincemovinghere,it’sthatsometimespeoplesurprise
you,ifyouletthem.”Hewaslookingrightatme
whenhesaidthis,andthebutterfliesswarmedinmystomachonceagain.Hetookastepbackand
startedmovingtowardhiscar.“Seeyouatschool,Sonny.”Inodded,butIdidn’tgetin
thecar.Ijuststoodthere,in
theDecembercold,andwatchedhimwalkaway.
***
Thatnight,aloneintheguestroom,Icouldn’tsleep.Ilaythere,replaying
everythingthathadhappenedwithRyder.Thewayhe’dsmiledatme.Thewayhe’dlookedatme,likeforoncehewasactuallyseeingme,not
justhisdreamgirl’sannoyingbestfriend.But,mostly,Ikeptthinking
aboutwhathe’dsaidaboutmydad.Sometimespeoplesurpriseyou,ifyouletthem.Ihadn’tseenmydadin
years.Ihadn’tevenmentionedhimtoanyoneinyears.Notuntiltoday.ButI’d
thoughtabouthim.Alot.Heusedtopushmeonthe
tireswinginourbackyardwhenIwaslittle.Heusedtobringhomebiggallonsofcookies-and-creamicecreambecauseitwasmyfavorite.Heusedtosay,“Quiet.You’llwakeupSonny,”whenMomraisedhervoiceduringafight,eventhough,
mostofthetime,Iwasstillawake.Thenhegotarrestedforthe
firsttime.Andthenthesecond.Thefirsttimeitwasfor
boostingcars,butIonlyknewthatbecauseI’dheardsomepeopleintowntalkingaboutitwhenIwaslittle.“Isn’tthattheArdmoregirl?
Youhearaboutherdad?Goddamnthief.”That’swhenIstartedlying,
tellingpeoplehewasaninternationalbusinessman,notaninmate.Ididn’tknowwhathe’d
beenchargedwiththesecondtime.Oranyofthetimesafterthat.AllIknewwasthatDadhadn’tspentmorethana
coupleofweeksoutofjailsinceIwasseven.Momtookmetoseehim
everyweekuntilshedidn’tanymore.Hewasanasshole.Hewasadeadbeat.That’swhatshesaid.That’swhatIbelieved.Maybeitwastrue,and
maybeitwasn’t.Ryderhadmequestioningallofitnow.
Mydearfriendinsomniawasn’tgoinganywhere,soIpeeledmyselfoffthebedandheadeddownstairs.Mr.Rushkeptanofficeonthefirstfloor,butAmyandIwerewelcometouseitifweneededthedesktop.AndsinceIwasn’tsurehowwelcomeIwastoAmy’slaptopthesedays,itseemed
likeamoresuitableoption.Itwas1:12a.m.whenI
openeduptheWorddocument.Anditwas1:36a.m.beforeImanagedtotypethefirstword.Itwasashortnote.Butit
feltlikepullingteeth.Eachwordwasscaryandraw.Eachwordmademevulnerable.Whatifitwas
easiertojustleavehimoutofmylifethantoreachoutandhavehimhurtme?Ichokedbackallthefears
asmycursorhoveredoverthePRINTbutton.Iswallowedonce,twice,closedmyeyes,andclicked.BeforeIcouldchangemy
mind,IfoundanenvelopeinMr.Rush’sdesk.Ishovedthe
letterinside,scribbledthetoandfromaddresses,andsmackedonastamp.I’daskMr.andMrs.Rushpermissiontogivetheirhomenumbertomorrowmorning.Iftheysaidno,Iwouldn’tsendit.Butiftheysaiditwasokay,
Ididn’twantanyexcusenottodroptheletterinthemail.
Iputtheenvelopeonthebreakfasttable,whereIwouldn’tbeabletohidefromitcomemorning,thenIranbackupstairs,buriedmyfaceinmypillows,andspenttherestofthenightpanicking.
IhadhopesofsleepinginonthefirstdayofChristmasbreak.Therewasnoschoolandmybookstoreshiftdidn’tstartuntiltheafternoon.Amy,however,hadother
plans.Theguestroomdoorburst
openateight-thirtythat
morning.“Theygothereearly!”shesquealedasshedashedpastmybedtothewindow,whichlookedoutontotheRushes’driveway.“Mmmm,”Igroaned,butI
forcedmyselftositup.Amyhadn’tbeenthisexcitedaboutsomethinginawhile,especiallynotsincetheawkwardflirtingincidenta
fewweeksago.“Who’shereearly?”“WesleyandBianca!”She
hoppedupanddownasshewatchedacarpullupoutside.Sheturnedandmadeadashforthedoor.“Comeon!”Idraggedmyselfoutofbed
andfollowedherdownstairs.Veryfewthingsinlifegot
Amythisanimated.Infact,
onlythreethings:puppies,privateShakespearerecitations,andWesley.Myfeethadjusttouchedthe
bottomstepwhenthefrontdooropenedandapackofRushes,plusone,spilledin,alongwithaburstofcoldDecemberwind.AmyshriekedandthrewherselfatthetallestRush,whogreeted
herwithopenarms.WhenAmydetachedherself
fromherbrother,sheturnedandrepeatedtheperformancewiththeshorter,auburn-hairedgirlathisside.“Hey,Amy,”Biancasaid,
pattingherawkwardlyontheshoulder.“It’sgoodtoseeyou,too.”Atfirstglance,Bianca
didn’tfitinwiththeRushfamily.ShewasagoodhalffootshorterthanevenMrs.Rush,whowasthesmallestmemberofthefamily.Sheworetatteredjeans,T-shirts,andfadedredConverse,wheretheyworepolished,expensiveclothesmostpeopleinthistowncouldn’tafford.
Atfirstglance,Biancaseemed…morelikeme.Butifyoulookedcloser,at
thewaytheywelcomedher,atthewayWesleylookedather,itmadeperfectsense.Biancawassmartandfunnyand,fromwhatAmyhadtoldme,she’dplayedaroleinbringingthefamilybacktogetherafewyearsago,
whenithadallbutfallenapart.Andnow,shewaspartofit.Ididn’tknowherthatwell,
butitwasclearshebelongedwiththisfamily.Meanwhile,Isuddenlyfelt
likeanintruder.Justsomekidmoochingofftheirgenerosity.WhichwaswhyIstayedputonthestairs.As
gladasIwastoseeWesley,Icouldn’tbringmyselftointerruptthefamilyreunionhappeningbeforeme.ButWesley,whotowered
overeveryoneelseinthefamily,onlytookasecondtonotice.“Sonny!”hecalled,waving
meoverforahug.“SoAmyfinallyconvincedourparents
toletherkeepyou,huh?It’sabouttime.”Ilaughedandacceptedthe
quickhug.“It’snicetoseeyou,Wesley.”“Isit?”heasked.“I’ve
textedyouafewtimes,butyouneverreplied.Ithoughtmaybeyouweretoocoolformenow.”“Oh,Iam,”Iassuredhim.
“But,also,myphoneisbroken.I’vebeenusingAmy’s.”WhichremindedmethatI
hadafewtextmessagesfromRydertodelete.“It’snicetoseeyouagain,
Sonny,”Biancasaid.“You,too.How’sNew
York?”“Cold.”
“Luckily,she’sgotmetowarmherup,”Wesleysaid,puttinganarmaroundher.Biancarolledhereyes.“Well,Ihatetocutthis
short,”Mr.Rushsaid,glancingathiswatch.“ButI’msureBianca’sfatherwillbeeagertoseeher.Wecan’thogallhertime.”“I’lltakeherhome,”
Wesleysaid,grabbingasetfromthehookbythedoor.ThekeystohisbelovedPorsche.Hehadn’ttakenitwithhim
toNewYork.Iguesstherewasn’tmuchofaneedforitthere.Buthewasclearlyexcitedtogetbehindthewheelnowthathewashome.“Comebackoversoon,”
Amysaid.“Wehavetocatchup.”“Obviously,”Biancasaid.Andasquicklyasthey’d
arrived,WesleyandBiancasweptbackoutthedoor,whileAmy,herparents,andImigratedtothekitchenforbreakfast.“I’msogladthey’rehome,”
Amywassayingasshe
pouredherselfabowlofcereal.“It’snicetohavethewholefamilytogetheragain.”“Itis,”Mrs.Rushagreed.Aknottwistedinmy
stomach,andIfoundmyselfblinkingbacksuddentears.Iclearedmythroat.“Um,Mr.Rush?Hasthere
beenanymailforme?”Mr.Rushhadjustfilleda
mugwithcoffee.Helookedatmeovertherim,hiseyesknowing.He’dbeentheonetoputmyletterinthemail,soheknewexactlywhyIwasasking.“No,Sonny,”hesaid.“I’m
sorry.”“Areyouexpecting
something?”Amyasked.“Yeah,”Imumbled,the
acheinmychestgrowingasIwatchedtheRushesbustlearoundthekitchen,laughingastheybumpedintoeachotherandtrippedoveroneanother’sfeet.“ButIprobablyshouldn’tbe.”Amyraisedaneyebrow,and
Iknewshe’dbeaskingmeaboutitlater.Istillwasn’tsureiforwhatIwasgoingto
tellher.“Sonny,”Mrs.Rushsaid,
“whydon’tyouinviteyourmotherfordinneronChristmasEve?IknowshehadtoworkonThanksgiving,buthopefullyshehasChristmasEveoff.”“Maybe,”Isaid.“I’llsee.
I’msureshe’dappreciatetheinvitation.”
Lie,lie,lie.
***
“Ryder.”Itwasembarrassinghow
surprisedIsounded,buthewasthelastpersonIexpectedtofindontheRushes’frontporch.Well,okay.Maybenotthelast.ThattitlemostlikelybelongedtotheQueenofEnglandorthereanimated
corpseofEdgarAllanPoe.Ormymom.ButRyderwasunexpected,
nonetheless.Hewaswearinganarmy-greenutilityjacket,hisnonprescriptionblackglasses,andabeanie.HelookedhotinthatawfulhipsterwayI’dsomehowgrowntoappreciate.“Hey,Sonny,”hesaid,
smilingatme.Theremayhavebeenalittle
bitofflutteringinmystomach.Maybe.Justalittle.Unfortunately,itwasquicklydrownedoutbytheawfulrealizationthatIlookedlikeshit.I’donlygottenoutofthe
showertenminutesbeforethedoorbellrang.Iwasdressed,
thankGod—thoughmaybeifIhadn’tbeen,he’dhaveother,moreinterestingthingstolookatthanmyhair,whichwaswetandtangledandpulledbackfrommyfacewithatie-dyedheadbandIusedwheneverIputonafacemask.WhichI’dbeenonlysecondsawayfromapplyingwhenthedoorbellrang.
Soastiminggoes,itwasn’tasbadasitcouldhavebeen.Butwhy,whyhadn’the
chosentocomebyonadaywhenIlookedamazing?OrwhenIwaswearingsomesortofsexyyetclassylingerie?Ididn’tevenownlingerie,butthatseemedlikeanexcellentscenario,andonethatwouldlikelygoalong
waytowardfurtheringprogressonmymasterplan.Ryderdidn’tseemtonotice
myunflatteringhairdo,however.“Hey.IsAmyhome?”he
asked.Imanagedtokeepmy
composuredespitemydisappointment.“Nope.Shewentouttorunsomeerrands
thismorning,andsheinsisteditwouldbeboringandIdidn’thavetocome.”Ismirked.“Youknowwhatthatmeans,right?”“What’sthat?”“She’soutbuyingmy
Christmaspresent.”“Oh?”heasked.“Whatdo
youthinkshe’llgetyou?”“Well,Iaskedforapony,”I
informedhim.“AndI’mnotsureIcouldsettleforanythingless.”“Anygoodfriendwouldget
youapony,”heagreed.Thenweweregrinningat
eachother,andthoseflutteryfeelingsmadetheirtriumphantreturn.“Doyouwanttocomein?”
Iasked.“It’sjustmehere.
Everyoneelseisoutdoinglast-minuteshopping.”Mortificationcreptovermy
faceasIrealizedwithastartexactlywhatIwasoffering.MeandRyder.Inagiant,emptyhouse.Withinfiniteroomsjustbeggingtobemadeoutin.Or,youknow,wemightjust
watchTV.
Although,knowingRyder,heprobablyhatedtelevision.Butforafullsecond,I
thoughthewasgoingtosayyes.Hismouthopenedtospeak,butthenhesnappeditshut.Helookedatme,thenlookedaway,shakinghisheadasifshakingwaterfromhisface.“That’sokay,”hesaid.“I’d
bettergetgoing.”Itriednottoletthedisappointmentshow,butIwasn’tstrongenoughtohideitwhenhesaid,“ButwillyougivethistoAmy?”ItwasonlythenthatI
noticedthethin,rectangularbox,coveredingreenwrappingpaper,tuckedunderhisarm.Itwasthesortofbox
clotheswerealwaysgiveninonChristmas,anditwasforAmy.“Ofcourse,”Isaid,taking
theboxfromhim.“Noproblem.”Andthen,spottinganopeningtopushmyplansalongalittle,Iadded,“ButI’msorry.Idon’tthinkshegotyouanything.”Rydershrugged.“That’s
okay,”hesaid,onlyatinybitcrestfallen.“Youneverknow.Maybeshe’llpickmeupsomethingwhileshe’soutbuyingyourpony.”“Maybe.”Westaredateachotherfor
anotherlongmoment.Inthesilence,IhadthesuddenurgetotellhimaboutmylettertoDad,butIshovedtheimpulse
away.Ihadn’theardfromDadyet,andImightnot.Ifhenevercalledorwroteback,Iwasn’tsureIcouldstandhavingtoanswerquestionsaboutitlater.Ryderdidthatsamehead
shakehe’ddoneaminutebeforeandfinallyturned,movingtowardthefrontsteps.“MerryChristmas,
Sonny,”hesaidoverhisshoulder.“MerryChristmas.”Butatthatmoment,thegift
boxfeelingheavyandcruelinmyarms,itdidn’tseemallthatmerry.
***
AsmuchasIdidn’twanttoknow,IwasdyingtoknowwhatwasintheboxRyder
hadgiventoAmy.“Whydidn’tyoujustopen
it?”sheaskedwhenshegothomethatevening.“Becauseit’sforyou.”The
wordscameoutharshandbitter.Andyes,Iknewthatwasn’tfair.Amyhadn’taskedforthis.Butdamnit,ifshewasn’tsoirresistible,wewouldn’tbeinthissituation.
Wasitreallytoomuchtoaskforashrewasabestfriend?Ididn’tthinkso.“Notreally,”shesaid,but
shepickeduptheboxanywayandsatdownonthebedwithitinherlap.Shepeeledoffthegreenpaper,carefulnottotearit.WhereIwouldhavejustshreddedit,Amywasalwaysneatabouttheway
sheunwrappedgifts,asifshemightwanttoreusethepaperlater.(Sheneverdid,though.)Onceshe’dfinishedwith
thattask,shebeganworkingatthetapethatheldthewhiteboxclosed.Ittookherasecond,butthenthelidwasflippingopenandshewaspullingoutashirt.Aredbuffaloplaidflannel
shirt.Myheartswelled,then
promptlysank.Because,asIkept
remindingmyself,itwasn’tforme.“Oh,”Amysaid,examining
theshirt,whichwasclearlynotatallherstyle.“It’s…cute.”“It’sflannel,”Isaid.
“Uh-huh.”“It’sforyourfuturenineties
grungeband.”Amyblinkedatme.
“Excuseme?”“Nothing.It’sstupid.”I
stoodupandmovedtowardthedoor.“Enjoytheshirt.”“Sonny,youcanhaveit,”
shesaid.“Obviously.It’snotreallyforme.”
“It’snotformeeither,”Isaid.“You’retheonehethinkswouldlookcuteinflannel.”“I’mgoingtodisagreewith
himonthat.”Sheputtheshirtbackintheboxbeforelookingatmeagain.Myhandwasonthedoor,
butIwaswatchingher.OrmaybeIwasglaringather.
Unintentionally.“Areyoumadatme?”she
asked.“No.”Iwas,though.AndIhated
myselfforit.ThissituationwithRyderwasn’tAmy’sfault.Itwasmine.Iwasbeinganasshole.Itwasn’tjustaboutRyder,
though.Itwasthisstupid
holiday.ItwasaconstantreminderthatAmyhadeverythingIdidn’t.Afamily,afuture,ahome…andnowRyder.Shehadpeoplewholovedher.Peoplewhowantedtobuyhergiftsandspendtimewithher.AndIhadnoone.Noone…excepther.Ifeltmyselfdeflate,my
shouldersslumpingforwardastheangerseepedoutofme,replacedbytheweightofguilt.“No,”Isaidagain.“I’mnot
madatyou.I’msorry.”“Youcanhavetheshirt,”
shesaidagain,holdingtheboxouttome.“It’sreallyforyou.”“That’sokay.Itprobably
wouldn’tfitmeanyway.”ButIstilltookitfromher.Afterasecond,Iforcedasmile,andeventhoughitwasn’treal,Iknewitwasbelievablebecause,well,itwasme.“Yourbrotherbroughthomesomeofthosecookieswiththeicingwelove.I’mstealingone.ShouldIgrabtwo?”
Amy’sfakesmilewasmoretransparent.“Sure.Wannaplayagameofpoolintherecroom?”“You’reon,”Isaid.
Bah,humbug!Betweenthegiftdramawith
Ryder,thelingeringawkwardnessbetweenmeandAmy,endlessshiftsatthebookstore,andmygenerallackofafamilytospendtheholidayswith,Ihadbecomea
scrooge.EverycommercialfeaturingahappylittlekidopeninggiftswiththeirlovingparentsmademewanttokaratechoptheRushes’flat-screenTV.EveryChristmassongontheradiogavemeroadrage.AndIwasnolongerallowedtoanswerthefrontdoorforfearofwhatImightdotosome
unsuspectingcarolerwhomightcomeknocking.I’devengottenreprimanded
bySheilaforscowlingtoomuchatwork.Dealingwiththegeneralpublicdayinanddayoutwhileforcingacheeryattitudewastorture.AndeventhoughIneededthemoney,I’dcalledinsickacoupleoftimesjusttokeep
myselfsane.Sufficeittosay,Iwasnot
particularlyeagertogodownstairsonChristmasmorning.Don’tgetmewrong,Iknew
theRusheswouldbenice.They’dprobablyevengottenmeasmallgift—someassortedlotionsoranewsweater,allofwhichIwould
havebeenincrediblygratefulfor—butIwasn’tthepersontheywantedtoseetoday.They’dinvitedmeintotheirhomeandneverletmefeelunwelcomeforamoment,butintheend,Iwastheirguest.AndChristmaswasadayyouwantedtospendwithfamily.AmyandIwouldexchange
giftslaterthatday.Iwouldlet
theRusheshavethemorningtothemselves.Atleast,thatwasmyplan.UntilWesleythrewopen
mybedroomdoorateightinthegodforsakenmorning.“MerryChristmas!”he
bellowed.“Timetogetup.”Igroanedandsmushedmy
faceintothepillow.“No.”“Comeon,now.Where’s
yourholidayspirit?”Iheardhisheavyfootstepsmovequicklyacrossthefloor,thenmycurtainswerethrownopenandblindingsunlightfilledtheroom.“Riseandshine,Sonny.ComedownstairsandseewhatSantabroughtyou.”Isighedandrolledontomy
back,squintingagainstthe
light.“IfyouhonestlythinkIstillbelieveinSanta,weneedtohaveaconversation,Wesley.”“Let’shaveitdownstairs,”
hesaid.“Comeon.Everyone’sbeenwaitingonyoutoopenpresentsforalmostanhour.”Ifrowned.“Waitingonme?
Why?”
“Becausetheydidn’twanttowakeyouup.Thoughtitwouldberude.I,ontheotherhand,havenosuchreservations.”Thatwasn’twhatI’dmeant,
though.BeforeIcouldclarify,
Wesleygrabbedmywrist,pulledmetomyfeet,andbegandraggingmetoward
thedoor.ThankGodIwaswearingAmy’sfrogpajamas.“Okay,okay,”Isaid,having
tojogtokeepupwithhislongstrides.“I’mcoming.Noneedtousebruteforce.”“Igetaggressiveabout
presents.”“Clearly.”HereleasedmywristandI
followedhimdownstairs.The
restofthefamilywassittingaroundthehugelivingroom,allintheirpajamas.Mr.RushhadamugofcoffeeinhishandandAmywasmunchingonafrozenwaffle.TheylookedupwhenWesleyandIentered.“Wetoldyounottowake
herup,”Mrs.Rushscolded.“IfwewaitedforSonny,we
wouldn’tbeopeningpresentsuntilnoon,”Wesleyargued.“So?”Mrs.Rushasked.“Mother,thatis
unacceptable.Evenyouknowthat.”“Sonny,I’dliketo
apologizeformyson.Hismannersareobviouslylacking.”ButIbarelyheardher.Iwas
toobusystaringatthemanteloverthefireplace,wherefivestockingshadbeenhung.Theyhadn’tbeentherewhenI’dgoneuptobedthenightbefore.Buttheretheywere.Five.Oneforeachmemberofthe
Rushfamily.And,rightinthemiddleof
them,onethatsaidSonnyin
glittery,hand-paintedletters.Itwasasmallthing,onthe
surface,butitfelthuge.Ihadtoswallowalumpthathadriseninmythroat.Ihadneverhadastockingwithmynameonit.Momhadneverhungthem.Hell,wehadn’tevenhadaChristmastreeinatleastfiveyears.“Sonny,”Mr.Rushsaid,
callingmyattentionbacktothefamily.“Comesitdown.WehavetopassthesepresentsoutbeforeWesley’sheadexplodes.”Inoddedandmigratedover
tothecouchtositbetweenhimandAmy,whoofferedmeawarmsmile.“MerryChristmas,”she
said.
“MerryChristmas,”Ireplied,beamingbackather.Wesleypassedoutthegifts,
butnoneofusopenedthemuntileverypackageunderthetreehadbeengiventoitsrightfulowner.Thenwewerefreetotearin,thoughnoonedidthiswithquiteasmuchenthusiasmastheeldestRushchild.
“You’renearlytwenty-oneyearsold,”Mr.RushremindedhissonasWesleyimpatientlyshreddedthepaperononeofthegifts—thegameconsoleAmyandIhadpickedup.“TheChristmasspirit
doesn’thaveanage,”Wesleyassuredhim.Asforme,Ihadasmallpile
ofgifts,prettymuchasI’dexpected.AnewredsweaterfromMr.Rush(wasthatcashmere?Ididn’tevenknowwhatcashmerefeltlike)andaboxoflavender-scentedlotion,bodywash,andperfumefromMrs.Rush.Wesleyhadgottenmesomething,too,thoughthepresentitselfconfusedmea
little.“Oh,thankyou,”Isaid,
lookingdownatthesmartphonecasethathadclearlybeencustomdesignedwithmynameinpink,swirlyletters.Ididn’thaveasmartphone,butIdidhavetheabilitytofakeenthusiasm.“It’sreallycute.”“Thatactuallygoeswith
anothergift,”Mrs.Rushsaid.“Gocheckyourstocking.”“Uh,okay.”Istoodupand
walkedovertothemantel.Carefully,IreachedmyhandinsidetheSonnystockingandpulledouttheonlyitem.Andgasped.Asmartphone.Abrand-new,working
smartphone.
“That’sfromallofus,”Mr.Rushsaid.“ButitwasAmy’sidea,”
Mrs.Rushinformedme.“Weknowyourphone’sbeenbrokenforawhile,andwefigureditwastimeforanupgrade.”“Weaddedyoutoour
phoneplan,too,”Mr.Rushsaid.“Wetransferredyour
oldnumberandeverything.”Thatlumpwasbackagain.
Persistentbastard.Ijustshookmyhead,barelymanagingtochokeoutthewords,“I-Ican’tacceptthis.”“Youcan,andyouwill,”
Wesleysaid.“It’salittleselfishonour
parts,”Mrs.Rushadded.“Wewanttobeabletokeepin
touchwithyouwhileyou’relivinghere,andyouandAmycan’talwaysbeattachedatthehip.Sothisisforus,too.”“I’msureit’llalsomakeit
easierforyourmothertogetaholdofyouifsheneedsto,”Mr.Rushsaid.“Doyoulikeit?”Amy
asked.Shewasgrinningatme,hereyeswideandbright.
Inodded.“Ido.Ido—thankyou.Thankyousomuch.”“You’rewelcome,”Mr.
Rushsaid.“AndthankyouforspendingChristmaswithus.We’regladtohaveyouhere,Sonny.”Ismiledathim.“I’mglad
I’mhere,too.”Imaynothavebeenas
filledwithholidayjoyasWesley(IdoubtedIeverwouldbe),butifIwasgoingtospendChristmaswithanyone,therewasnootherfamilyI’dratherbewith.Except,maybe,myown.
***
TheonlycallIgotthatdaywasn’tonmynewcellphone:ItwasontheRushes’house
phone,anditwascollect.“Yes,I’llacceptthe
charges,”Isaid,feelingalittleguiltydespitetheirinsistencethatthey’dbeokaywithpayingthefeeswhenI’doriginallyaskedthemaboutit.Ihadafeelingthiswasthe
firsttimetheRushhousehadreceivedacallfromaprison.
“Sonny?”Ihadn’theardhisvoicein
years,butIrecognizeditimmediately.Itwasdeep,butlight.Youcouldhearthesmileinit.Inallmymemoriesofmyfather,hewasalwayssmiling.“Hey,Dad,”Isaid,myown
voiceatadshaky.“MerryChristmas.”
“Yousoundsogrown-up,”hesaid.“You’reprobablytoooldformetocallyouSonnyBunnynow,huh?”“Maybealittle,”Isaid.I
wassurprisedbyhownormalhesounded.Howconfidentandpleasant.Somehow,I’dexpectedprisontorobhimofthat.Hejust…didn’tsoundlikeacriminal.“It’sbeena
while.”“Iknow.Iwassohappyto
getyourletter.”“Youwere?”“Ofcourse,SonnyBunny.
I’vetriedtocallandwritebefore,butIcouldnevergetintouch.”“Wemovedafewyears
ago,”Isaid.“IntoGranddad’shouse.AndMomnevergota
housephone.Andhercellnumberhaschangedafewtimes,so…”“Yourmother,”hesaid,a
slightlaughinhisvoice.“She’sapieceofwork.”“Yeah…Sothat’swhyI
gaveyouthisnumber.I’matmyfriend’shouserightnow.HerparentssaidIcouldtakeyourcallshere.”
“Oh,”Dadsaid.“Well,tellthemthankyouforme.”Hepaused.“Howisyourmom,anyway?”Timetolie.“Great,”Isaid.“She’sgota
goodjobrightnowandshe’sseeingsomeone,sothat’sgoodforher.WehadagreatChristmasthismorning,andthenIcameovertomy
friend’shousefordinner.”“That’sgreat,”Dadsaid.“I
missyou,SonnyBunny.”“Imissyou,too.”Ididn’tknowthewords
weretrueuntiltheyleftmymouth.DespiteeverythingI’dsaidabouthimovertheyears,despitealltheangerandhurtIfelt,I’dmissedhim.Especiallynow.
“Listen,”hesaid.“Iknowyou’rebusy,butI’dlovetoseeyouifyoueverwanttocomeforvisitation—”“Iwill.”“Yeah?”“Yeah,”Isaid.“Imean,I
don’tknowwhen,butI’llcomesoon.”“Thatwouldbegreat,
Sonny.Youcancomemake
funofmeinmyveryfashionableorangejumpsuit.”Andeventhoughhisvoicewasstillconfident,Icouldsensethatlittletouchofrelief.Nooneelsewouldhavecaughtit,butIdid.Ihadtoremindmyselfof
that.Mydadmightnothavesoundedlikeacriminal,buthewasone.Therewasno
disputingthat.Maybehe’dchangedovertheyears.Maybehewasn’ttheassholemymotherhadonceclaimed.Butforallhischarm,hewasaliar.Justlikeme.Thequestionwas,how
muchwashelyingabout?Therewasachancethat
lettinghimbackintomylife
wasamistake.ButRydersaidDadmightsurprisemeifIgavehimachance,andhealreadyhadjustbycalling.“Youstillthere,Sonny
Bunny?”“Yeah,”Isaid.“I’mhere.
ButIcanonlytalkforafewmoreminutes.Thephonechargesarekindof…”“Iunderstand,”Dadsaid.
“But,ifyouhaveafewmoreminutes,I’dlovetolearnalittlemoreaboutthisgrown-upyou.”Ismiled.“Whatdoyou
wanttoknow?”“Everything,”hesaid.Iwouldn’tgivehimthat.I
couldn’tgiveanyonethat.Butforthenextfiveminutes,Itoldhimasmanytruethings
asIcould.
“Areyoufreakingkiddingme?”Islammedmyfistinto
Gert’ssteeringwheelandjumpedattheresoundinghonk!itelicited.Because,despitealllogic,ithadsomehowsurprisedme.
I’djustmanagedtopullmypiece-of-shitcarontotheshoulderoftheroadasitgroanedandcreakedtoastop.ButnowIwasstuck,strandedonthestretchofhighwaybetweenHamiltonandOakHillonthedayafterChristmas.AndIwasgoingtobelate
forwork.
“Pleasejustbethebattery,”ImutteredasIclimbedfromthecarandwenttoopenthehood.“Pleasejustneedajump.”Imayhavehadajobnow,
butbetweengasmoney,Christmaspresents,andbuyingsomenewwinterclothes,Ididn’thavethemoneytofixGert.Iknewthe
RusheswouldpayforitifIasked,butIstillfeltguiltyaboutlettingthemgivemeanewcellphone.Ipulledopenthehoodand
stareddownatthetangleofmachineryinside,suddenlyrememberingthatIknewabsolutelynothingaboutcars.Iwasn’tevensurewhyI’dpoppedthehoodotherthan
thatwasjustwhatyouweresupposedtodowhenyouwerestrandedonthesideoftheroad.“Damn,”Isaid,looking
downatwhatIthoughtmightbethebattery.Ireachedintomyback
pocketandpulledoutmynewcellphone,whichonlyhadahandfulofnumbers
programmedintoit.ItriedAmy,buttherewasnoanswer.She’dgonetothelibrarytoworkonanessayforhercollegeapplications,somaybeshe’dputitonsilent.ThenIrememberedthatIhadn’tgivenAmyherphonebackyet—itwasstillinmyroom.SoItriedWesleynext.
“Hello,Sonya.”“Notfunny,”Isaid.“Hey,
areyoubusy?”“We’rejustwatchinga
movie.Why?”Iheardsomeonelaughingin
thebackground,andIrealizedhemust’vebeenatBianca’shouse.“Gert’sdead.”“Who?”
“Mycar.”“Oh…okay.Whereare
you?”Igavehimdirectionsandhe
assuredmetheywereleavingimmediately.Ihungupandshovedmyphonebackintomypocketwithasigh.“Damnit,Gert,”Isaid,
restingmyhandonthehood.“Getyourshittogether,
woman.”Idialedthebookstore’s
number,buttherewasnoanswer.IwasabouttotryagainwhenIheardsomeonecallouttome.“Hey.Youallright?”Ilookedupandnoticeda
Hondaslowingtoastopnexttome.Aguywithmessybrownhairstuckhisheadout
thewindow.Beyondhim,Icouldmakeoutaprettybrunetteinthepassenger’sseat.Neitherofthemweremucholderthanme.“Fine,”Isaid.“Mycarjust
sucks.”HeturnedtheHondaonto
theshoulder,justafewyardsinfrontofmycar,makingroomforothercarstospeed
pastus.Thenheandthebrunettebothclimbedoutandstartedwalkingtowardme.Istiffened,thinkingthatthis
wasexactlyhoweveryhorrormoviebeganandhopingthatAmywouldavengemymurder,regardlessoftheweirdnessbetweenusatthemoment,butthenIrealizedwewereonabusyhighway
inbroaddaylightandanysmarterserial-killingteamwouldnotbesocareless.“Sorry,”thebrunettesaid,
noticingtheuneasylookonmyface.Therewassomethingvaguelyfamiliarabouther,butIcouldn’tplaceit.“NathanherehasaGoodSamaritancomplex.Wepromisewe’renotgoingto,
like,kidnapyou.”“That’sjustwhatanygood
kidnapperwouldsay,”Ipointedout.Thegirl,whowaswearinga
UniversityofKentuckysweatshirt,snorted,andherblueeyestwinkledjustabit.“It’snotaGoodSamaritan
complex,”Nathanargued.“It’scalledbeingadecent
person.Tryitsometime.”“I’llpass.Thanks.”Theystaredateachotherfor
amoment,bothsmiling,andsuddenlyIfeltasthoughIwasintrudingonsomething.Worriedtheymightstartmaulingeachotherinfrontofme,thereonthesideoftheroad,Iclearedmythroat.“Yeah,”Isaid.“I’mfine.
Justacraptasticcar.Myfriendsareontheway.”“See.Shedoesn’twantour
help,”thegirlsaid.“Let’sleaveheralone.I’mfreezing.”“Doestheheatworkinyour
car?”Nathanaskedme.“Doyouwanttowaitinourcarwithus?”“Oh,Idon’t—”
“Iwastryingtoconvinceherthatweweren’ttryingtokidnapher,”thegirlsaid.“You’renothelpingmycasehere.”Nathanlaughed.“Sorry.
Whitley’sright.Wearen’ttryingtokidnapyou.”“Wait,”Isaid,lookingat
thebrunette.AndsuddenlyIrealizedwhyshelookedso
familiar.“Whitley?WhitleyJohnson?You’reGregJohnson’sdaughter?”Whitleystiffenedalittle.
“Yeah.”“OhmyGod,”Isaid.
“Okay,Iswear,I’mnotusuallyasquealingfangirl,butyourfatherisamazing.”“SoI’vebeentold.”“Hepaidformygasonce.”
WhitleymetthiscommentwiththesamelackofenthusiasmIhadreceivedfromRyder.Shejustgaveavague,placatingsmile,andIrealizedwhatanidiotIsoundedlike.Nonetheless,Iwassuddenly
waymorewillingtowaitintheircaruntilBiancaandWesleyarrived.
ThethreeofusclimbedintotheHonda,meslidingintothebackseat,andNathancrankeduptheheat.IlistenedwithcuriosityasheandWhitleytalkedaboutotherthings—school,plansfortheweekend,someawkwardfamilyChristmasdrama—onlythenrememberingthatthesetwowerenotonlya
couplebutstepsiblings.Thathadreallygottenthe
rumormillstirredupafewyearsago,shortlyafterGregJohnsonmovedtoHamilton.Hisdaughter,Whitley,alreadyhadareputationforbeingapartyanimal,butthegossiponlygotworsewhenshestarteddatingherstepmother’sson.Talk
aroundtownhadmostlyfadedafterthetwowentofftocollege,butsometimesflaredupagainwhenWhitleyandNathanwerebackforschoolbreaks.Thiswasmyfirsttime
meetingeitheroftheminperson,andIwasfascinatedbyhowarelationshiplikethatwouldwork.
Ialsowonderedifmylovelifewasmoreorlessscrewedupthantheirs.Probablymore.“Arethoseyourfriends?”
NathanaskedasaPorscheeasedontothesideoftheroad,rightbehindGert.“Yeah,”Isaid,thoughIwas
mildlydisappointedtobeejectedfromthisriveting
couple’spresence.IhoppedoutoftheHonda
andsawWesleyandBiancaapproaching.WhitleyandNathanspottedthem,too,andtomysurprise,theyalsoclimbedoutofthecar.“Hey,”Nathansaid,
beaming.“Hey.”Wesleygrinned.
“Longtimenosee.”
“Youguysknoweachother?”Iasked.“Sortof,”Biancasaid.She
andWhitleygaveeachotherapolitenod.“Whitleyherestolemybest
friend,”Wesleyexplained.“HowisHarrison,anyway?Ihaven’theardfromhiminages.”“That’sbecausehehasa
newboyfriend,”Whitleysaid.“He’sspendingChristmasinLosAngeleswithAntonio.I’dbemadathimforit,butthey’redisgustinglycutetogether.”“Goodforhim,”Wesley
said.“BiancaandIweretalkingaboutgoingouttovisithimifhedoesn’tcomehomethissummer.”
TheykepttalkinguntilBiancanoticedmestandingthereshiveringandclearedherthroat.“Well,wejustcametopick
upthestray.”Shejabbedathumbatme.“Thanksforkeepinganeyeonher.”“I’mnotapuppy,”Isaid.“Wediscussedkidnapping
her,”Whitleysaid.“Justso
youknow.”“Gladyoudidn’t,”Wesley
said.“ThenI’dhavetofindmysisteranewbestfriend,andthosecantakeforevertohousebreak.”Irolledmyeyes.“Ha-ha.”WhitleyandNathansaid
good-byeandclimbedintotheircar,thenWesley,Bianca,andIheadedback
overtoGert.“Sowhat’stheproblem?”
Biancaasked,tappingthehood.“Idon’tknow,”Iadmitted.
“Itstoppedrunning.I’mhopingit’sjustthebattery.Doyouguyshavejumpercables?”Wesleyopenedhismouthto
answer,butBiancajust
poppedopenthehood.“Letmetakealookfirst.Ihaveplentyofexperiencewithcrappyoldcars.”“Bemyguest.”Shepokedherheadaround
insidewhileWesleyandIwatched.Afterasecond,shetookastepbackandslammedthehoodshut.“We’llneedtocallatow
truck.”Igroaned.“What’swrong
withGert?”“Youralternator.Thebeltis
totallyjusthangingthere.It’llneedtobereplaced.”“Thealternator,”Wesley
said,nodding.“Imean,obviously.”Biancarolledhereyes.“For
someonewithsuchanicecar,
youknowsolittleaboutthem.”“Howmuchisthatgoingto
costme?”Iasked.“Hardtosay,”Bianca
admitted.“Ifit’sjustthebelt,itwon’tbethatbad.Ifit’stheactualalternator…alittlemore.”“MorethatIdon’thave,”I
muttered.“AndIdon’tget
paiduntilnextweek.”“Don’tworryaboutit,”
Wesleysaid.“I’lltakecareofit.”“Ican’tletyoudothat,”I
said.“Oryourparents.Youguyshavealreadydonewaytoomuchforme.”“Don’tbesilly,”hesaid.
“Wedon’tmind.”“ButIdo,”Iargued.
Biancaputanunderstandinghandonmyshoulder.“Maybeyoucouldconsideritaloan,then,”shesaid.“Tobepaidbackwhenyoucan.”Istillwasn’tthrilledabout
this,butitwasn’tasiftherewereatonofoptions.So,reluctantly,Inodded.“Deal,”Wesleysaid.“I’ll
evenchargeinterestifyou
like.”“Let’snegotiatethatinthe
car.Whereit’swarm,”Biancasuggested.Ittookabouttwentyminutes
forthetowtrucktoarrive,andbythen,Iwassuperlateforwork.PoorGertandherbrokenalternatorwerehauledoff,andIsilentlypromisedherI’dcometorescueher
soon.“Sowherewereyou
headed?”WesleyaskedashesteeredthePorschebackontothehighway.“Themall,”Isaid,checking
thetime.“Myshiftstartedhalfanhourago.Mybosswillbesopissed.AndnowIhavenowaytogethomeafter…”
“Wecancomepickyouup,”Biancasaid.“Youdon’thavetodothat,”
Isaid.“Ofcoursewedo,”Wesley
said.“Youdon’tthinkwe’dleaveyoustranded,doyou?Justgivemeacallwhenyourshiftends.”“Thankyou,”Isaid.
“Really.”
Wesleysmiledatmeintherearviewmirror.“Anytime.”
Well,thiswassomeseriousdéjàvu.“Sheila,comeon,”I
begged.“Itoldyou.Mycarbrokedown.Ihadtowaitforthetowtruck.”“Youcouldhavecalled,”
shesaid.
“Itried,”Isaid.“Nooneanswered.”“Whydidn’tyoutryagain?”Fairquestion.“Wehadtocallsomeone
elsetocoveryourshift,”shesaid.“ThedayafterChristmasisalwaysbusy,andyouweren’there.”“Itoldyou.Mycar—”“Youalwayshavean
excuse,”shesaid.Tobefair,theexcusesabout
Gerthadbeentrue.I’dhadmoreproblemswithherlatelythanusual.Iseriouslyneededanewcar.Butthatrequiredmoney.Whichrequiredajob.WhichGertwasmakingitincrediblyhardtoholdonto.Well,Gert,andmyhatred
oftheholidays.
“Look,”Sheilasaidassherearrangedafewpicturebooksthathadbeentossedaroundbysomekidsafewminutesbefore.Iwasfollowingheraroundthestorelikeapathetic,lostdog.“Youwereseasonalanyway.Wewereprobablygoingtobelayingyouoffintwoweeksasitis.”
Butthatwastwoweeks’worthofpaythatIneeded.EspeciallynowthatIowedWesleyforGert’srepairs.Ijuststoodthere,staringat
her.“Sorry,Sonny,”shesaid.
“Butyou’refired.”Istormedoutofthe
bookstore,pissedatSheilaandatGertandatmyself.I
thoughtofcallingWesley,askinghimtoturnbackaroundandcomepickmeup.ButItookadeepbreathanddecidedtobemoreproactive.Iwasalreadyatthemall,so
Imightaswellstartmyjobhuntrightaway.IsighedasIheadedtoward
thefoodcourt,rememberingthedayAmyandIhadcome
herewhenIwasfirstapplyingfornewjobs.SomedaysIfeltlikearat
onawheel,runningandrunningandrunningandnevergettinganywhere.
***
“Sonny?”Iwaswalkingoutof
Daphne’s,avintage-inspiredclothingstore,afterdropping
offmyapplication.Ryderwasstandingafewyardsaway,ashoppingbaginhishandandhisgreenutilityjacketslungcasuallyoverhisshoulder.Helookedlikeamodel.Likeapictureanyoneofthesestoreswouldhavelovedtohaveadvertisingtheirbrand.“Hey,Ryder,”Isaid.
“What’reyoudoinghere?”Wesaiditinunison,then
laughedtogether.“IfIwasseven,Iwouldyell
jinxrightnow.”“Yeah,”Isaid.“Sucha
shamewe’retoooldfor—JINX!Youowemeasoda.”Ryderrolledhiseyes.
“Seriously?”“Ofcourse.Itakethese
thingsveryseriously.Ipreferorangesoda,bytheway.ThoughIwillalsoacceptgrape.Norootbeer,though.Disgusting.”“Noted.”Heglanceddown
atthestackofapplicationsstilltuckedbeneathmyarm.“So,backtomyquestion.Whatareyoudoinghere?”“Seekingemployment.”
“Ithoughtyouworkedatthebookstore?”“Nolonger.”“Oh.Sorrytohearthat.”“Whataboutyou?What
bringsyoutothemallonthisfinewinter’sday?”“Somethingjustasfun.”He
lifteduptheshoppingbags.“Returningunwantedgifts.”“Unwantedgifts?That’san
oxymoron,Ryder.”“You’veneverbeen
honoredwithapresentfrommygrandmother,then.”“Thatbad?”“Shegavemesuspenders
once.”“Well,Imean,thoseare
makingacomeback.Especiallyamonghipsterslikeyourself.”
“I’mnotahipster,”hesaid.“AnddoIlooklikesomeonewhowearssuspenders?”“Imean,maybe…”“Brightpurpleones?”Igiggled,tryingtopicture
it.Ryderinhisexpensivebluejeans,redGoatsVoteforMelonsT-shirt,andbrightpurplesuspenders.“No,notreally.ThoughIwouldpay
moneytoseeit.”“Yes,well,payallyoulike.
It’snotgoingtohappen.”Hesighed.“Luckily,I’vebeenabletotradethingsinforitemsIwouldwear,soatleastitwasn’tawasteofanicegesture.”Withoutsayinganything,
withoutplanningit,westartedwalking.Together.
Ourshouldersnearlytouchingaswewoveourwaypastfamilieswithstrollersandseniorsintracksuits.“SodidAmygetyouthat
pony?”heaskedafterwe’dpassedafewstores.“Sadly,no.I’mvery
disappointed.We’renolongeronspeakingtermsbecauseofit.”
“That’sashame.Youknowshe…”Ilookedathimashetrailed
off.Myheartwasalreadybeginningtosink.BacktoAmy.Barelyaminutetogetherandthat’swhathewantedtotalkabout.Ihadn’tevenbeentextinghimfromherphonelately.Atleast,notmuch.Justacoupleoftimes,
onceortwice,whentheguestroomfeltespeciallylonely.ButI’ddefinitelysloweddownsincethestartofChristmasbreak.Especiallyafterhebroughtherthatgift.Asfarasheknew,Amyhadnevereventhankedhimforit.Yethestillwantedtotalkabouther.Heshookhishead.“You
knowwhat?Nevermind.”Ormaybehedidn’t.“Sowhereelsedoyouhave
todroptheseoff?”Ryderasked,takingtheapplicationsfrommeandthumbingthroughthem.AfterSheilafiredme,I’d
gonearoundthemall,pickingupapplications,thenfilledthemoutinthefoodcourt.
NowIwasjustdroppingthemoff.“Thecandyshop.The
smoothieplace.Andthatsportinggoodsstoreontheothersideofthebuilding.Youknow,thatonewhereallthemiddle-agedmenincamostandaroundcomparingfishingpolesforhours?”Rydergrimaced.“You’re
goingtoputanapplicationinthere?”“Mycarbrokedownonthe
wayhere,andIhavetopayfortherepairs,soIcan’taffordtobepicky.”Itooktheapplicationsbackfromhim.“Yourcarbrokedownon
thewayhere?”“Yeah.Ihadtocallatow
truck.Thankfully,Amy’s
brotherwasabletopickmeup,soIwasn’tstrandedlong.”Islowedaswenearedthecandystore,andRyderfollowedmein.HewasquietasIhandedmyapplicationtotheladybehindthecounter,whowastednotimeinformingmethattheyweren’thiringrightnow,butthatthey’dkeepmy
applicationonfile.“Listen,”Rydersaidaswe
wereleavingtheshop.“Iwasabouttoleavehere,butI’dbegladtogiveyouaridehomeifyouneedone.”“Thatwouldactuallybe
great,”Isaid,surprised.“Ifyoudon’tmind.Itwouldsavemyfriendsanothertripouthere.”
“Idon’tmindatall.”HowhadIeverthoughtthis
guywasajerk?Idroppedoffmylastfew
applications,including,yes,oneinthesportinggoodsstore.AfterIhandedittothemanatthecounter,IsentatexttoWesley,lettinghimknowIhadfoundanotherridehome.ThenIwentin
searchforRyder,whohadwanderedoffsomewhereinthefewsecondsIwasn’tlooking.Ifoundhimlookingatbrightorangehuntingjacketsandvests.“Thinkingofchangingyour
wardrobe?”Iasked.“Marvelingatthefactthat
mygrandmotherhasn’tgottenmeoneoftheseyet,”hesaid.
“Ablaze-orangevestwouldgosplendidlywiththosepurplesuspenders.”“Mythoughtsexactly.”He
turnedtomewithasmile.“Areyoureadytogo?”“Notuntilyoutryoneof
thoseon.”“Ha-ha.You’rehilarious.”“I’mserious,”Isaid.“Ifyou
doit,you’llnolongerowe
measoda.”“No.”“Oh,comeon,Ryder,”I
said,punchinghisarmplayfully.“Bealittlespontaneousforonce.”Hehesitated,butImust’ve
beenpersuasivebecausehesighed,resigned,andputdownhisshoppingbags.“Givemeyourphone.”
“What?Why?”“BecauseIdon’twantyou
takingpicturestouseasblackmail,that’swhy.”“Oh,that’sagreatidea.But
Idon’thaveaphone,remember?”“Youdidn’tbefore,butyou
donow.Isawyouusingitasecondago.Handitover.”Isighedandpassedhimmy
newcellphone.Helookedatitandchuckled.“Yournameisonthecaseandeverything.Worriedyou’llforgetwhoitbelongsto?”“Justshutupandputonthe
jacket.”Heshovedmyphoneinto
hispocketandturnedtotherackoforangeattire.Afterasecond,heselectedacoat.He
tossedmehisjacket,thenslidthebulkyorangemonstrosityontohisarms.Itwasimpossiblenotto
laugh.“PleasecanIhavemy
phoneback?”Ichokedthroughthegiggles.“Absolutelynot.”“Youjustlook…so
different.”Andhedid.He
didn’tlookbad—hell,ifallhunterslookedlikethis,I’dbeupinadeerstandinaheartbeat.Buthedidn’tlooklikeRyderatall.Itwasfunnyhowoneitemofclothingcouldcompletelychangeaperson.“Looksgreatonyou,kid,”
oneoftheemployeessaidashewalkedpastus.“You’re
readyfordeerseasonnow!”Embarrassmentfloodedhis
face.Idoubtedhe’deverbeenhuntinginhislife.“He’salsointhemarketfor
anewfishingpole!”Icalledtotheemployee.Rydershovedthejacketoff
hisshoulders,hungitbackup,pickeduphisbags,andgrabbedmyhand,pullingme
totheexitasIlaughed,leavingthestoreemployeelookingverybewildered.Hishandwaswarmagainst
mine,anditsentaspikeofadrenalinethroughme.“Happynow?”Ryderasked
whenwewereawayfromthestore,butIcouldtellhewasholdingbackalaugh,too.“Oh,very,”Itoldhim.
“Extremely,even.”“Good.Thenlet’sgetoutof
herebeforeyoutrytomakemeplaydress-upanywhereelse.”Westoodthereforaminute,
ourhandsstilllocked.Iwaitedforhimtoletgoandhopedthathewouldn’tallatthesametime.But,afteramomentthatlastedaninstant
toolong,hedid.Andmaybeitwasmyimagination,butIthinkhewasjustasdisappointedtolosethatcontactasIwas.Itradedhisjacketformy
cellphoneandweheadedoutside,tohiscar.Itwasn’tlate,butitwasalreadydarkout.Wewalkedclosetogether,ourheadsducked
againstawindthathadpickedupinthehourssinceGerthadbrokendown.AndasIclimbedintothefrontseatofhiscar,shivering,Irealizedthatthelasttimewe’dbeeninacartogetherwasinOctober,onanotherdaywhenGerthadgivenmetroubleandI’dbeenfired.Thedayallofthishad
started,really.We’dcomealongway
sincethatday,butnotnearlyasfarasI’dhoped.“It’llwarmupinasecond,”
Rydersaidafterhestartedthecar.TheenginehadapurrsoquietIbarelynoticedit.“So.Thisisthe
Rydermobile,eh?”Ilookedaroundattheleatherinterior.
Itwasspotless.Otherthantheshoppingbagshe’djusttossedintothebackseat,therewasreallynothinginit.Nodiscardedwaterbottlesorforgottenfast-foodwrappers.IknewGertwasamess,butjeez.Thiscarwasalmostscaryclean.Asifhe’dreadmymind,
Rydersaid,“Yeah.My
mom’salwaysonmetokeepitclean.She’salittleanalaboutstufflikethat.Probablybecausemydadwassuchaslob.”Thedisdaininhisvoicewasundeniable.“Butthereareworsethingsthanacleancar,soIdon’tcomplain.”Thoughsomehow,Iknew
hewouldhavebeforethe
truthabouthisfathercameout.Hewouldhavethoughthismotherwasatyrantbackthen.Backbeforehedecidedshewasasaint.Iwasn’tgoingtobringthat
up,though.Instead,Idecidedtobringupmyowndysfunctionalfamilyunit.“Hey.I’vebeenmeaningto
tellyou…”Wewerepulling
outoftheparkinglotnow,smoothlyturningontothehighwaythatwouldleadusbackintoHamilton.“I,um…Iwrotetomydad.”Heglancedatmebefore
turningbacktotheroad.“Youdid?”“Yeah.Afterwetalkedat
theparkthatday.Whatyousaid,aboutlettingpeople
surpriseyou…Well,anyway,Iwrotetohim.Ididn’twanttosayanythingunlesssomethinggoodoutofit.Ididn’twanttobeembarrassed—”“Youwouldn’tneedtobe
embarrassed,”hesaid.“Ifhedidn’twriteorcallyouback,he’stheonewhoshouldbeembarrassed.”
“Well,actually,hedid.Yesterday.Hecalledme.”“Really?That’sawesome,
Sonny.”“Itwasjustashortcall.
Whoknowswhatkindofguyhereallyis.Youcan’ttellfromacall,but…butit’sthefirsttimeI’vetalkedtohiminyears,andIdidn’trealizehowmuchI’dmissedhim.”I
wrappedmyarmsaroundmyself,suddenlyfeelingnaked.Thatwastoomuch.Toohonest.Tooclose.ButthenRyder’shandwas
onmyarm,andeverythinginsidemerelaxedalittle.Hegentlytuggedmyarmfreeandhisfingerssliddowntocirclemywrist,leavingatrailofelectricityintheirwake.
Thenheplacedhispalmagainstmineandheldmyhandagain,thewayhehadinthemall,onlythistimehisfingerslacedwithmine.“I’mgladyouwroteto
him,”hesaid,hiseyesneverleavingtheroad.“Yeah.Me,too….AndI
wouldn’thavedoneitifitweren’tforyou.So,thanks.”
Weweresilentforaminute,andIwaskeenlyawareofhishand,stillwrappedaroundmine.Iwasgiddyandnervousandeventually,Ihadtosaysomething.“Anyway…badgiftsaside,
howwereyourholidays?”“Fine,”hesaid.“Quiet.
Momhasn’treallyfeltlikedoingmuchcelebrating.
Instead,she’sbeenmuchmoreconcernedwithmespendingthebreakfillingoutcollegeapplications.”Igrimaced.“Ugh.Idon’t
evenwanttothinkaboutthat.”“Iknowwhatyoumean,”he
said.“MymomwenttoStanfordandmydadisaPrincetonalum,andthey
expectmetoattendatopschoolaswell.Atmyoldschool,Iprettymuchwould’vebeenashoo-inwhereverIwantedtogo.Butnowthatwe’vemovedhere,I’malittleworriedaboutmychances.”Hepaused,thenquicklyadded,“That’snotmecomplainingaboutHamilton,bytheway.At
least,notintentionally.”“No,”Isaid.“Iknow.And
itmakessense.Hamilton’snotexactlyaprepschool.”“It’sgrownonme,though.”
Heclearedhisthroat.“Sowhyareyoustressedaboutcollege?”“BecauseIdon’tthinkIcan
go.”ItwasthefirsttimeI’dsaid
itoutloud,anddoingsomadeitfeelsomuchmorerealandscary.I’dbeenignoringtheissue—ortryingto—formonths,butnow,withonlyasemesterleftinmysenioryear,Iwasrunningoutofplacestohide.“Butyou’reinAPclasses,”
hesaid.“Thatseemslikealotofstressforsomeonewho
isn’tcollege-bound.”“Iknow,”Iagreed.“It’snot
thatIdon’twanttogo.But,Imean,howcouldIaffordit?”“Loans?”“Idon’tevenlivewithmy
parents,andIjustlostmyshittypart-timejob.Whointheirrightmindwouldgivemealoan?”“Sowhatareyougoingto
doaftergraduation?”“Ihavenofuckingidea.”Onceagain,IwasscaredI
mighthavesaidtoomuch.Thathe’drealizeIwasagirlfromaPodunktownwithnofuture.But,justlikeintheparkafewweeksago,hedidn’tseemfazedbythis.Hedidn’tevenletgoofmyhand.Infact,hegaveitasoft,
reassuringsqueeze.“Don’ttellanyone,”Isaid.
“You’rethefirstoneI’veadmittedthatto.Ihaven’teventoldAmy.Shestillthinkswemightbeabletogotoschooltogether,andIhaven’tbeenabletoletherdownyet.”“Iwon’tsayanything,”he
said.
“Thankyou.”Hishandstayedinmineas
wedrovethroughthedarkness.AnditwasstilltherewhenwepulledintotheRushes’drivewaytenminuteslater.“Thanksfortheride,”Isaid.Hewasstillholdingmy
hand.“Thanksforthefun
afternoon,”hesaid.Hewasstillholdingmy
hand.“Soyouhadfunplaying
dress-up,then?”“Don’ttellanyone.”Hewasstillholdingmyhand.Itmayhavebeenthedead
ofwinter,butitfeltlikethehottestsummerdayinthat
car.Everynerveinmybodywasonend.EverymuscleIpossessedwastense.RyderandIwereinadarkcar,holdinghands,andhewaslookingatme.Reallylookingatme.Staringatmyeyes.Atmylips.Hehadsomenicelips
himself.Hewasabouttokissme.I
knewit.Istartedtoleantowardhim.Myeyesstartedtoslipshut.Andthen—Hepulledhishandfree,
turnedhishead,andscootedawayfrommesofastthatIwasn’tsureifI’dimaginedeverythingthathadcomebefore.“So…doyouknowifAmy
hasanyplansforNew
Year’s?”Itwaslikehe’ddroppeda
bucketoficewaterovermyhead.Iwasmortified.Andpissed.Isatbackinmyseatand
usedmynowemptyhandtoundomyseatbelt.“Um…yeah.Ithinkwealreadyhaveplans.Sorry.”Myvoicewas
coldandbrittle.“Oh.Toobad.”Hewasn’t
lookingatme.Infact,itlookedlikehewasfocusingvery,veryhardonthesteeringwheel.“Right.Well,seeyouat
school,Ryder.”Beforehecouldsayanother
word—notthathewouldhave—Igotoutofthecar
andhurriedinside,slammingthedoorbehindme.
“Weshoulddosomething,”Wesleysaidasheslidintotheseatacrossfromme.“Couldyoubemore
specific?”Biancaasked.Shewassittingnexttohim,sippingaCherryCoke.Itwasacoupleofdaysafter
Christmas,andthefourofus—Wesley,Bianca,Amy,andme—werespendinganeveningattheNest,alocalhangoutpopularwithsomeofHamilton’shighschoolpopulation.AmyandIdefinitely
weren’ttookeenontheplace,butWesleyhadinsistedwegofor“oldtimes’sake.”His
oldtimes,notours.Butalas,we’dcavedin.Wesleypluckedafrenchfry
fromthebasketinthemiddleofthetable.“Winterbreak’snotthatmuchlonger.WeshoulddosomethingfunbeforewehavetogobacktoNewYork.”“Ithoughtwewerehere
becauseyouthoughtitwould
befun,”Isaid.“Itis.”“Wewillagreetodisagree.”“Oh,comeon.Thisplaceis
great,”Wesleysaid.“They’rehiring,youknow.Don’tyouneedanewjob?”“There’snotenoughmoney
intheworld,”Isaid,cringingasagroupoffreshmangirlssquealedwithdelightasthey
ranthroughthefrontdoor.“I’mwithSonnyonthis
one,”Biancasaid.“Amy’swithme,though,
right?”Wesleylookedathissister,whodidn’tdisagreebutalsorefusedtomeethiseyes,whichwastellingenough.“Somethingiswrongwithyouthree.Everyoneelsehereagreesthatthisisthebest
placetohangoutinHamilton.”“There’snotexactly
competitionforthattitle,”Ipointedout.Wesleyignoredme.“You
know,”hesaid,awickedgrinspreadingacrosshisfaceasheputanarmaroundhisgirlfriend,“thisisthefirstplaceBiancaandIever
kissed.”Biancasnorted,almost
spittingoutherCherryCoke.“Um,it’salsothefirstplaceIeverthrewadrinkinyourface.”“Hasthathappenedenough
timestowarranta‘first’?”Iasked.Biancanodded,andAmy
andIbothburstoutlaughing.
Wesley,however,pressedon,undeterred.“Iwasseriousbefore,
though,”hesaid.“Aboutdoingsomethingfunbeforeschoolstartsagain.”“Likewhat?”Amyasked.“Likemaybewecould
throwaparty?”Biancarolledhereyes.
“Again,”shesaid.“Funfor
who?”“Idon’tseeyoucomingup
withanybetterideas.”“Actually,”shesaid,“I
thinkIhaveone.MygranddadhasacabindowninTennessee,intheSmokyMountains.Momisconstantlynaggingmetobringsomefriendsdowntostaythereforalongweekend.
We’dhavetheplacetoourselves.”“Oh,”Amysaid,perking
up.“Thatsoundsfun.”“Actually,itdoes,”Wesley
admitted.Ilookeddownatthesurface
ofthetable.Ithadbeencarvedupovertheyears,namesanddatesandcursewordscutintothewood.I
focusedonit,pretendingtoreadasthethreeofthemdiscussedplanstoheaddowntoTennesseeinafewdays.Itriedtothinkofsomethingelse,ofmyownplansforNewYear’sEve,butthepulsingrhythmoftheelectronicdancemusickeptmybrainfromgettingtoofar.“We’llleaveonThursday,
then,”Biancasaid.“Afewdaysinthemountains.I’llletMomknow.She’llbethrilledthatsomeoneisfinallyusingtheplace.”“Isthereahottub?”Wesley
asked.Biancadidn’tanswer.“It’ll
becold,butit’sagorgeousplacetohike.Sopacksomebootsifyouhavethem.”
“Ijustgotanewpair,”Amysaid.“Excellent.Whataboutyou,
Sonny?”Myheadjerkedup.“Huh?”“Boots,”Biancasaid.“Do
youhavesome?Ifyoudon’t,Ihaveanextrapairthatmightfit.Whatsizeshoeareyou?”“Oh.Sizeseven,but…”Thetruthwas,ascloseasI
felttoWesley,Ididn’tknowBiancathatwell.I’dmetherseveraltimesovertheyears,sure,wheneversheandWesleywerehomeforholidaybreaks,andIlikedheralot.We’dhungoutplenty,butitwasalwayswithWesleyandAmy.Sheknewmethroughthem,andIdoubtedshesawmeasa
friend.Morelikeanoccasional,not-entirely-unpleasanttagalong.Iwasn’tsomeoneshelikedwellenoughtoinvitetohergrandfather’scabin.I’dassumedthisdiscussionrelatedstrictlytothetwoRushsiblingsatthetable.“Butwhat?”Biancasaid.
“You’recomingwithus,
aren’tyou?”“Ifyouwantmeto,”Isaid.
“Ijustfigureditwouldbethethreeofyou.Afamilytriporsomething.”“Youarefamily.”Wesley
saiditlikeitwasthemostobviousthingintheworld.Likeitwassomethingnoonecoulddeny.Theskywasblue,theEarthrevolved
aroundthesun,andIwasfamily.Ifeltanembarrassing,
unexpectedlumprisinginmythroat.Luckily,BiancachimedinbeforeIhadto.“Ofcourseyou’reinvited,”
shesaid.“Doyouthinkwe’reassholeswhowouldtalkaboutthetriprightinfrontofyouifyouweren’t?”
“No,but—”“Besides,”shesaid,cutting
meoff.“EverywhereAmygoes,yougo,right?Youtwoarelikeapackagedeal.”IglancedatAmy,whowas
selectingafrenchfryfromthebasket.Maybewewereapackagedeal,butlately,ithadn’tbeenaprettypackage.Shewasstillactingalittle
distant,andshepracticallyshutdownanytimeImentionedRyder,givingmonosyllabicrepliesuntilshefoundawaytochangethesubjectorareasontoleavetheroom.Maybegettingawayfromit
all,takingthistripwithWesleyandBianca,wouldbegoodforus.
“Okay,”Isaid.“I’mcoming.”Biancasmiledatme.“Excellent,”Wesleysaid,a
twinkleinhiseyes.“SomeonewillhavetokeepAmyoccupiedwhileBiancaandIsneakoffto—”“Ew!”AmyandIboth
shrieked.“Perv,”Biancasaid,butshe
waslaughing.“Iwasgoingtosaytogohiking,”Wesleysaid,allmockinnocence.“It’syouthreewhohaveyourmindsinthegutter.”“Sure.Whateveryousay.”
Biancapoppedthelastfryintohermouth.“Nowcanwego?I’malmosttwenty-one.Ifeellikeacreepyoldladyin
here.”Onourwayout,Iriskeda
glanceoveratAmy.Shecaughtmeandgaveasmallsmile.Itwasn’tfake,butitwasn’tquiterealeither.ItoldmyselfIwouldfixit.
Thatafewdaysinthemountainswouldbringuscloseragain.Unfortunately,thingsgot
worsebeforetheygotbetter.
***
“Hey,Sonny?”Ilookedupfromthe
suitcaseIwaspackingtofindAmystandinginthedoorwayoftheguestroom.Therewasasweaterslungoverhershoulderandapairofbootsinherhand,andIknewshemust’vebeenpacking,too.
WeweresettoleaveforTennesseeearlythenextmorning.We’dbegoneonlyafewdays,butBiancahadwarnedusthatitwouldbecoldinthemountains,solayerswererequired.Prettymuchmyentirewardrobewasfoldedintothesuitcase,plusapairofsnowbootsIhadborrowedfromMrs.
Rush.“What’sup?”“Nothing.Iwasjust
wonderingifIcouldgetmyphonebackfromyou?”sheasked.“Nowthatyouhaveone,Ifigureyoudon’tneedmineanymore.”“Oh,right.”Istoodupand
glancedaround,tryingtorememberwhereI’dleftit.
“I’msorry.Icompletelyforgottogivethatback.”“Nobigdeal.It’snotlikeI
missedanycalls.”Ifounditinthepocketof
somedirtyjeans,waddeduponthefloor.Iheldthephoneouttoherandshetookitwithherfreehand.“Thanks,”shesaid.“Are
youalmostdonepacking?”
“Yep.Goteverythingbutmytoothbrush.”“Definitelydon’tforget
that.”“Amy,areyousayingIhave
badmorningbreath?”Iasked,feigninginsult.“I’mdevastated.”Shegavealittlegiggle,but
Inoticedshedidn’tdenymyaccusationeither.“I’m
lookingforwardtothis,”shesaid.“Thistrip,Imean.Ithinkit’llbegoodtogetoutofHamiltonforafewdays.Justthefourofus,youknow?Noschool.Nodistractions.”NoRyder.Shedidn’tsayit,butshe
didn’thaveto.Iknewwhatshewasthinking.“Me,too,”Isaid.
“Well,Ishouldfinishpacking.Thanksforthephone.”“Yeah.Noproblem.”Whenshewasgone,Iwent
backtomysuitcaseandbegantozipitshut.I’donlymovedthezipperacoupleincheswhenIheardthelittletrillfromdownthehall.Thefamiliarsoundofatext
messagecomingthroughonAmy’sphone.Amy’sphone.Amynevergottext
messages.ExceptfromRyder.ThenIrealizedwithhorror
thatIhadn’tdeletedthelastfewtextmessageswe’dsent.Theywerefromafewdaysago—beforeChristmas,
beforeouralmost-kissinhiscar—and,tomakemattersworse,theywereofthesexiervariety.“Oh,shit!”Ijumpedtomyfeetand
sprinteddownthehall,flingingopenAmy’sbedroomdoor.Butitwastoolate.Shewasholdingthephone,
staringdownatthescreenwithwideeyes.“Amy,”Isaidslowly,my
heartracing.Shelookedupatme,her
shockmeltingintoanexpressionI’drarelyseenherwear.Fury.“You’vebeentextinghim?”
sheasked.“You’vebeen
textinghimthesemessagesandpretendingtobeme?”“Icanexplain,”Isaid.
Becausethat’swhateveryonesaidinasituationlikethis.Inreality,though,Ididn’tevenhaveagoodlietocovermyass.“Idon’tthinkyoucan,”she
said.Hervoicewassocalm,soquiet,thatitsentchillsup
myspine.Thesharpcontrastbetweenhertoneandherblazingeyeswasterrifying.“Youweresupposedtobemakinghimnotlikeme.Youweresupposedtobescaringhimoffsohe’dlikeyou.Sowecouldbedonewiththis.Butallthistimeyou’vebeen…”Shelookeddownatthephoneagain.“HethinksI
sentthese?”“Amy…”Shethrewthephoneonthe
bedandturnedawayfromme.“Ihavetofinishpacking.”“Amy,I’m—”“Justgo,Sonny.”She
wasn’tlookingatme.“Just…Justgetoutofmyroom.”Itwasthefirsttimeshe’d
everkickedmeoutofherroom.Beforeithadbeenmychoice,mydecisiontogiveherspace.Butthistime…Thistimeshewastellingme
toleave.Andshehadeveryrightto.BecauseI’dreallyfuckedup
thistime.
Itwasanalmost-seven-hourdrivefromHamiltontoBianca’sgrandfather’scabininTennessee.Anditwaspossiblythe
mostpainfulsevenhoursofmylife.ThoughIwouldsaythe
feelingwasmutualforeveryoneinthecar,foronereasonoranother.Tostartwith,Wesley
insistedontakingthePorsche.“Therearefourofus,”
Biancaargued.WewerestandingoutsidetheRushes’housethenextmorning,readytogo.
Amyhadn’tsaidawordtomesinceshe’dkickedmeoutofherroomthenightbefore.“Therearefourseats,”
Wesleysaid.“Areyouactuallycounting
thatbackseatasaseat?”Biancaasked.“Because,havingsatbacktherebefore,I’dbegtodiffer.”“Well,wecan’ttakeyour
car,”hesaid,pickingupherduffelbagandtossingitintothetrunk.Although,isitcalledatrunkwhenit’satthefrontofthecar?Iwasreallyconfusedaboutthis,butitdidn’tseemliketheappropriatetimetoask.“Youstillhaven’tgottenthatheaterfixed.AndIknowSonny’scarisoutoftheshop,butdo
youreallytrustthatthingtogetusacrossstatelines?”Hepickedupmylittlesuitcaseandshoveditintothetrunk,too.Itwasareallysmalltrunk,andIwasn’tsureallofourstuffwouldfit.“WhataboutAmy’scar?”
Biancaasked.Wesleyputthelastbaginto
thetrunkand,withwhat
seemedlikegreateffort,shutthehood.“Toolate,”hesaid.“We’realreadypacked.”Biancagroaned.“You’re
suchanass.”“Anasswithanicecar.”“Anice,impracticalcar.”“Andhavingabroken
heaterforthreeyearsispractical?”“I’mhardlyeverhometo
drivethething!”IglancedoveratAmy,who
—ratherpointedly,ifImaysayso—didnotlookatme.SinceBiancaandIwerethe
verticallychallengedmembersofthisfoursome,wewereplacedinthe,aspreviouslynoted,tiny-as-hellbackseat.Mykneeswerecrampingwithintenminutes,
andwehadalongwaytogo.Andinacarthatsmall,
therewasnohidingthetensionbetweentwobestfriendswhowerenotonspeakingterms.Particularlywhentheothertwopassengerswereofabanteringnature.“OhmyGod,Wesley,”
Biancasaid.“Wearenot
listeningtothisshitallthewaytoTennessee.”“BillyJoelishardly‘shit,’
thankyou.”“IlikeBillyJoel,butnot
sevenhoursofBillyJoel.”Biancaturnedtome.“He’sbeenobsessedwith‘NewYorkStateofMind’formonths.Ican’tanymore.Sonny,Amy,backmeup.”
ButAmyjustshrugged,andIfelttooweirdarguingwitheitherBiancaorWesley,evenifitwasinjest.Mygutwastellingmetokeepmymouthshutforonce.AtleastaroundAmy.MyfoolishhopewasthatifIwasquietlongenough,she’dcooldownaboutlastnight’slittlediscovery.Ididn’twantto
fantheflamesbysayingsomethingunintentionallyinfuriating.“Silence?”Wesleyasked.
“Really?Fromyoutwo?”“Seriously,”Biancasaid.
“Areyouguysokay?”“I’mfine,”Amysaid.But
therewasthatlittleinflection,thatslightlyclippedtone,thattoldmeshedefinitelywasn’t.
“Me,too,”Imumbled.“Okay…,”Wesleysaid.InoticedhisandBianca’s
eyesmeetintherearviewmirror.Thiswentonforever.And
BiancaandWesleyjustdidn’tknowwhentogiveitarest.“No,thatwasn’tourexit,
Bianca.I’mpositive.”“Excuseme?Whointhis
carhasactuallybeentothiscabinbefore?”“Andwhohastheworse
senseofdirection?”“Idonot.”“Yougotlostinmidtown
Manhattan.Thisyear.You’vebeengoingtoschoolthereforhowlong?”“Itcouldhappento
anyone.”
“Thestreetsarenumbered,”Wesleypointedout.“It’sagrid.”“Imighttrustyoumoreif
youusedtheGPSonyourphonetogetusthere.”“Ican’t.Thevoiceis
annoying.”“Yourvoiceisannoying,”
Biancasnorted.“Aw.Iloveyou,too.”
Shelaughed.“Okay,let’sasktherestofthecar.Ladies,whodoyoutrusttogetyoutothecabinsafely?Thepersonwhohasbeentherebefore—”“Andwhogetslostinher
owndormbuilding.”“Shutup.That’snoteven
true.”Biancaclearedherthroat.“Thepersonwhohas
actuallybeenthere,orthecockyjerkwhowon’tevenuseaGPS?”Butalltheygotwereshrugs.Theymadeafewmore
attemptsbeforefinallygivinguponconvincingAmyormetospeak.Theytalkedalittlemore,
buteventuallyeventheyfellsilent,swallowedupbythe
potentblendofhostilityanduneasefillingthecabofthePorsche.Evenasmykneesached,I
stayedasstillaspossible,worriedmymovementsmayjostlethebackofAmy’sseat.Itwasdumb,Iknew.Itwasn’tlikenudgingheralittletogetcomfortablewouldmakeherhatemeany
morethanshealreadydid,butthefearhadcreptupinsideofmeandwrappeditselfaroundmychestlikeaboaconstrictor.Thewide,flathighways
eventuallyturnedintonarrow,windingbackroadsthattwistedtheirwaythroughrolling,faintlybluehills.Myanxietyandachingknees
aside,itwasabeautifuldrive.Atlong,longlast,Wesley
madeaturnontoagraveldrivewaythattwistedthroughtalltreesbeforecomingtoastopinfrontofaquaintlittlecabin.Itwassmallbutwellkept.
Thefrontporchhadaswinginonecorner,andalayerofsnowcoveredtheroof.
Honestly,itlookedlikethepictureyou’dfindonaHallmarkChristmascard.“Oh,thankGod,”Iheard
BiancamutterunderherbreathasWesleyshutofftheignition.Ditto,Ithought.Thefourofusclimbedout
ofthecarandretrievedourstufffromthefront-trunk.
Biancafoundthehiddenkeybeneaththedoormatandunlockedthedoor.Theinteriorwaspretty
plain,butcozy.TherewasanoldboxTV,afireplace,andahallwaythatledbacktothebedrooms.Ofwhichtherewereonly
two.WhichmeantIwasbackto
sharingwithAmy.“Thiswillbeyourroom,”
Biancasaid,openingthedoortothesmallerofthetworooms.Itwasplain,too,withasmallclosetandaqueen-sizebedshovedupagainstthefarwall.AmyandIglancedateach
other,thenbackatthesmallroom.
“Yeah,”Biancasaidslowly.“I’mgonnaletyoutwosettlein.”Andthensheduckedoutoftheresofastshemighthavebeenmistakenforacartooncharacterontherun.Ishutthedoorbehindher
beforeturningtoAmyandofferingasmallsmile.“Cutehouse,”Isaid.“Yeah.”
“It’llbeafuntrip.”“Mm-hm.”“Nicetogetawayforafew
days.”“Definitely.”ThatwasallIcouldgetout
ofher:one-wordanswers.Butitwasn’tasifshewas
likethiswitheveryone.Asthefirstnightandnextdayworeon,Icaughthertalking
toBiancaandtoherbrother,laughingwiththem,even.ButtheminuteIenteredtheroom,hermouthshut.She’dbeendistantsince
BlackFriday,butnothinglikethis.Andwithnocellphone
serviceandnowhereelsetogo,itdidn’ttakelongforthesilencetostartgettingtome.
***
Itwasfreezinginthemountains.Althoughitwasfarcolder
insidethecabinthanout.BiancaandWesleytriedto
fillthesilencewithbanterandmockarguments.Ormaybenot“mock”arguments.Itwasalwayshardtotellwiththem.I
wasn’tsurehowawaretheywereoftheintenseteenangstthatwasbrewing,butIhadtogivethemsomecreditforattemptingtodefusetheawkward.Still,Ispentmostofmy
timeoutside,hikinginthesnowandbitterwind.Melancholymoodaside,Icouldn’tdenyhowprettythe
mountainswere.Theywereblueandmisty,andmorelowandroundedthanI’drealized.They’dbeenquiteaptlydubbedtheSmokyMountains,becausetheyreallydidlooklikebillowingpuffsofsmoke.OntheafternoonofNew
Year’sEve,Iheadedoutofthecabinforanotherhike.
MyskinwasdryandcrackedfromallthehoursI’dspentinthefreezingcoldoverthepastfewdays,butitwastheonlywaytokeepfromgoinginsane.SoIputonmybootsand
pulledahatdownovermycurlsbeforeheadingoutthedoor.AndranrightintoBianca
andWesley.Makingoutontheporch.“Jesus,”Isaidastheybroke
apart.Biancalookedappropriatelysheepish.Wesley,ontheotherhand,justgrinned.“Youtwohaveyourownroom.Inthehouse.Whereit’swarm.”Biancaclearedherthroat
andshookthecarkeysinher
hand.“Iwasjust…onmyway.Youneedanythingfromthegrocerystore,Sonny?I’mgettinglotsofsnacksfortheballdrop.”“Thanks,butI’mgood.Not
reallyfeelingthatfestive.”BiancaandWesleyglanced
ateachother,thenshestartedbackingofftheporch.“Well,givemeacallifyouchange
yourmind.”“There’snocellreception,”
Wesleyremindedher.“ThenIhopeyoudon’t
changeyourmind.I’llbeback.”Shehoppedofftheporch,
herfeetcrunchinginthesnow,andunlockedWesley’scarbeforeslidinginside.“Youletherdrivethe
Porsche?”Iaskedhim.“Iletherdowhatevershe
wants,”hesaid.Iwasn’tsureiftherewasa
lasciviousnoteinthatresponseornot.WewatchedasthePorsche
droveoff,disappearingdownthelong,windingdriveway.Onceithadgone,Istarteddownthewoodensteps.“See
youlater.”Wesleyfollowedme.
“Whereareyougoing?”“Onahike.”“I’lljoinyou.”Itwasn’taquestion.Wemadeourwayaround
thesideofthecabin,towardthethickestpartofthewoodsandsomeofthebesttrails.Snowclungtothebare,
skeletontrees,somehigherthananyI’deverseen.Neitherofusspokeforafewminutes,andIstartedtothinkthatthiswalkmightactuallypassinsilence.But,ofcourse,thiswasWesley.Hewasn’tknownforbeingquiet.Orformindinghisown
business.“Sowhat’sgoingonwith
youandAmy?”“Whatdoyoumean?”ButevenI,convincingasI
typicallywas,couldn’tplaydumbonthis.EspeciallynotwithWesley,who’dknownbothofussinceweweretoddlers.“Comeon,”hesaid,rolling
hiseyes.“You’vebarelyspokensincewegothere.
Amymightbethequiettype,butyouaremostdefinitelynot.”“Thatdoesn’tmeanthere’s
somethingwrongwithmeandAmy.”“Yes,itdoes,”Wesleysaid.
“She’sactingweird,too.Comeon.Justtellme.I’llnagyouuntilyoudo.”Unfortunately,Iknewhe
wasn’tbluffing.IalsoknewthatifIdidn’ttellhimonthiswalk,he’dgetBiancainonhelpinghimandI’dneverescape.Mightaswellgetitoverwith.Ishovedmyhandsdeepinto
thepocketsofmycoat.“It’s…it’saboutaboy.”Wesleyraisedaneyebrow.
“Seriously?Aguyiswhat’s
comingbetweenyoutwo?”“No,”Isaid.“Well…yes.
Butnotinthewayyouthink.It’scomplicated.Amydoesn’tlikehim.Ido.”“Sowhat’stheproblem,
then?”“It’scomplicated.”“Asyou’vesaid.Butwe
havelotsoftimetohike.Whichmeanslotsoftimefor
youtoexplain.”God,hewaspersistent.How
thehelldidBiancaputupwithit?Iduckedunderalow-
hangingtreebranch,bothtoavoidhiseyesandtosavemyselffromgettingsmackedintheface.“He’snewinHamilton,andhe’skindofatool.IthoughtIhatedhim,
butthenIgottoknowhimandhe’snotsobad….He’skindofgreat,actually.”“Doesn’tsoundtoo
complicatedsofar.”“Well,here’swhereitstarts,
then,becausehelikesAmy.”“Oh.”“Yeah.”Wesleythoughtaboutthis
foralongmomentaswe
wovebetweenthetrees,ourfeetsinkingdeepintothesnow.“Doesthisguy—thiskindofatool,kindofgreatguy—knowthatyoulikehim?”Ishookmyhead.“Sohowdoyouknowthat
hedoesn’tlikeyou?”“PleaseexcusemewhileI
havehorrifyingmiddleschool
flashbackstriggeredentirelybythisconversation.”Helaughed.“Fine.Better
question.Whydoyoulikehim?”“He’s…”Ismiledalittleas
asnowflakedrifteddownandlandedonthetipofmynose.“He’salotlikeme.Hegetsmeinawayaguyneverhasbefore.AndIthinkIgethim,
too.”Wesleygrinned.“Wow,”he
said.“That’sshockinglysentimentalcomingfromyou.I’veneverheardyousaysomethingsoheartfeltaboutanyonebesidesAmy.”Imighthaveblushedifmy
facewasn’tmomentsfrombecominganicecube.“Youshouldtellhimhow
youfeel,”hesaid.Itwassononchalant.Socasual.Likewhathewassuggestingwasthesimplestthingintheworld.Ihadnoideahewasso
dumb.“Ican’t.”“Whynot?”“It’scomplicated.”“We’vealreadyestablished
this.”Ibitmylip.“Fromwhatyou’vesaid,it
soundslikehemightfeelthesamewayaboutyou.”“I’vebarelysaidanything,”
Ipointedout.“And,no.HelikesAmy.She’ssweetandgorgeousandI’m…”“You’rewhat?”Hewasn’tlettingmeoffthe
hook.“AndI’m…notAmy.”Wesleystoppedandputhis
glovedhandonmyarm,turningmetofacehim.Ihadtotiltmyheaduptomeethiseyes.“Okay,”hesaid.“Listento
me.First,stopcomparingyourselftoAmy.”“There’snocomparison—”
“Stop.”Heglaredatme,daringmetospeakagain.Ididn’t,andhecontinued.“You’vegottostopsizingyourselfup.Iknowitseemslikeitmattersnow—Iusedtothinkso,too—butitdoesn’t.Trustme.”Irolledmyeyes.Thatwas
easyforhimtosay.HewasaRush.Hewasgorgeousand
wellliked.Anditwasn’tlikeIthoughtIwashideousoranything.IjustknewthatsomeonewhofoundAmyattractiveprobablywouldn’tbeasinterestedinme.“Second,”Wesleysaid,
drawingmyattentionback.“Areyoureallygoingtoletthisgetbetweenyouandmysister?”
Guilttwistedmystomach,andIswallowed.“Idon’twantitto.”“Thendon’t,”hesaid.“This
guymightbeasgreatasyousay,butyoutwohavesomethingspecial.You’vebeeninseparablefromtheminuteyoumet.Likepeanutbutterandjelly.”“Ew.”
“Right.Iforgetyoudon’tlikepeanutbutterandjelly…butAmyneverforgets.Didyouknowthatwhenourparentstookyoutwotothebeachaskids,Amywouldmakeyoursandwichesherself?Dadwouldalwaysforgetandmakepeanutbutterandjellyforeveryone.SoAmywouldmakeyoua
differentsandwichandpackitherself.”Ilookeddownatmyfeet.I
didn’tknowthat,butitdidn’tsurpriseme.“Idon’tknowexactly
what’sgoingonwithyoutwo,”headmitted.“Idon’tknowhowthisguyfiguresintoit.ButIdoknowthatbothofyouwillregretitif
youdon’tfixthings.”“Shewon’ttalktome,”I
said.“HowcanIfixthingsifshewon’ttalktome?”“Bepatientwithher,”he
said.“YouknowAmy.She’snotlikeyouandme.Sometimesittakesherawhiletoputwordstowhatshe’sfeeling.She’llcometoyouwhenshe’sready.”
“Yeah,”Isaid,sighing.“You’reright.”“Iknow.Iusuallyam.”Isnorted.“Whateveryou
say.”“Comeon.Let’sheadback
tothehouse.BiancawillkillmeifIdieoffrostbiteathergrandfather’scabin.”“Butyou’dalreadybedead,
so…”
“Thatwouldn’tstopher.”Wegotturnedaroundafew
timesonthewayback—inourconversation,bothWesleyandIhadforgottentopayattentiontowhereweweregoing.JustwhenmorbidthoughtsoftheDonnerPartywerestartingtopopintomyhead,wespottedthecabinandmadeourwaytowardit.
WeroundedthecornerofthecabinjustashisPorschebeganmakingitswayupthedriveway.“Hey,Sonny.Seriously,just
telltheguyhowyoufeel,”Wesleysaid,eventhoughthatconversationhadlongsincebeendropped.“But—”“Anddon’tassumeyou
knowhowhefeels,”hesaidfirmly.“Youcan’treadhismind.Givehimachance.Hemightsurpriseyou.”Hesmiled,watchingBiancaassheclimbedfromthecar.“Hey,”sheyelled,waving
himover.“Areyougonnacomehelpmewiththesegroceriesornot?”Hissmileturnedtoagrinas
hehurriedtoher,ourconversationclearlycompletelyvanishingfromhismind.“What’sinitforme?”heaskedassherolledhereyesandshovedabagintohishands.Ihungback,watchingthem
foralongmoment.Wesley’swordshadleftmealittleastunned.Ryderhadsaid
almosttheexactsamethingwhenheencouragedmetocontactmydad.Andhe’dsortofimpliedit
aboutme.MaybeWesleywasright.
MaybeRyderwouldsurprisemeifIjustgavehimachance.AndasforAmy,Ijust
neededtobepatient.She’d
cometomeeventually,andwe’dworkthingsoutwhenshedid.
Biancahadn’tdisappointedwhenitcametosnacksforthenight.Sheboughtcandy,popcorn,andagallonofchocolate-swirlicecream.NottomentionmoreCherryCokethanapersoncouldorshouldevendrinkintwo
days,whichwasallthatremainedofourAppalachianadventure.Thefourofuspiledintothe
livingroom,thefireplaceblazing,towatchtheballdrop.Amystayedquiet,assheusuallydidwhenIwasintheroomnow,butItriedtokeepmyspiritsup.PartlybecauseofwhatWesleyhad
said—knowingthatwhenAmywasready,she’dtalktome—butmostlyforBianca’ssake.Thistriphadbeenheridea,afterall,andIhadn’tbeenthemostpleasantguest.“Yousureyoudon’twant
anyicecream,Amy?”Biancaasked.“No,thankyou,”Amysaid.
“Noteveryonelikesicecreaminthedeadofwinter,”Wesleysaid.Biancashuthimupby
shovingaspoonfuloficecreaminhismouth.Hereeledback,cuppinghishandsoverhishead.“Oh,I’msorry,”Biancateased.“Brainfreeze?”Wesleytookafewdeep
breaths,thenlookedup.“You’regoingtopayforthat,”hesaidjustbeforeleapingontopofher.Sheshriekedashebegantoticklehersides.Itwastoodisgustingly
adorable,andIhadtolookaway.WhichwaswhenIcaughtAmy’seye.Shewaswatchingme,I
realized.Igaveherasmallsmile,butitfellfastwhenshelookedaway.“IthinkI’mgonnagoto
bed,”shesaid,gettingtoherfeet.BiancaandWesleysatup,
bothstilllaughing.“It’sonlyeleven-thirty,”
Biancasaid.“Areyousure?”“Yeah.I’malittletired.I’m
sorry.”“Okay,well…we’llsee
youinthemorning.”“Goodnight,Amy,”Wesley
said.“Goodnight.”Shestarted
downthehallway,towardourlittleroom,thenstoppedandlookedback.“Hey,Sonny?”Iturnedtoher,surprised
andalittlehopeful.“Yeah?”
“Willyoucometalktomeforaminute?”“Sure,”Isaid.“Ofcourse.”Istoodup,thenlookedover
atWesley,whowasgivingmeaveryI-told-you-solook.“Night,”Isaid,andleft
BiancaandWesleyaloneinthelivingroom,waitingfortheballtodrop.IfollowedAmyintoour
roomandquietlyshutthedoorbehindme.Amysatdownonthebed,chewingonherbottomlip.Iremainedstanding,leaningagainstthewall.“So,I’vebeenthinking…
aboutthiswholeRyderthing,”shesaid.“Amy,I’msosorryabout
thetexts,”Isaid,unableto
holditback.“Iknowitwaswrong.IknewitevenwhenIdidit,andyouhaveeveryrighttobepissedatme.ButIswear,itwon’thappenagain.”“Iappreciatethat,but—”“Imean,youhaveyour
phonebacknow,”Isaid.“AndIhaven’tIMedRyderinforever,sothecatfishingis
over.”“Good…”Shetookadeep
breath.“Butit’smorethanjustthat.”“Iknow,”Isaid.“Thetexts
werekindofdirtyandthat’sweirdforyou,andI’mreally—”“Sonny,no,”shesaid.“I
mean,yes.It’sweird.Butthat’snotwhatI’mtryingto
say.”“Well,then,sayit.”“I’mtrying.”Shesighed.“I
knowyoureallylikehim.AndIknowyoudidn’tmeantoupsetme.You’dnevermeantodothat.But…thiswholethinghasgoneonalotlongerthanIthought.”“Whatwholething?”“Yourplan,”shesaid.“To
makeRyderlikeyouandnotlikeme.Meactingweirdandrudearoundhim.Ijust…Ireallydon’tfeelcomfortabledoingit.”“Iknow,”Isaid.“Iknow.
Butwe’resoclose.”Imovedtositonthebedbesideher.“Really,reallyclose,Amy.Itwon’ttakemuchlonger.”“You’vesaidthatfromthe
start,”shesaid.Shewasn’twrongabout
that.“But,Amy—”“Wait.Just…letme
finish.”Shetuggedonacurlandstaredatthewallforasecond,silent.“Iknowyoulikehim,”shesaidagain.“ButIdon’tthinkIcandothisanymore.Ican’tkeep
lying.I’mnotgoodatitthewayyouare.AndIdon’tlikebeingrude.AndIdon’tlikehimthinkingI’vebeensendingthosetexts—”“Itoldyou.Idon’tdothat
anymore.”“Butit’salreadybeen
done,”shesaid.“Andhethinksitwasmewhosentthem.”
“So…whatareyousaying?”Iasked.“IguessI’msayingthatI
wantout,”shesaid.“Idon’twanttodothisanymore.”“Butyousaidyou’dhelp
me.”“Itdidn’tfeellikeIhada
choice,”sheadmitted.“AndIdidn’tthinkitwouldgothisfar.I’msorry,Sonny.Ijust
…Ican’t.”Shewrungherhandsinherlapandtookanotherdeepbreath.“And…andIwantyoutotellhimthetruth.Thatnoneofitwasme.”“Oh.”Ihadn’tseenthatlast
partcoming.“Ijust…Ithinkheshould
know,”shesaid.Everywordseemedtocosthersomething.
“AndIneedhimtoknow.It’llbebetterforallofus.”Inodded,butinsideIwasa
messoffeelings.AngeratAmy,guilt,regret,heartbreak.BecauseforallthegoodthingsWesleyhadsaidonourhikethatday,aboutRydermaybesurprisingme,Iknewitdidn’tmatternow.
IfAmywasn’tgoingtoplayalonganymore,Ididn’thaveachoice.Iwasgoingtohavetocomeclean,andthatmeantIhadnochancewithRyder.Allofourprogresshadbeenfornothing.“I’msorry,”shesaidagain.“Iunderstand,”Isaid.AndIdid.AsupsetasIwas
thatshewasbailing,Iknew
whyshewantedout.Thisschemehadgoneonalotlongerthaneitherofushadexpected,andI’dknownforawhileshewasn’thappyaboutit.I’djusthopedthatifIpressedon,thingswouldgetbetter.Theyhadn’t.“So…you’lltellhim?”she
asked.
“Yeah,”Isaid.“IguessIwill.”“Thankyou.”Shewrapped
herarmsaroundmyshouldersandrestedherheadontopofmine.“Thankyouforunderstanding.”Aswechangedintoour
pajamasandclimbedintothebed,Itriedtolookonthebrightside.Everythingwas
abouttocrumblewithRyder,butatleastIhadAmyback.That’swhatreallymattered,
right?ItwaslikeWesleysaid.AmyandIhadbeentogetherforever.Weneededeachother.Itwouldbecrazytoletaguy—evenagreatguylikeRyder—comebetweenus.Thatdidn’tmakewhatshe
wasaskingeasy,though.Intheotherroom,Bianca
andWesleycheeredasthetelevisioncounteddown.“Three!Two!One!”“HappyNewYear,Sonny,”
Amywhispered.“HappyNewYear.”
IwasdreadinghistoryclassonWednesdaymorning,thefirstdaybackfrombreak.Notonlywoulditbemy
firsttimeseeingRydersinceouralmost-kissintheRushes’drivewayandmyfirstcontactwithhimsince
I’dpromisedAmyI’dtellhimthetruth,butwewerealsobeginningourunitonWorldWarI,whichI—personally—foundsuperboring.Ihadn’tfiguredoutyet
whenorhowIwasgoingtoconfessmymyriadofliestotheboyofmydreams,butIhadafeelingthatdoingitat
school,witheveryonearound,wasabadidea.Whilepartofmewasgladtohavealittlemoretime,anotherpartjustwantedtoripoffthedamnBand-Aidandgetitoverwith.ItwasgoingtobeuglynomatterwhenIdidit,andIknew,withoutadoubt,thatitwouldendanyhopeI’dhadofwinninghimoverinthe
longrun.Whichwaswhyseeinghim
smileupatmewhenIwalkedintoclassthatmorningwassoincrediblypainful.“Hey,Sonny,”hesaid,
swivelinginhisseattofacemeasIsatdownbehindhim.Hegavemeaslightlynervoussmileandadjustedhisthick-framedglasses.
“Howwastherestofyourbreak?”“Good,”ImumbledasI
pulledoutmytextbook.“Howwasyours?”“Itwasfine.”Therewasalong,awkward
pause.Ifidgetedinmyseatandfiddledwiththepagesofmybook.Finally,Ilookedupandcaughthimwatchingme.
IexpectedhimtoaskaboutAmy,buthedidn’t.“Youokay?”heasked.“Youseemalittle…off.”Hewasright.Sonny
Ardmorewasn’tknownforavoidingpeople’seyes.Orformumbling.TodayIwasdefinitely“off.”Ishookmyhead.“I’m
good.Just…tryingtoget
backintotheswingofthings.It’salwayshardafteralongbreak….AndyouknowhowmuchIhatetalkingaboutWorldWarOne.”Helaughed.“Yes.Ithink
thewholeclassdoes.You’vebeenprettyvocalaboutit.YouactuallyaskedMr.Buckleyifwecouldskipthewholeunitlastsemester.”
“AndI’mgoingtoaskagain,”Iassuredhim.“Persistenceisavirtue.”“Ithoughtpatiencewasa
virtue.”“AvirtueIlack.”Oh,no.Iwasdoingitagain.
Sinkingintotherhythmofourconversation,lettingmyselfgetsweptupinit.Ineededtostopthis.Icouldn’t
letmyselffallanyharderforhim.Notwhenitwasallabouttogoupinflames.TimetogetstartedonthatBand-Aid.“Hey,listen,Ryder,”Isaid.
“Areyou…areyoubusythisweekend?”Heraisedaneyebrow,andI
realizedwithajoltwhatmyquestionmusthavesounded
like.“Justtohangout…as
friends,”Iadded.IalmosttoldhimthatIneededtotalktohimaboutsomething,butIknewthatwouldjustsolicittoomanyquestions.Iwantedtotellhimontheweekend,sometimewhenhewouldn’thavetoseemethenextday.Ifigureditwouldbekinderto
thebothofus.“Actually,”hesaid,
brightening,“Iwasgoingtoinviteyoutoaparty.I’vesomehowmanagedtoacquireaninvitationtoChrisLawson’sonFridaynight.Iguessmyeffortstobelessofanassholehavepaidoff.”Apartywasn’texactlythe
scenarioI’dhadinmind—
again,toomanyofourclassmateswouldbearound.Butatleastthemusicwouldbeloudenoughthat,hopefully,noonewouldhearhimscreamingatme.OrmaybeIcouldpullhimintoabedroomorsomewhereoutside.Or,evenbetter,IcouldgethimdrunkbeforeItoldhimthetruth.
OrmaybeIjustsecretlywantedtogotoapartywithRyderCrossatleastonetimebeforethisallfellapart.“Thatsoundsgreat,”Isaid.
Butthen,knowingwhathemightsaynext,Ipreemptivelyadded,“Idon’tthinkAmycancome,though.She’sgotplansthisFriday.Withherparents.”
“Oh,”hesaid.Buthedidn’tlookasdisappointedasI’dexpected.Itriednottoreadtoomuchintothat.“Well,that’sfine.Wecanstillhangout,right?”“Yeah,”Isaid.“Sure.If
you’reokaywiththat.”“Iam,”hesaid.Hesmiled.
“It’llbefun.I’mactuallyexcitedtogotoapartyhere.
Maybefinallymakesomefriends.ShowpeopleI’mnotapretentioussnob.”“Oh,Ryder.”Isighed.“You
areapretentioussnob…butyouhaveafewredeemingqualities.Namelythatyou’rerich.”“Ha-ha,”hesaid.“Iwas
wrong.You’renotofftoday.You’reverySonny.”
“Andby‘Sonny,’youmeandelightful?”Mr.Buckleywalkedinthen,
andRyderhadtoturnbackaroundinhisseat.Iwasrelieved,honestly.ThemoreItalkedtoRyder,thelessIwantedtotellhimthetruth.Andnottellingthetruthwasn’tanoptionanymore.I’dpromisedAmy,andIwas
goingtofollowthroughonit.Nomatterhowharditmightbe.Orhowmuchitmightbreak
myheart.
***
“Soyou’retellinghimtonight?”“Yep.”ItwasFriday,whichmeant
I’dsurvivedthepasttwodays
seeingRyderinclass,knowingtheendwascoming.Butherewewere,anhourbeforetheparty,andIcouldalmosthearthecountdowninmyhead,tickingawaylikeoneofthosetimebombsonTV.Amystoodupandgrabbed
thepickfrommyhand.“You’regoingtoripyourhair
out,”shesaid.“It’sgonnabeokay,Sonny.”Istaredatthemirrorover
Amy’sdresserasshetookasectionofmyhairandbegancombingthroughthecurlsherself.I’dalreadydonemymakeuptwice,butitstilldidn’tlookright.ProbablybecauseIneverreallyworemakeup.Butwaitingforthe
partyforhoursafterschoolwastoonerve-racking.Ineededsomethingtodowithmyhands.SomethingIcoulddoanderaseandredotoperfection.NotthatI’dachievedmakeupperfection.“Itwon’tbeasbadasyou
think,”shesaid,movingtoanothersectionofhair.“He’sgoingtohateme,
Amy.”“No,hewon’t.”“Justbecauseyou’reso
forgivingdoesn’tmeaneveryoneelseis.”Ituggedonthesleeveofmysweater.Itwastootightandtheturtleneckwaschokingme.“He’llneverspeaktomeagain.”Amydidn’tsayanythingas
shefinishedwithmyhair.Underhercarefulguidance,mycurlsactuallylookednice.Shesmiledatherhandiwork,oureyesmeetinginthemirror.“Thanks,”Isaid.Shewrappedherarms
aroundmyshouldersandpulledmeintoatighthug.“Iknowthisishard,butit
meansalottome.”Inoddedandleanedmy
headonhershoulder.“Ishould’vedoneitalongtimeago.I’msorryIdraggedyouintoallofthis.Ireallydidn’tthinkitwouldgothisfar,but…”“Butitendstonight,”she
said.Shereleasedmeandbrushedafewofmycurls
behindmyear.“Andyou’llfeelsomuchbetterafterward.”Inodded,thoughIknewit
wasn’ttrue.“Andwhoknows?”she
said.“Youtwohaveaconnection.You’vesaidsoyourself.Maybeoncehelearnsthetruth,he’llrecognizethat.Maybehe’ll
understandandyoutwowillfinally—”“Don’t,”Isaid,shakingmy
head.“Don’tgivemefalsehope.”“Irejectanddenythenotion
of‘falsehope.’Hopeisneverfalse.”Sheputherhandsonherhipsandliftedherchin.“Ifhe’ssmart,he’lllisten.Hemightbemad,buthe’llhear
yououtandrealizehowperfectyouareforhim.”ButIknewRyder.Hemay
havebeensmart,butheheldagrudge.He’dgonefrompracticallyworshippinghisfathertowantingnothingtodowithhim.Whathisfatherhaddonewasawful,nodoubt,buthewasstillhisfamily.AndwhowasI?The
bestfriendofthegirlhethoughtheliked?Theannoyinggirlfromhistoryclass?Heowedmenoloyalty.Amywouldn’thearit,
though,soIjustnoddedandsatdownonthebedtotiemysneakers.Itwasseven-thirty,andthepartystartedateight.TheRusheshadcurfewsetat
elevenonweekends,soatleastthiswouldallbeoverinthreeandahalfhours.Whichwouldlikelybethe
worstthreeandahalfhoursofmylife.“Justsoyouknow,Itold
Ryderyouhadplanswithyourparents,”Isaid.“Iknowyou’retiredofthelying,butifIhadn’tsaidsomething,
he’dexpectyoutobethere,so…”“It’sokay.”Shesatdown
nexttomeonthebed.“It’sthelastlieyou’lltellinallofthis.”Shesighed.“Iknowthisishardforyou,butI’mreallygladit’sgoingtobeovertonight.I’mnogoodatlying,andalwayskeepinganeyeoutforRyderatschool
—duckingintobathroomsandaroundcorners—I’mwaytootallandawkwardtobeasuperspy,Sonny.”Ilaughed,despitemyself.
“Youcansaythatagain.”Igottomyfeet.“Okay.HowdoIlook?”“Adorable,”Amysaid.
“Lovetheblueturtleneck.Isthatmine?”
“Yep.Don’ttell,butIhadtostuffmybraalittlebittomakeitlookrightonme.IliketothinkthatifIlookniceenough,Rydermightbelike,‘Yeah,I’msuperpissed,butyou’rehot,soallisforgiven.’”“Seemstotallyplausibleto
me,”Amysaid.“Butifthatdoesn’tworkout,I’llbe
waitingherewithicecreamandAudreyHepburnmovies.”“YouknowI’mmoreofa
Marilyngirl.”“We’renothavingthisfight
again.”“Anothertime,”Iassured
her.“Butnow,I’mofftomydoom.Enjoyyourevening.”Iexitedthebedroomwith
dramaticflair,whichwassomewhatundercutbyAmyfollowingmedownstairs.“Hey,”shesaidasIslidon
mycoatbythefrontdoor.“CanIsayjustonemorething?”“Youneverhavetoaskme
that.”“He’sprobablygoingtobe
madatfirst,”shesaid.“Butif
hedoesn’trealizehowgreatyouare,despitethislittlekerfuffle—”“‘Kerfuffle’?OhmyGod,
you’vebeenaroundmetoolong.”“Shutupandlisten.”But
herlipstwitchedtowardasmile.“Despitethiskerfuffle,ifhedoesn’tseehowawesomeyouare,Sonny,it’s
hisloss.”“Thankyou,”Isaid,
acceptinganotherhugthatIdefinitelydidnotdeserve.Shewaswrong,though.If
—when—Ryderrejectedmeandrefusedtospeaktomeagain,thelosswouldbeentirelymyown.Theguilttwistedinmystomach,andIwished,notforthefirsttime,
thatI’dfoundawaytotellhimthetruthearlier,whentheliefirstbeganasjustanaccident.Butnow,ithadgonewaytoofar.“Seeyoulater,”Isaid,
openingthefrontdoorandsteppingoutontotheporch.“Goodluck,”Amycalled.Idraggedmyfeetdownthe
driveway.WhenIfinally
reachedGert,Ipulledoutmykeysandsighed.“It’sgonnabealongnight,girl,”Isaid,slidingintothedriver’sseat.“Let’sgetitoverwith.”
ChrisLawsonwasn’toneofthosepopularjocktypes.Butman,hewantedtobe.Hewasconstantlytryingtobethecoolguy,seeminglyunawarethatcoolpeoplewerecoolbecausetheydidn’ttry.AndChris’spartywaskind
ofareflectionofhimself.Itwasn’tbadasfaras
partiesgo.Itwasjusttryingtoohard.Thespeakerswereblasting
loudrapmusicwhenIwalkedin.Peopleweremillingaboutthelivingroom,redSolocupsinhand,thoughnooneseemedquiteasenthusiasticaboutthepartyasChris,who
dartedovertogreetme.“Sonny!”heshouted.
“Awesome!Gladyoucame!”“Thanks,Chris.”“Youshouldgodance!
Everyone’sdancing!”Noone—notasingle
person—wasdancing.“Maybelater,”Isaid.“Wannawatchmedoakeg
stand?”
“Sure,butnotrightnow.I’mactuallylookingforsomeone.IsRyderhereyet?”“Who?”“RyderCross.”“Thenewkid?”Chris
asked.RyderhadbeeninHamilton
formorethanasemester,soIwasn’tsure“thenewkid”wasstillanappropriatetitle,
butInoddednonetheless.“Yeah.Ishehereyet?”“Yep.Sawhimwalkback
intothekitchenafewminutesago.”“Great.Thanks.”“Noproblem,”hesaid.
“Enjoytheparty,Sonny!We’regonnablowthisplaceup!”“Uh-huh.Definitely.”
Aspromised,IfoundRyderinthekitchen,aredcupinhishand.“Youdrink?”Iasked,a
littlesurprised.Helookedupandsmiled
whenhesawme.“Sometimes,”hesaid.“Butnottonight.Thisiswater.Idon’thaveenoughfriendsheretoknowI’llhavearide
home.”Damn.Iwassortofhoping
togethiminebriatedbeforethetruthcameout.Whydidhehavetobesomatureandresponsible?“Youcandrink,though,”
Rydersaid.“IknowAmyisn’twithyou,butIcangiveyouaridehomelaterifyouwanted.”
“AndleaveGerthere?Whereanyonemightstealher?”Hesnorted.“Ihavethe
feelingnoonewantstostealyourcar.”“Hey,don’tdisGert.She’s
vintage.”“Isthatwhatwe’recallingit
now?”Thetruthwas,Iwouldhave
lovedforRydertodrivemehome.Tomaybe,possibly,gothroughwiththatalmost-kissfromacoupleofweeksago.ButIknewthat,afterwhatIwasabouttotellhim,therewasnowayhe’dwanttobestuckinacarwithme.Infact,he’dprobablybemorethanhappytostrandmehereatChris’sparty.
Ryderfinishedhiswaterandtossedthecupintotherecycling.“It’sforthebest,”hesaid.“I’msurethebeerhereisnogood.”“Oh,great.Areyouabeer
snob,too?”“No,”hesaiddefensively.
“IjustpreferPBR.”Isnorted.“Ofcourseyou
do.Ishould’veknown.”
Ryderlookedalittlesheepish.“Youknow,”Isaid,“thisis
somethingyouandImayhaveincommon.PabstBlueRibbonmightbethedrinkofhipsters,butit’salsothedrinkofmypeople—poorwhitetrash.Itwasalwaysmydad’sfavoritebeer.”“Don’tcallyourselfwhite
trash,”hesaid.Hewassuddenlyveryserious,andlookingatmeinawaythathehadn’tbefore.Inawaythatmademecatchmybreath.Nowwasthetimetotell
him.Getitoverwithandgohome.Iopenedmymouthtobegintheconfession,tofinallytellhimthetruth,butthewordsthatcameout
weren’tatalltheonesI’dintendedtosay.“Doyouwannadance?”Ryderblinkedatme.“What
wasthat?”Takeitback,Ithought.That’snotwhyyou’rehere.Mymouthandmybrainseemedtobeatwarwitheachother.“Let’sdance,”Isaid,
alreadytryingtojustifyit.Ihadafewhours.MightaswellhavealittlefunbeforeIbrokethenews,right?“But…nooneelseis
dancing.”“Perfect.Thenyoucanbea
hipsteraboutitlater.Weweredancingbeforedancingwascool,”Isaid,doingafakeRydervoice.
“Idonotsoundlikethat.”“Whateveryouneedtotell
yourselftosleepatnight.”Igrabbedhisarmandstartedpullinghimintothelivingroom.“Comeon.Bespontaneous.”“Thelasttimeyousaidthat
tome,Iendedupinabrightorangehuntingjacketinthemiddleofthemall.”
“Andwasn’tthatfun?”Theanswermusthavebeen
yes,becauseRyderdidn’targue.Instead,hegrabbedmyotherhandandspunmeintothelivingroom.Theheavybasship-hopwasn’texactlytherightjamforspinninganddippingagirl,butRyderdidn’tseemtocare.Hetwirledmelikeaballroom
dancer,andsomehowmanagedtokeepusinrhythmwiththemusic.“Wow,”Isaidwhenhe
swungmebackintohisarms,hishandrestingonmyhip.Weweresoclose,closerthanwe’deverbeenbefore.AndIfeltlikeIwasonfire.Andthentherewasthefactthateveryonewasstaring.“Thisis
howyoudanceatparties?”“Mymommademetake
ballroomclassesinmiddleschool,”heconfessed.“It’stheonlywayIknowhowtodance.Sorry.It’sprettyembarrassing.”“No,”Isaid,shakingmy
head.“It’stheoppositeofembarrassing.It’sfantastic.Theseidiotswishtheycould
beusrightnow.”Rydersmiledandgaveme
anotherspin.Wedanceduntilwe
couldn’tanymore.Untilourfeethurtandwewereshortofbreath,eitherfromtheexertionorfromstandingsoclosetoeachother.Forme,itwasdefinitelythelatter.“Doyouwantsomewater?”
Ryderasked.Inodded,andwemadeour
waybacktothekitchen,stumblingdespiteoursobriety.Rydergrabbeduseachared
cupandbegantofillthemwithtapwater.Ihoppedupontothecounter,takingsomeofthepressureoffmyfeet.“Damn.Thatwas—”
“That.Was.Awesome!”Chrisannouncedashechargedintothelivingroom.“Youtwokilleditoutthere!Everyone’stalkingaboutit!”“Thesamewayeveryone
wasdancingearlier?”IaskedasRyderhandedmemycup.Chrisdidn’tseemtohear
me.“Ryder,dude,thatwaswicked!Ithoughtdancing
waslame,butallthegirlsoutthereateitup!You’vegottateachmeyourmoves!”IsnortedintomywaterasI
imaginedChristryingtodancethewayRyderdid.He’dprobablygetalittletoointoitandendupgivingsomepoorgirlaconcussion.“I’llputonwhatevermusic
youwantifyouguyswantto
danceagain!”“Maybeinalittlewhile,”
Ryderagreed.Helookedoveratme,thosegreeneyesmeetingmineinawaythatmademeshiver.“IfSonny’supforit.”Weheldeachother’sgaze
foralongmoment.“Sweet!”Chrissaid.“I
bettergetbackoutthere.
Gottakeepthingsundercontrol.”“Whatwasoutofcontrol?”
RydermurmuredsothatonlyIcouldhear.Ilaughed,andChrisran
backintothelivingroom.“Youknow,”Rydersaid,
“weprobablywerethehighlightofthisparty.”“Areyoukiddingme?I’m
thehighlightofeveryparty.”Rydersmiled.“Idon’t
doubtthat.”Againwiththeshiver.Everyonemust’vefinished
theirbeersatonce,becauseallofasuddenthekitchenbecameahigh-trafficarea.RydertookmycupfrommesoIcouldhopoffthecounterwithoutspilling.Hegestured
formetofollowhim,andwewoveourwaythroughthepackofthirstypartyers,dartingintothehallwaytoavoidanotherrun-inwithChris.Somehow,weendedupin
anemptybedroom.Itookmycupbackfrom
Ryderandsatdownontheedgeofthebed.“So,”Isaid.
“What’stheverdictonyourfirstHamiltonparty?”“Nottooshabby,”hesaid.“ButI’msureitdoesn’t
evencomparetothepartiesbackinDC,right?”“Thispartyismuchbetter
thantheonesinDC.”“Oh,comeon,”Isaid,
settingmycuponthenightstand.“That’snoteven
remotelypossible.Youpartiedwithpoliticians’kids.IwatchenoughTVtoknowitgetswild.Plus,you’vegotmoney.Whichmeansbetterbooze,attheveryleast.”“Maybethepartiesback
homehadsomeadvantages,”heagreed,puttinghisownwaterdownbeforesittingnexttome.
Reallyclosetome.“But,”hecontinued,his
eyesonmeinthatwayagain.Thatwaythatgavemechillsandmademyfaceburnallatonce.Iwassuddenlyveryawareofwherewewere—anemptybedroom,onabed.“Thecompanyhereismuchbetter.”“Ryder,”Isaid,eventhough
everyinchofmewasfightingme,tryingtokeepmesilent.ButIcouldn’tputitoffanymore.“Ineedtotalktoyou…aboutAmy.”Heshookhishead.“Amyis
thelastthingIwanttotalkaboutrightnow.”I’dbeendyingtohearthose
wordsformonths.Dyingforhimtolookatmethewayhe
wasrightnow.Butitwastoolate.I’dpromisedAmy,swornI’dtellhimthetruthtonight.Iswallowed.“Listen—”“Sonny,wait,”hesaid.“I
just…Ineedto…”Thenhekissedme.Andhismouthdefinitely
didn’ttastelikerootbeer.Itwasmint.
Oneofhishandswasonmyneck,theotheronmyknee.Ididn’tmove—couldn’tbreatheorthink—ashislipsmovedovermine.Iwasstunned.Paralyzed.Butwhenhepulledaway,
evenjustaninch,itfeltlikeImightdie.“Was…wasthatokay?”he
asked.“ShouldInothave
donethat?”No.Hedefinitelyshouldn’t
have.BecauseIneededtotellhimthetruth.Now.Justsayit,Itoldmyself.Beforethisgoesanyfurther.“Sonny?”Hisvoicewas
quiet,nervous.“I’msorry.Ishould’veasked.Orjustnot…Ididn’tknowIwasgoing
todoituntil—”“Shutup,”Isaid.Igrabbed
him,ahandoneithersideofhisface,andpulledhimbacktowardmeforanotherkiss.MyheartwaspoundingandeverythingI’dwantedoverthepastfewmonthswasspinninginmyhead.Thistime,whenourlips
met,Iwasn’tparalyzedatall.
***
AmywasalreadyinbedwhenIslippedinthatnight,butshewasn’tasleep.“Hey,”shemurmuredasI
climbedoverherandintomysideofthehugebed.I’dbeensleepinginhereagainsincecomingbackfromTennessee.“Howdiditgo?”“Great,”Isaid.
We’dmadeoutinthebedroomforawhilebeforeChriswalkedinonus.Andthen,whenRyderwalkedmeouttomycar,hekissedmeagain.Iwassureitwassupposedtobeaquickgood-nightkiss,butithadlastedmuchlonger,mybackpressedagainstGert’sdriver’ssidedoor,myarms
aroundRyder’sneck.I’dhadtospeedhometo
makecurfew.Icouldstillfeeltheghostof
Ryder’slipsonmine,hisphantomhandonmyhip.Ishiveredandhidmyfaceinthepillow,thoughinthedarkness,Amycouldneverhaveseenmyblush.“Really?”Amyasked,her
tiredvoicegoingupanoctavewithexcitement.“That’sarelief.Soyoutoldhimthetruth?”Everythingwasgoingright.
Amywasn’tmadatmeanymore.Ryderhadkissedme.Like,alot.IhadeverythingIwanted.EverythingI’dbeenhopingforsincethisstartedin
September.Butitallcould’vefallendownwithalittlegustofwind.Onewrongmove,andIwouldloseeverything.SoIdidwhatIdobest.
WhatIalwaysdidwhenIwasscared.“Yeah,”Ilied.“Itoldhim
everything.”
ByMondaymorning,Iwasdealingwithsomeseriouspost-make-outregret.Notregretaboutthekissingspecifically—thathadbeenawesome—butabouthowithadcometopass.Namely,mewussingoutontelling
Ryderthetruth.AndnowthatIknew
exactlywhatIwasgoingtobemissing,tellinghimwouldbeevenharder.ButIhadto.Becausethat
hotmake-outsessiondidn’tchangeanything.SowhenIwalkedinto
historyclassthatmorning,Iwasdeterminedtodothe
rightthing.Nomatterhowanxiousthewholethingmademe.“Hey,”Isaid,slidinginto
theseatbehindhis.“So…weshouldtalkaboutwhathappenedFriday.”Ryderhadalreadyswiveled
inhisseatsowewerefacingeachother.“Iwasactuallythinkingthesamething.”
Foramoment,myheartsank.Heregrettedthekiss,too,Ithought.Butforcompletelydifferentreasons.Heprobablycouldn’tbelievehe’ddoneit.Heprobablydidn’tlikemethatmuch.Iwaspoorandlessattractive.Butwe’dbeendancingandlaughingandthenwewerealoneinastranger’sbedroom
…Iwassurehewasgoingto
sayitnevershouldhavehappened.Butthen—“Whydon’tyoucomeover
thisafternoonsowecandiscussit.”AndincaseIhadn’tnoticedtheslightlyarchedeyebroworthesuggestivetoneinhisvoice,
headded,“Mymomwon’tbehomeuntillate.”“Oh.”Ormaybehedidn’tregretit
atall.Thisshouldn’thavemade
mehappy,particularlybecauseitmadewhatIwasabouttodosomuchharder,butitdid.Thatlittlegrinonhisfacegavemebutterflies
andthrillsandallthoseothersillymiddle-school-crushfeelings.Anditwouldbeeasierto
tellhimathishouse,withnooneelsearoundtooverhear.Ijusthadtostayawayfromhisbed.Andhiscouch.Andhislips.No,Ithought.Don’tdothisagain.Tellhimrightnow.
“Look,Ryder,Iactually—”“Allright,class,”Mr.
Buckleyboomedasheenteredtheroom.“Let’stalkaboutGermany.”Andtherewentmychance.Ifeltbadforfeelingso
relieved.
***
Ryderhadpassedmeanotewithdirectionstohisplace,
whichwasonlyafewminutessouthofAmy’shouse.WhenIpulledintothedrivewayaroundthreethatafternoon,Iwassurprisedtofindafairlysmallbrickhouse.IguessI’dexpectedsomethingmoreextravagantjustbecauseIknewhecamefrommoney.Butthen,itwasonlyhimandhismom
sharingtheplace,soitdidn’tneedtobehuge.Hewaswaitingformeon
thenarrowfrontporchandsmiledwhenIstartedwalkingtowardhim.Thesunlighthithiseyesinjusttheperfectway,makingthegreenseemevenbrighter.Thewayhelookedatmetookmybreathaway.
Itriedtoswallowbackthepanicrisinginsideme.HewassobeautifulandsoamazingandIdidn’twanttolosehim.WhenIreachedhim,he
gavemeaquickkiss.“Comeinside,”hesaid,
takingmebythearmandescortingmethroughthefrontdoor.“Welcometomy
humbleabode.”“Humble?”Irepeated,
staringatthelivingroom,thefurniturethatmostdefinitelyshowedwherethemoneyhadgone.Everythingwasbrand-newandshiny.TheTVwashuge.Thesofaswerelushandfancy.Andtheplacewasimmaculate.Rydertookmycoat,his
fingersskimmingacrossmyshouldersashesliditoffmyarms.“It’shumblecomparedtowherewecamefrom,”hesaid.“Ha.Ifthisishumble,then
youshouldseewhereIlive.”“Don’tyoulivewithAmy?”“Right.Well…whereI
usedtolive.”“Yeah.I’vebeenmeaning
toaskyouaboutthat.”Hehungmycoatonahookbythedoor.“WhydoyoulivewiththeRushes?Iknowaboutyourdad,but…whataboutyourmom?”Imeanttolie.Thesamelie
I’dtoldAmyandherparents.Shekickedmeout,endofstory.Butinstead,Ifoundmyselfsayingthetruth.At
least,partofit.“Mymom…iskindofa
mess.”Ifollowedhimintothelivingroom,butwhenhesatdownonthecouch,Istayedstanding.“There’vebeensomeproblemsathome,soAmywasniceenoughtoletmestaywithher.”Hescoffed.“Thatsurprises
me.”
Ifrowned.“What’sthatsupposedtomean?”“Shejustdoesn’tseemlike
thecaringtype,”hesaid,hisvoicebitter.“She’sso…inconsiderate.Andrude.Plus,isn’tshetoobusydealingwithherownmomissues?”Ittookmeasecondto
rememberthatlasttimeI’dtalkedtoRyderaboutmy
mother,he’dstillthoughthewastalkingtoAmy.“Hey,”Isaid,feelingdefensiveeventhoughthatwasexactlytheimageI’dwantedhimtohaveofAmy.“Shegetsit,okay?Besides,she’smybestfriend.”“Iknow,”hesaid.“Ijust
don’tknowwhy.You’vesaidshe’sgreat,butIdon’tseeit.”
“Yousawitbefore,”Ipointedout.“Infact,itwasn’tthatlongagothatyousaidthesamethingaboutme.Thatyoucouldn’tseewhyAmywouldbefriendswithsomeonelikeme.”Heshrugged.“Iwaswrong.
IthoughtsheandIhadsomething,butitwasIMsandtextmessages.Inperson,
therewasnothing.Shewasn’tthepersonIthought.Itjusttookmeawhiletoacceptit.Butwithyou…”Helookedupatmeandsmiled.“There’salwaysbeensomethingthere,Ithink.EvenwhenwewerefightinginMr.Buckley’sclass,therewasthis…energy.Chemistry,Iguess.Ijustdidn’trealizeit.Andthen
onFriday…”“Yeah.”Ilookeddownat
myfeet.“Look,aboutFriday,thingswerealittlecrazyand—”“Idon’tthinkitwascrazy,”
hesaid.Hishandfoldedovermine,andhepulledmetowardthecouch.“Infact,IthinkkissingyoumayhavebeenthemostsanethingI’ve
donesinceImovedhere.”Irolledmyeyes,because—
let’sbereal—thatwasacheesyline.Evenifitdidkindofgivemebutterflies.Iwasstandingrightinfront
ofhim,mylegstouchinghisashelookedupatme.MyheartwaspoundingandI’msuremyfacewasbeetred.“Youbarelyknowme,”I
said.Butthatwasn’ttrue.Ryder
knewmebetterthanmostpeopledid.HesawmoreofmethanI’dletanyonesee.Hejustdidn’tknowit.“Iknowthatyoumakeme
laugh,”hesaid.“IknowthatyouthinkfasteronyourfeetthananyoneelseI’veevermet.IknowthatyouuseSAT
wordsineverydayconversation.”“Sodoyou,”Isaid.“OnlyI
doittobecuteandfunny.Youdoitbecauseyou’reaprep-schoolsnob.”“Iknowthatyounamed
yourcarbecauseyouloveit,eventhoughit’sapieceofjunk,”hecontinued.“Iknowthatyourrealnameis
Sonya.”“What?Whotoldyou?I’ll
killthem.”Helaughed.“Iknowthat
you’resmart.Andwitty.Andincredible.”Incredible.Itwasn’tthefirsttimehe’d
usedthatwordtodescribeme.BeforeChristmas,he’dcalledthepersonbehindthe
IMsandtexts“incredible.”HethoughtitwasAmy,sure,butthoseweremywords.Iwastheonehethoughtwasincredible.“Well,um…didyouknow
I’malsoaserialkiller?”“Whydoyoudothat?”he
asked.“What?”“Anytimethingsgetserious
orsentimental,youdeflectwithhumor,”hesaid.“Why?”“Idon’tknow,”Isaid.“I
guessbecauseI’mnervous.”Hesmirked.“Imakeyou
nervous?”And,despitemybetter
judgment,Itoldthetruth.“Very.”Therewasaflickerof
recognitioninhiseyes,andIsuddenlyrememberedthattextmessageconversationbackinNovember,wherewe’dadmittedtomakingeachothernervous.Forasecond,Ithoughthemightfigureitout.Mightrealizethatithadbeenmeallalong.Iheldmybreath,notsureif
Iwantedhimtofigureitout
ornot.Butthemomentpassedas
quicklyasithadcome.Hegavemyhandalittletug,andIfellintohislap.Andthen,eventhoughI’dtriedtoavoidit—sortof—weweremakingoutagain.Istillhadn’tgottenthehang
ofthiswholekissingthing.Iwasn’talwayssurewhattodo
withmyhandsorwhichwaytotiltmyhead.Webumpednosesmorethanonce,butRyderjustlaughed,likemyclumsykissingskillsweremoreadorablethanannoying.Withhishandsinmyhair
andhistongueslidingintomymouth,Imadeadecision.Iwasn’tgoingtotellhim
thetruth.
Helikedme.HewastotallyoverAmy,andhewantedtobewithme.HethoughtIwasincredible.Partofmestillwantedto
comparemyselftoAmy.HowcouldRydergofromwantingsomeoneasbeautifulashertosomeonelikeme?Shewasgorgeousandrich,andIwas…average.And
definitelynotrich.Butthatwasn’thowhe
lookedatme.Orhowhetreatedme.MaybeWesleywasright.
Maybecomparingmyselfwasawasteoftime,andRydersawmeasmorethanjustthemoderatelyattractive,somewhatobnoxiousbestfriend.
Myplan—thoughithadtakenmonths—hadworked.ThiswaswhatI’dwanted.
WhatI’dbeenhopingforallalong.Iwasn’tgoingtotellhim.Hedidn’tneedtoknow.Afterawhile,thenecessity
ofbreathingdroveusapart.ButonlylongenoughforRydertoask:
“Iwaswondering:Doyouwanttogooutthisweekend?Onarealdate?”“Maybe,”Isaid,mynose
touchinghis.“Whatwereyouthinking?”“Dinnerandamovie?”“Soundsfun,”Isaid.“Oh,
actually,there’sthisnewromanticcomedythatjustopened.IthinkRachel
McAdamsisinit.”Ryderwrinkledhisnose.
“Ugh.”“Youdon’tlikeRachel
McAdams?”Iasked,appalled.“What’swrongwithyou?”“It’snother,”hesaid.“I
just…don’treallylikemainstreamHollywoodfilms.Iwasthinkingthatwecould
goseethatnewKoreanfilmthatjustopenedatCindependent.”“OhmyGod,”Isaid,rolling
myeyes.“Everythingyoujustsaidissowrong.”Butthatdidn’tstopmefrom
kissinghimagain.
“You’vebeenspendingalotoftimewithRyderlately,”Amysaid.Shewassittingonherbed,watchingasIappliedalittlebitoflipstickinthevanitymirror.“Whereareyouguysgoingtonight?”“Amovie,”Isaid.
ItwasthenextSaturday,aweeksinceourfirstkiss,andithadbeenoneofthemostblissfulweeksofmylife.Suddenly,Iwasgladtobeunemployed.We’dspentalmosteveryafternoontogether—sometimesdoinghomeworkatthelibrary,sometimesmakingoutinhisbedroom—doingwhatever
wefeltlikethatday.Wewerealwayseitherlaughingorarguing,whichusuallyledtolaughing.Yes,mylife,foronce,was
awesome.Evenifhehadwonthe
moviedebate.“It’saKoreanfilm,”Itold
AmyasIputthecapbackonthelipstick—alipstickI’d
stolenfromher,actually.“AndyouknowhowIfeelaboutsubtitles.Ugh.I’msortofhopingwecanbenormalandjustmakeoutinthebackofthetheater.KnowingRyder,though,he’lllikelythinkthat’sfartoopedestrian.”Ilaughedandturnedtoface
her,butAmyonlygavea
smallsmile.“Whataboutyou?”Iasked.
“Whatareyoudoingtonight?”“I’mnotsure,”shesaid.
“Probablyfinishingupafewcollegeapplications.”“Youpartyanimal,”I
teased.Shelaughed.“Well,I’m
almostdone.I’vealready
mailedoffmyapplicationsforBrown,Cornell,andDartmouth.I’mhopingtogettheothersinthemailbyMonday.Whataboutyou?”“Whataboutmewhat?”I
asked.“Haveyourapplications
yet?”“Um,yeah,”Ilied.“Mostof
them.”Iturnedbacktothe
mirror,checkingmyoutfitonemoretime,andtriedtoignorethesinkingfeelinginmystomach.Istillhadn’tfiguredoutwhatIwasgoingtodoaftergraduation,orhowIwasgoingtotellAmythatcollegewasn’tanoption.Honestly,Icouldn’tbelieve
shethoughtitwas.“Good,”shesaid.“Because
there’snotmuchtimeleft.Wheredidyouapply?”“Oh,youknow,”Isaid,
tuggingonthehemofmysweater.ItwastheonethattheRusheshadgivenmeforChristmas.“Mostlythesameplacesasyou.”“Great,”shesaid.“We’ll
definitelygetintoatleastacoupleofthesameschools.
Wouldn’titbegreatifwecouldberoommates?I’mnotsureifIcouldshareadormroomwithanyoneelse.”“Iknowwhatyoumean.”“Weshouldgoshopping
soon,”Amysuggested.“Wecouldgoaheadandpickoutsomestuffforourfuturedormroom.Iwasthinkingwecoulddecoratetheroom
ingreenand—”“Thatsoundsgreat,”Isaid,
eventhougheverywordshesaidwaskillingme.“ButIbettergetgoing.IhavetopickRyderupinafewminutes.”“Whyisn’thepickingyou
up?”Amyasked.“Gottochallengethose
gendernorms,”Isaid.“Also,
ifIhavetoseeaforeignfilm,hehastobeseenridingaroundinGert.”“Iguessthatseemsfair.”“Havefunwithyour
applications,”Isaid,grabbingmypurseandheadingforthedoor.“Don’twaitup,darling.”“Yeah,”shesaid.Hervoice
wasquietasIheadedoutthe
bedroomdoor.“Youhavefun,too.”
***
ImayhavebegunmyrelationshipwithRyderwithlimitedkissingexperience,butIwasmostcertainlymakingupforlosttime.Forthenextfewweeks,
RyderandIcouldhardlykeepourhandsoffeach
other.Weweremakingoutinhiscar,inmine,athishouse—occasionallyinthehallwaysatschool.SittingbehindhiminAPhistorywastorturous,becauseallIwantedtodowasleanforwardandpressmylipsintohisneck.IhadafeelingMr.Buckley
wouldn’ttaketookindlyto
that.Therewasonlyonething
thatcoulddistractusfromkissingwhenwewerealonetogether.“We’renotmakingouttoa
GoatsVoteforMelonssong,”Isaid,turningmyheadsothatRyder’slipshitmyjawinsteadofmymouth.Wewerehorizontalin
Gert’sbackseat,parkedoutbeneathsometreesonLyndwayHill.Ryder’scarmayhavebeenfancier(andcleaner),butGertboastedalargerbackseat.VictoryforGert.Hegroanedandsatupa
little,proppinghimselfonhiselbows.“What’swrongwithGoatsVoteforMelons?”
“It’snotsexy.WeneedtogetsomeBoyzIIMenplayingupinhere.”“Who?”“Ugh.I’msurroundedby
unculturedidiots.”“Funny.Ioftenfeelthe
sameway.”Ishovedathisshoulders,
forcinghimupandoffme.Hemovedtooquickly,
though,andhisheadslammedintoGert’sroof.“Ow!”“Servesyouright,”Isaidas
IreachedforhisiPod.“Let’ssee.Whatelsedowehaveonhere?Hipsterband,hipsterband,hipsterband…Oh,grunge.That’sanicechange.”Nexttome,Ryderseemed
todeflateslightly.Foraminute,Iwasconfused;thenIrealizedthat,tohim,Iwasn’tthegrungegirl.Amywas.Thatwashermusic,andshewasthereasonhe’dgivenitachance.Partofmewantedtocorrect
himonthis.TotellsomestoryabouthowIwastheonewholovedgrungeandhad
pulledAmyintoit.Butreally,AmywasthelastthingIwantedtotalkaboutrightnow.SoIclearedmythroatand
wentbacktoskimmingthroughthesongsonhisiPod.Eventually,Igaveuponfindinganythingdecentandselected“OfLionsandRobots,”theonlyGVMsong
Ididn’thate.Ryder,havingregainedhis
composure,gentlyremovedtheiPodfrommyhandandtosseditintothefrontseat,outofreach.“Makeyouadeal,”hesaid,
kissingjustbeneathmyear.“I’lladdsomebettermake-outmusictomycollection,ifyoudropitforthe
moment….”Hislipstraveleddownmyneck,sendingchillsupmyspine.“Fine,”Isaid,asifthiswas
somegreatsacrificeonmypart.Heeasedmebackdown
ontothecarpetedseat,andIwrappedmyarmsaroundhisneck.Hekissedhiswayuptomymouth,tuggingslightly
onmylowerlipwithhisteeth.Igiggledandarchedmyback,pressingmyselftighteragainsthim.ButthenRydershifted
slightly,andIwassuddenlylessfocusedonhismouthandmorekeenlyawareofhishand,whichhadbeguncreepingbeneathmyshirt.Despitetheconstantmaking
out,wehadn’tquitereachedsecondbaseyet.NotthatIwasatallopposedtoit.Butthehigherhishand
crept,themorenervousIbegantofeel.Whatifhemanagedtogetmybraoffonlytobedisappointed?Whatifmyboobsweretoosmallorweirdlookingorsomething?Amy’swere
muchbiggerthanmineandprobablyperfect.Though,admittedly,Iwasn’treallysurewhatmadeboobsperfectorweird.Itdidn’tstopmefromworrying.“Hey,”Rydersaid,pulling
awayalittle.“Isthisallright?”Theminutehiseyesmet
mine,Ifeltmyselfrelax.His
expressionwassosoft,sogentle,anditeasedsomeofmyworries.StopcomparingyourselftoAmy,Ithought.Hedoesn’twanther,hewantsyou.“Yeah,”Isaid.“Definitely.”Hesmiled,thenwentback
tokissingme.Andtotryingtounhookmy
bra.Apparently,thisisavery
complicatedactforboys,particularlytodoone-handed,becauseitseemedtobetakinghimlongerthanI’dexpected.Buthe’dalmostmanageditwhen—Crunch!Thesnowballsmackedinto
thewindshield,followedbyaburstofretreatinglaughterfromoutsidethecar.
RyderandIbothgroaned.“Assholes,”Isaid.“Whyarewehereagain?”
heasked.“LyndwayHillisthecool
placetomakeout.Atleast,soI’vebeentold.”“Right,well,Iwouldargue
thatmyhouseiscooler.”Heeasedoffme,allowingmetositup.HesmirkedatmeasI
attemptedtosmoothdownmyhair.“MightIsuggestthatwecontinuethisthere?”Ijustgrinned.
***
Unfortunately,Ryder’shousewasnotasemptyaswe’dthought.Weburstthroughthedoor,
laughingatthefreshsnowthathadfallenonusaswe’d
runupthefrontsteps.Heflickedsnowfrommyhair,andIlaughed,pushinghimaway.Hecaughtmyarmsandmovedmebackward,soIwaspressedagainstthefrontdoorasheleanedintokissme.Butourlipshadbarelymet
whenweheardtheloud“Ahem”andjumpedapart.
“Mom,”Rydersaid,spinningaroundtofacethewomanthatneitherofushadnoticedstandinginthelivingroom.“Ididn’tthinkyouwerehome.”“AndIthoughtyouwere,”
shesaid,hervoicedevoidofanyhumor.“Yourcarisinthegarage.”“Right.IwaswithSonny.”
Iraisedahandandgaveasmallwave.“Hi,Mrs.Cross.”Yeah.ThiswasnothowI’dplannedonmeetinghismomforthefirsttime.“It’sMs.Tanner,”she
corrected.“Inolongerusemymarriedname.”“Right.Sorry.”I’mnotgoingtolie.Iwas
alreadyprettyscaredof
Ryder’smother.ShewassostrictabouthowcleanherhouseandevenRyder’scarwerekept.AndRyder,despiteseemingtothinkshewasperfect,haddescribedherasprettystrictandcold,thingsthathadonlygottenworsesincetheseparation.Nottraitsthatparticularlymeshedwithmypersonality.
Asifthatwasn’tenough,inperson,shewasentirelyintimidating.I’dknownshewasprettyfromthephotoI’dseenofRyderandhisfamily,withhersmoothdarkbrownskinanddarkeyes.Butshewasalsoquitetall.Andhadbroadshoulders.Andthentherewasthewayshewasdressed,inacrisp,neat,
expensivenavy-bluesuit.“Isthatyourcaroutside?”
sheasked,glancingoutthewindow.“Uh,yes,ma’am.Itis.”And
thenItried,perhapsfoolishly,tomakeherlaugh.“InamedherGert.”Butshedidn’tlaugh.
“Hmm.Charming.I’msuretheneighborswillbevery
curiousaboutwhatacarlikethatisdoinginthedriveway.”Ouch.Iwantedtosaysomething,
todefendGert,assillyasitsounds,butluckilyRyderspokeupfirst.“It’svintage,”hesaid,
laughing.Andthefactthathewasobviouslyquotingme
mademesoftenabit.“Indeed,”Ms.Tannersaid.
“I’msorry.Imissedyourname.Whatwasitagain?”“Oh.Sonny,”Isaid.But,
becauseIthoughtitmightbemoreimpressivetoher,Iadded,“ShortforSonya.”“Sonny,”sherepeated.“I
mustbebehindonmyson’slovelife.HereIwasthinking
hewasinterestedinagirlnamed…Amy?”“Notanymore,”Rydersaid.
“SonnyandIhaveactuallybeenseeingeachotherforaboutthreeweeksnow.”“Wow,”Ms.Tannersaid.
“Yousuremovedonfast.MustbethatCrossDNA.”Ryderflinched.“Ifyou’llexcuseme,”she
said,“Ibroughtsomeworkhomewithmethatneedstogetdone.Nicetomeetyou,Sonny.”Thefeelingwasnotmutual.Whenshe’dlefttheroom,I
turnedtoRyder.“Thatwas…interesting.”Hewasstaringathisfeet,
hishandsshoveddeepintohiscoatpockets.Clearly,the
interactionhadbeenjustasunpleasantforhim.ButIknewnottosayanythingelse.“ShouldIgo?”Iasked.“Youdon’thaveto,”he
said.Butsomethingtoldmethat
therewouldbenogettingtosecondbasetodayafterall.“It’sokay.Iprobably
should.Ihavealotofhomework.”Ryderwasquietashe
walkedmeout.Whenwereachedmycar,Iturnedtohim.“Hey,”Isaid,grabbinghishand.“Iseverythingokay?”Iworriedthatmaybehismother’sobviousdisapprovalofmeandmypoor-personvehiclemightbe
enoughtoscarehimoff.“Yeah,”hesaid.
“Everything’sfine.”Andeventhoughtherewas
nohesitationwhenheleanedintokissmegood-bye,Iknewsomethinghadchanged.SomethinghismotherhadsaidwasbotheringRyder,evenifhewasn’ttellingmewhatjust
yet.
“Whatareyouthinkingabout?”IaskedRyder.Itwasanotherdaywhenhis
motherwouldn’tbehomeuntiltheevening(we’dcheckedthistime),whichmeantwewereathishouse,inhisroom,onhisbed.Only
Ryderdidn’tseementirelythere.Likehewaspreoccupiedwithsomethingbesidesfeelingmeup.“Amy,”hesaid.Ifrowneddownathim.
“Okay.NottheanswerIwashopingfor.”Heshookhishead.“Not
likethat,”hesaid.“Obviously.IjustfeellikeI
shouldapologizetoher.”“For…?”“This.”Hegestured
betweenus.“I’mnotexactlyherbiggestfananymore,butwedidhavesomethinggoingonbetweenusforawhile.ItmustbeweirdthatI’mnowdatingherbestfriend.”“It’snot,”Iassuredhim.
“She’stotallyfinewithit.”
Whichwasmostlytrue.AmyknewthatRyderandIhadbeenseeingeachotherforthepastmonth,andshewastotallysupportive.Happyforme,even.ShejustthoughtRyderwasmoreinformedthanhereallywas.Andofcourse,shehadnoideathathenowconsideredhertobeoneoftherudest,flakiest
peopleontheplanet.Youknow.Smalldetails.Sofar,Ihadn’thadtodo
muchworktokeepthetruthfromcomingout.Itwasn’tasifRyderandAmyhungoutever.AndwiththewayRyderfeltaboutAmynow,Ididn’tthinkitwouldbetoohardtokeepthemseparateduntilgraduationinMay.
ButRyderandhisdamnconscienceweregoingtoruineverything.“I’mgladtohearthat,”he
said.“Ijust…Idon’twanttobelikemydad,youknow?”“Howcanyouevensay
that?”Iasked.“Youheardmymomthe
otherday.CrossDNA.”“Areyouserious?Ryder,
youdidn’tcheatonAmy.Youtwoneverevenkissed.Iknowyouguyshadavirtualconnection…”Believeme,Iknewalltoowell.“But,likeyoutoldme,therewasn’treallyanythingthere.Sheknowsthat.You’renotlikeyourdad.”“Ihopenot,”hesaid,
buryinghishandsinmycurls
asheleaneduptokissme.“But…speakingofyour
dad…”Hefloppedbackontothe
bedwithagroan.“Okay.DefinitelynotwhatIwanttotalk,orthink,aboutwhenthere’sagirlinmybedroom.”“Sorry,butyoustartedit,”I
said.“Iwasjustcuriousif
you’dheardfromhimlately.”Rydersighed.“Hecalled
yesterday.Leftavoicemail.Thesameoldthing.Heapologizedandprettymuchbeggedmetocallhim.Hesayshewantstoseeme.ThinksIshouldcometoDCforspringbreak.”“Maybeyoushould.”Heraisedaneyebrow.
“Wouldn’tyoumissme?”“Ofcourse,”Isaid.“But
I’msureIcanfindsomeoneelsetomakeoutwithwhileyou’reaway.”Hegavemeanexaggerated,
playfulfrown,andIlaughedasIleaneddowntokissthetipofhisnose.“Seriously,though.You
shouldcallhim,”Isaid.“I
knowhescrewedupprettyterribly.Butmydadhasdonesomebadthings,too.Prison-worthybadthings,infact.Buthe’sstillmydad.AndI’mgladtohavehimbackinmylife.Andthat’sbecauseofyou.”IsmiledasIfoundhishandandtwinedourfingerstogether.“Ioweyouforthat,soletmereturnthefavor
here.Givehimachance.”Hesighed.“I’llthinkabout
it.”“Okay,”Isaid,knowingthat
eventhatwasseriousprogress.“Inthemeantime…”Isquealedwithlaughteras
heflippedmeontomybackandplacedalongkissonmylips.
“NomoretalkingaboutAmy,”hewhispered,hismouthafractionofaninchfrommine.“Ormydad.”Inodded,thekisshaving
leftmebreathless.“Deal.”ButRyderhadbarelygotten
hishandupmyshirtwhenhiscellphonebegantoringfromthedresser.“That’smymom’s
ringtone,”hesaid,rollingoffme.“Ofcourseitis,”Isaid.
“Theuniverseisdeterminedtokeepmeclothed.”“Theuniverseisawful,”he
said.Thenhepickedupthephone.“Hello,Mom.”Withthemoodsufficiently
killed,Iclimbedoffthebedandbeganwalkingaround
Ryder’sroom,investigatingareasIhadn’tyet.Likehiscar,itwasimmaculatelyclean.Serial-killerclean.EventheDVDsandBlu-raysonhisshelfwereinalphabeticalorder.“Yes.I’llbesuretodo
that….Seeyoutonight,Mom.Iloveyou.”Hehungupthephoneandturnedto
lookatme.“Didyouwanttowatchamovie?”heasked.“Maybe.Butonlyifwecan
watch…”IgrabbedtheDVDofftheshelfandspuntofacehim,grinning.“Clueless?”Ryder’seyeswentwide.“I
…um…”“OrCruelIntentions?Or
maybe10ThingsIHateAboutYou?”
“Okay,Igetit.”“She’sAllThat?AmericanPie?Can’tHardlyWait?Thatonewasn’tevenverygood.”“It’snotbad.”“Ithoughtyoudidn’tlike
mainstreamHollywoodfilms?”Iteased.“Yes.Allright.Youcaught
me,”hesaid.“Ihaveasoftspotforninetiesteenmovies.
It’saguiltypleasure.I’mnotproudofit.Happy?”“Ecstatic,”Isaid,waving
theCluelessDVD.“Thisprovestomethatyouare,indeed,human.Andifwe’rebeinghonest,itmakesmelikeyousomuchmore.”“Really?”“Really.”Iwalkedoverto
wherehesatonthebedand
kissedhim.Hesmiledagainstmylips,thentuggedonmyhand,pullingmecloser,butItookastepback.“Oh,no,”Isaid,holdingtheDVDupagain.“NowIactuallywanttowatchthis.”And,atleastforthe
moment,thesubjectofAmywasdropped.Butitdidn’tstaythatway
forlong.
***
EverythingfellapartonValentine’sDay.Ryderhadn’tdroppedthe
wholeapologything.NomatterhowmanytimesIassuredhimthatAmywascoolwithusdating,hekeptbringingitup.Icouldhavekilledhismotherforplanting
theseedinhisheadandmakinghimthinkhewasanythinglikehisdad.Keepingthemawayfrom
eachotherwasbecomingincreasinglydifficult.Ifeltlikeacharacterinasitcom,constantlyjugglingthetwoandkeepingmystoriesstraight.SowhenIsawhimwalking
towardusinthehallwayatschool,Iknewshitwasabouttohitthefan—ametaphorthatneverfailedtogrossmeoutalittle.“Weshouldgoiceskating
thisweekend,”Amysaidaswewalkedtolunch.“TherinkinOakHillwillclosesoon,andwehaven’tgoneallwinter.”
“Thatsoundsfun,”Isaid.“ButIthinkIalreadyhaveplanswithRyder.Valentine’sDayweekendandall.”“Valentine’sDayisaday,
notaweekend.”“Itcanbeaweekendifyou
doitright,”Isaid,grinning.“Oh.”Amylookeddownat
herfeet.“Yeah.Ishould’veguessedyou’dbebusy.”
IwasabouttosuggestwewatchamovieorsomethingSundaynightinstead,whenRyderwalkedup.“Ryder,”Isaid,forcinga
smile.“Whatareyoudoinghere?”“Igotoschoolhere?”“Right.Ijustmeanyou’re
usuallynotinthishallway.”Iclearedmythroat.“Anyway,
we’rejustheadingtolunch,so—”“Thiswillonlytakea
second,”hesaid,kissingmeonthecheek.TherewasagoodchancethatwasthelastkissI’devergetfromhim.“IjustneedtotalktoAmy.”“Me?”sheasked,surprised.“Youreallydon’t,”Isaid,
shakingmyhead.
“Everything’sfine.Hey,let’sgogetsomebadcafeterialasagna.”“Amy,”Rydersaid,
completelyignoringme.“Iknowthesepastfewmonthshavebeenstrange,butIwantedtoapologizeandmakesuretherewerenohardfeelingsaboutmeseeingSonny.”
Shefrowned.“Ofcoursetherearen’t.Whywouldtherebe?”“See?”Isaid,tryingto
shoveRyderdownthehall.“She’sfine.Let’sgo.”Hedidn’tbudge.Instead,he
scoffed.“IguessIshouldn’tbetoosurprisedbythatreaction.It’sfairlyinkeepingwiththewayyou’vebeen
treatingme.”“Excuseme?”Iwantedtohide.Torunand
lockmyselfinabathroomstall.Or,betteryet,tovanishcompletely.Becausethecrackswerebeginningtoshow,andtheliesI’dbuiltbetweenAmyandRyderwereabouttocomecrashingdownontopofme.
“Justthat,despiteaconnectionthatseemedveryrealonline,you’vealwaysactedasifnothinghappenedbetweenus.Soit’snotexactlysurprisingthatyou’dcontinuethetrendnow,eventhoughI’vestarteddatingyourbestfriend.Somethingthatwouldbothermostpeople.”
Amygawkedathim.“Wh-What?”Shefroze,andthen,slowly,sheturnedtolookatme.Ishrankbeneathhergaze,andthewordsshespokenextweresoquiet,socold,thattheymademeshiver.“Youdidn’ttellhim?”“Tellmewhat?”Ryder
asked.Theywerebothlookingat
menow,waitingformetoanswer.Iwasanexcellentliar.ButI
hadnolieforthis.NothingIcouldthinktosayordothatwouldfixit.Nothingthatwouldletmekeepthemboth.Amy’seyesflashed,andI
sawthefurytherethatI’donlyseenoncebefore,andIshrankawayfromher,
flinchingasifshe’dstruckme.“Fine,”shesaid,voicestill
low.“Ifyouwon’ttellhim,Iwill.”SheturnedtofaceRyder.“Inevertalkedtoyouonline,Ryder.Ineverinstantmessagedortextedyouoranyofthat.ItwasallSonny.”Rydertookastumblingstep
backward.Likehe’djustbeen
shoved.“What?Sonny,isthat…isthattrue?”“I…um…”Iswallowed.
“Sortof.”Horrorbloomedacrosshis
faceandsuddenlytherewassomuchhurtinhiseyes.“Youwerecatfishingme?”heasked.Ifeltmyselfshrinkawayfromhimastheshameswelledinsideofme.“Wasit
somesortofjoke?Wereyouscrewingwithme?”“No!”Icried.“Ofcourse
not.”“Whatthehelliswrong
withyou?”hedemanded.“Howcouldyouletmethink…JesusChrist.Thisissofuckedup.”“Ryder,please,justletme
explain.”
“Explainwhat?Thatyoupretendedtobesomeoneelse?Andliedtome?We’vebeendatingforoveramonthand…wereyoujustnotgoingtotellme?”“I…”IhopedIwouldn’thaveto.Iclearedmythroat.“Ryder,justgivemeasecond.”Heshookhishead.“No.I
shouldgo.”“I’msorry,”Amysaid.“She
toldmeyouknew.”“Well,then,lookslikeshe
liedtobothofus.”“Ryder.”Thedisgustwhenhelooked
atmeshatteredanycomposureImighthavehad.Ifeltmylipbegintotremble.I’dhadeverythingIwanted,
andinamatterofseconds,ithadallcometumblingdown.“I’mgoingtolunch,”he
said.Heturnedandbegantowalkaway.“Ryder!”Icalledoutagain.
“Please.Just…listen.”Buthedidn’tstopwalking.IspuntofaceAmy,anger
andguiltandheartbreakatwarinsideme.“Howcould
youdothattome?”Idemanded,myhandsballedintofists.Sheleveledasteady,dark
gazeatme.Thensheshookherhead.“Howcouldyoudothattome?”sheasked.Ilookeddownatmyfeet,
shamewinningthefight.Shewasright.AsmuchasIwantedtoblameherfor
tellingRyder,itwasallonme.I’dhadthechancetotellhimsomanytimes,butI’dchickenedout.AndI’dkeptlyingtobothofthem.HowstupidwasItothinkthatthey’dneverfindoutthetruth?ThatIwouldn’tenduphurtingthemboth?“I’msorry,”Isaid.ButwhenIlookedup,Amy
wasgone.AndIwascompletelyalone.
Lonelywasnotanewfeelingforme.Infact,itwasafeelingI
knewbetterthanmost.Butnormally,whenIwas
feelingaloneorabandoned,IknewIcouldgotoAmy.Iknewshe’dbethereforme.
AndrecentlyI’dhadRyder,too.Butnotanymore.Ithadbeenaweeksincethe
Valentine’sDayMassacre,andneitherofthemhadspokenawordtomesince.Ihadtriedtoapologizeto
Rydereverydaysincetheincidentinthehall,buthewouldn’tevenlookatme.I’d
called,I’dtexted,I’de-mailed,andI’dgottennoresponse.Inclass,heworehisgiantheadphones,freezingmeoutuntilMr.Buckleystartedteaching.So,oneday,Itriedadifferenttactic.Onethathadworkedinthepast.Iwroteanote.
Please.Givemeachance
toexplain.IknowIscrewedup,butitwasn’tallalie.Hearmeout,okay?—S
ItosseditoverRyder’sshoulderandheldmybreathashereadit,hopinghe’dwritesomethingback.Instead,heputthenoteawayandraisedhishand.“Yes,Mr.Cross?”Mr.
Buckleysaid,alreadysoundingexasperated.“MayIswitchseats?”Ifeltmyselfdeflate.“Whywouldyouwantto
switchseats?”Mr.Buckleyasked.Ithoughthewouldoutme.
PlaythetattletaleandletMr.BuckleyknowIwaspassingnotes.Itwasn’tasifIdidn’t
deserveit.ButRyderhadmoreintegritythanthat.WhichwasoneofthereasonsI’dfallenforhim,Iguess.“I’mhavingtroubleseeing
theboard,”Rydersaid.“CouldIsitcloser?”IfeltlikeI’djustbeen
kickedinthechest.Isankbackintomyseat,tryingnottoletmyfeelingsshow.
Mr.Buckleysighed.“Sure.Comeonup.Andmaybethinkaboutgettingsomereallensesforthoseglassesofyours.”Hehadn’tsatnearmesince.Amycouldn’tavoidme
quiteaseasily,butdamnifshedidn’ttry.Wemayhavelivedunder
thesameroof,butAmydid
herbesttoneverbeinthesameroomasme.WhenIwalkeddownstairs,shewentbackupthem.WhenIcameintothekitchen,shemovedtothelivingroom.WhenIenteredtherecroom,sheranout.“You’vegottotalktome
eventually,”IsaidoneSaturdayasshebrushedpast
me,headingoutofthekitchen.I’dhadenoughofthesilenttreatment.WhenAmydidn’tlook
back,Ifollowedher.“Comeon,Amy,”Isaid.“I
knowyou’repissed,andI’msorry.Ishouldn’thavelied.HowmanytimesdoIhavetoapologize?”Shestoppedatthefootof
thestairsandturnedtofaceme.ThatsamedarkglintI’dseenthedaysheoutedmetoRyderwasthere.Thatraresparkofanger.“Howmanytimes?”Amy
asked.“Idon’tknow,Sonny.You’veapologizedalotinthepast.ButI’mstartingtothinkthatwordsdon’tmeananythingtoyou,becauseyou
alwaysjustgoanddosomethingworse.”Shewasn’twrong.I’d
apologizedformakingherflirtwiththatguyonBlackFriday.I’dapologizedforthetextstoRyder.I’dapologizedforhowlongmyplanhadtakenbeforeswearingI’dbehonest.ButI’djustkeptgoing,makingitworseand
worse.“I’msorry,”Isaidagain,
becauseIhadnocluewhatelseIcouldsay.“Imeanit.IjustgotsocaughtupineverythingwithRyderandme….Amy,wehavetoworkthisout.We’rebestfriends.We’reSonnyandAmy.Youmeanmoretomethananyone.”
“DoI?”“Ofcourse,”Isaid.“Thenwhydoyoudothis?”
shedemanded.Itwasthefirsttimeshe’deverraisedhervoicetome,thatcalmcoolnesstotallygone.“IfI’msoimportanttoyou,howcanyoukeepwalkingalloverme?”“I—”
Sheshookherhead.“Letmetalknow.Youalwaysdothetalking,Sonny.That’stheproblem.Youneverletmespeak.Imightbeaquietperson,butthatdoesn’tmeanyouhavetospeakformeorspeakoverme.”“Ispeakforyoubecause
youdon’tspeakup!”Iargued.“That’swhatIdo.I
defendyou.Iprotectyou.”“Ineveraskedyouto,”she
said.“Andthat’sdefinitelynotwhatyou’vebeendoinglately.Noneofthishadanythingtodowithhelpingme.Itwastohelpyou.BecausewhenIdidspeakup,whenItoldyouhowIfeltinTennessee,youjustwalkedalloverme.Completely
disregardedeverythingIsaid.Howisthatdefendingme?”“Amy—”“I’mgoingtotalkoveryou
thistime!”sheshouted.Itwassostartling,soun-Amy-like,thatItookastepback.“Youaresoselfish,”shecontinued.“YousaythatI’myourbestfriend,butyouusedme.Youpretendedtobeme.
Ican’tunderstandthat.”“Becauseeverything’seasy
foryou!”Iyelledback.“AmyRush:beautiful,rich,sweet.Agoodfamily.Agoodfutureaheadofyou.Everythingjustfallsintoyourfuckinglap!”“That’snottrue.”“Oh,right,”Isaid.“You’re
shy.Whatafreakingchallenge.Howhardthat
mustbe,”Iscoffed.“Youdon’tevenrealizehowgoodyouhaveit.Orhowharditisfortherestofus.Guesswhat,Amy?We’renotgoingtoberoommatesincollege.BecauseIneverappliedanywhere.”Amyblinked,startled.
“What?”“I’mnotgoingtocollege,”I
said.“Ifyoustoppedandthoughtaboutitfortwoseconds,you’dknowthere’snowayI’mgoingtoDartmouthorBrownorwhatever.Idon’thavemoney.Yourparentsarepayingformygasrightnow!Idon’tevenhaveafamilytosignthedamnfinancialaidforms.You’regoingto
college,andIhavenofuckingcluewhatI’mdoingafteryouleave.”“Soyouliedtomeabout
that,too.”“Yeah,”Isaid.“Idid.”Sheshookherhead,then
turnedandwalkedupthestairs.Ifollowedher.“That’sit?”Iasked.Iwas
riledupnow.AmyandIhad
neverbeeninafightbefore.UsuallyshejustgotquietandIwaitedforhertocomearound.We’dneveryelledateachother.Itusedtobeapointofpride,actually,butnowIwantedtoyell.IknewI’dregretitlater,butatthemoment,IwantedtomakeherhurtasmuchasIdid.“Yeah,”shesaid,stopping
inherbedroomdoorway.“That’sit.I’mdone,Sonny.I’mdonelettingyoupushmearoundandusemeand…”Sheletoutalongbreath.Shewascalmnow.Quiet.“Ialwaysknewyouwerealiar,”shesaid.“Ijustneverthoughtyou’dlietome.GuessIwaswrong.”Myinstinctwastogetthe
lastword.Thatthepersonwhospokelastwonthefight.Logical,Iknow.Butherwordshitmeharder
thananythingelseshe’dsaid.Asitturnedout,Ididn’tneedtomakeAmyhurtnow.Ialreadyhad.AndbeforeIcouldcomeup
withanythingtosay,anythingthatwouldmakeme
feelevenmomentarilyvictorious,Amyslammedthedoorinmyface.
***
Ourfightwentonforanotherweek.Coldshoulders,angryglares,slammingdoors.Ispentmostofmytimeintheguestroom,wallowinginmymisery.Morethanonce,Ifound
myselfdialingRyder’snumber,wantingtohearhisvoice,togethisadviceonwhattodo,tohavehimmakemelaugh.ThenI’drememberthathehatedme,too,andI’dbeleftevenmorecrushedthanI’dbeenamomentbefore.I’dhopedAmy’sparents
hadn’tpickeduponthe
tensioninthehouse,butofcoursetheyhad.“Sonny,”Mrs.Rushsaid
fromoutsidethebedroomdoor.“Canwecomeinasecond?”“Yes,”Isaid,sittingup.I’d
beenlyingonmyback,staringattheceiling,contemplatinghowawfulmylifewas.Youknow,
productivestuff.“Comeonin.”Mr.andMrs.Rushstepped
inside,andMr.Rushshutthedoorbehindhim.Iknewbythelooksontheirfacesthatnothinggoodwasgoingtocomeofthis.“Wewantedtocomeinand
checkonyou,”Mrs.Rushsaid,sittingontheedgeofthe
bed.“Weknowthatthings
betweenyouandAmyhavebeen…off,”Mr.Rushsaid.Understatementofthe
century.“Yeah…Um.I’mokay.”“That’sgood,”Mrs.Rush
said.“YouknowwelovebothyouandAmy,andwe’resureyoutwowillworkthis
outeventually.”Iwasgladshewas,because
Iwasn’tsosure.“Wedon’tknowwhat’s
goingonbetweenyoutwo,”Mr.Rushsaid.“You’vebeenveryquietonthetopic.Andthat’syourprerogative.Wejustwantyoutoknowthatwe’rehereforyouboth.”Icouldsensethe“but”
coming.“We’vebeenthinking,
though,”Mrs.Rushsaid.“Thishasbeengoingonfortwoweeks,and…maybethebestthingforbothofyouistotakesometimeapart.Togetsomespacefromeachother.”“Oh.”Ifeltthepanicbeginningto
rise.BecauseIknewwhatcamenext.Iknewwhattheyweregoingtosay.AnditwasthelastthingI
wantedtohear.“We’vebeenhappytohave
youhere,”Mr.Rushsaid.“Butlivingtogetherishard.Evenforbestfriends.Soperhapsit’stimeforyoutogohome.”
Theyinsistedondrivingme.ItoldthemIhadGert.Itold
themIcouldgoalone.Itoldthemnottoworry.Buttheywouldn’thearit.Wepulledintothedriveway
aroundnoon,andeventhoughitwassurprisingly
sunnyforthebeginningofMarch,everythingaboutmyhouseseemeddarkandgray.Likeitwashaunted.Liketherewasapermanentshadowhangingoverit,clingingtothetreebranchesinthefrontyard.“Youdon’thavetocome
in,”Isaid,forcingmyselftosoundconfident.“Icantalk
toMomonmyown.”“Issheevenhere?”Mrs.
Rushasked.“There’snocarinthedriveway.”“She’s…she’sprobablyat
work,”Isaid.“She’llbehomesoon.Ihavemykey,so…”“Whydon’twewaitwith
you,”Mr.Rushsaid.Itwasn’taquestion,though.He
andMrs.Rushwastednotimeunbucklingtheirseatbeltsandgettingoutofthecar.ButIstayed,frozeninthe
backseat.No.No,itcouldn’thappenlike
this.“Comeon,Sonny,”Mrs.
Rushsaid,openingthedoor
nexttome.“It’llbeokay.Iknowit’sprobablyscarytoconfrontyourmom,butthat’swhywe’rehere.”Butthatwasn’twhatwas
scaringme.Iclimbedoutofthecar,
tryingtokeepmycomposureaspanicbubbledinmystomach.Ifumbledformykey,whichhadspentmonths
atthebottomofmypurse,unused,unwanted.Ihesitatedbeforeslidingitintothelock.“Iappreciateyoucoming
withme,”Isaid.“Butreally,youdon’thavetostay.It…it’llprobablybebetterifItalktoheralone.Icancallyouafter—”“Ithinkweshouldbehere,”
Mr.Rushsaid.“Basedon
whatyoutoldusbefore,yourmomhasatendencytooverreact.Ifwe’rehere,maybeshe’llkeepacoolerhead.”“Wejustwanttomakesure
everything’sokay,”Mrs.Rushsaid,rufflingmyhairalittle.“Let’sgooninside,Sonny.It’scoldouthere.”Myhandswereshakingso
hard.“Youreallydon’thaveto—”“Weknow,”Mr.Rushsaid.
“Butwewantto.”Withbothoftheireyeson
me,Ihadnootherchoicebuttounlockthefrontdoorandlettheminside.Thelivingroomwasdark,
theblindsdrawn,andthestaleodorofitnearly
suffocatedme.Ishiveredinmyjacket.Itwasn’tmuchwarmerinside.Outofthecornerofmyeye,InoticedMr.andMrs.Rushglanceateachother,andthepanicroseupintomythroat.“Mymommightbea
while,”Isaid.“Sheworksweirdhours.”“Wecanwait,”Mr.Rush
said,buttherewasaskepticaltonetohisvoice.Hesatdownonthecouch,apuffofdustrisingaroundhim.Hehadthegracetopretendhedidn’tnotice.“Comesitwithme.We’llwaittogether.”“Um…”Ilookedoverat
Mrs.Rush,whoseemedtobescopingouttheplace,hereyesinvestigatingevery
cornerofthelivingroom.“Youknow,mymommightnotbeokaywithcominghometofindsomanypeopleinthehouse.Youdon’tknowthisabouther,butshe’sreallyanintrovert.Thismightbetoooverwhelmingand—”“Sonny,”Mr.Rushsaid,“is
theresomethingwrong?”“No.”Butmyvoice
cracked.“No,I’mjustworriedmymomwon’tbeokaywiththiswhenshegetshome.Ireallyshouldjusttalktohermyself.”“It’ssodarkinhere,”Mrs.
Rushsaid.“Letmegetthelight.”“No!”Butitwastoolate.She’d
flippedtheswitchonthe
wall.Andnothinghadhappened.“Sonny,”Mrs.Rushsaid
quietly,“istherenoelectricityhere?”“No…thebulb’sjustburnt
out.”“Theheat’snotoneither.”“Momlikesitcold.”“Sonny,”Mr.Rushsaid.“It’sfine.Everything’sfine.
Youtwoneedtogo.”“Noone’sbeenherein
months,havethey?”Mrs.Rushasked.Hervoicewassosoft,sogentle,thatithurt.Itriedtolaugh,butitcame
outmaniacalandcold.“Don’tberidiculous.Mom’shereeveryday.She’llbehomesoon.”Mr.Rushstoodupand
walkedovertome,puttingahandonmyshoulder.“Youdon’thavetolietous.Justtelluswhat’sgoingon,okay?”Andthat’swhenitbroke,
everyounceofcoolI’dkeptoverthepastfewmonths.Maybeitwasthishouse.MaybeitwastheunwaveringkindnessinMr.Rush’svoice.
Maybeitwasbeingtoldnottolieforthethousandthtime.Butitjustsnappedandfellaway.Andtherewasnowayto
pulltogetherthepiecesnow.“Nothing’sgoingon!”I
screamed.Itleftasharpacheinmythroat,andtearsspilledfrommyeyes.“It’sfine.Justgo!”
“Sonny—”“Go!”IpushedMr.Rush’s
handoffmyshoulder.“Getout!”“Sonny!”Mrs.Rushgasped.“Getout!”Iscreamedagain,
stompingmyfootandclenchingmyfists,likeachildthrowingatantrum.“Getout!Getout!Getthefuckout!”
“Sonya!”Mrs.Rushgrabbedmyarm,butIyankeditaway.“Justleave!Momwillbe
heresoon—justGO!”Thetearswerehotasthey
rolleddownmyface.MywholebodyshookasIpleadedwithbothofthemtoleave.Leavesotheywouldn’t
havetoknow.Wouldn’tfindout.Butitwastoolate.Theyknew.ThesecretI’dkeptfrom
everyone.ThemostpainfultruthI’dlockedaway.Itwasabouttocomeout,andIcouldn’tbearit.“Stop,Sonny.”Mr.Rush
caughtmywristsandpulled
metohim,holdingmeinahugsotightIcouldn’tresistanymore.Ithrashedforaminutetono
avail.Iwastootired.Toohurt.“She’scomingback,”I
cried.“She’llbeheresoon.”“Shhh,”Mr.Rushsaid.“It’s
okay,Sonny.”Hepulledmetothecouch
andwesankdowntogetherasIsobbedintohisshoulder.Hestrokedmyhair,thewaymydadhadwhenIwaslittleandhadnightmares.Noonehadheldmelikethisinalmostadecade.Ishould’vebeentoooldforit.Toooldtobecomfortedthisway.Butjustthen,Ifeltlikea
littlekidagain.
Likethelittlekidwhohadbeenleftbehindallthoseyearsago.IcouldhearMrs.Rush
walkingaroundthehouse,butIneverlookedup.Ineverstoppedcrying.“She’sonherway,”I
mumbledeveryfewminutesorso.“She’scomingback.”Butnoonebelievedme
anymore.Ididn’tbelieveme
anymore.Idon’tknowhowmuch
timepassedlikethat,buteventuallyMrs.Rushcametositdownonthecouchwithmeandherhusband.Sherestedahandonmyback,andtheshowofkindnessjustmademecryharder.
WhenthetearsfinallyslowedandIwasabletocatchmybreath,Mrs.RushaskedthequestionI’dbeendreading.“Where’syourmother,
Sonny?”Ishookmyhead,butI
couldn’tlieanymore.Ididn’thavetheenergyorthestrength.
“I…Idon’tknow.”“Howlonghasshebeen
gone?”“Awhile.”Iswallowedand
rubbedmyeyeswiththebackofmyhand.“Sheleavessometimes.But…butshealwayscomesback.Butthistime…”“Oh,Sonny,”Mr.Rush
murmured.“Youwerenever
kickedout.”Ishookmyheadno.Theydidn’taskwhyI’d
lied,andforthatIwaseternallygrateful.Ididn’twanttotalkaboutit.Ididn’twanttotalkaboutanything.Iwantedtogobackintime.BeforetheRushessawthisempty,dusty,lonelyhouse.BeforeIfuckedupeverything
withAmyandRyder.BeforeIwasalone.“Comeon,”Mr.Rushsaid.
“Let’sgo.”“No,”Isaid,clutchingathis
arm.Ihatedmyself.IhatedthepatheticsoundofmyvoicewhenIsaid,“Don’tleaveme.Please.”“Oh,sweetheart.”Mrs.
Rushwrappedherarms
aroundme.“No.Sonny,we’renotleavingyouhere.You’recomingbackwithus,okay?”“ButAmy—”“Lovesyou,”Mr.Rushsaid.
“Andsodowe.”“Whateverisgoingonwith
youtwo,you’llworkitout,”Mrs.Rushsaid.“Andshe’dwantyoutocomebackwith
us,too.”Iwasn’tsosureaboutthat,
though.NotaftereverythingI’ddone.ThiswasjustanotherlieI’dtoldher.Justanotherreasonforhertohateme.Mr.Rushwalkedmeoutto
thecarwhileMrs.Rushgatheredsomemoreclothesfrommybedroom.Noneof
ussaidawordonthedrivebacktotheirhouse.Istaredoutthewindow,myeyeswetandburning.Itwasover.Thecatwasout
ofthebag.Ifeltnaked,humiliated.Raw.Whenwegotbacktothe
Rushes’house,Amywassittinginthelivingroom,watchingTV.Shelooked
stunnedtoseemewalkthroughthedoor.Iturnedmyfaceawayfrom
her,hiding.Ididn’tsayawordtoanyone,justranupthestairstotheguestroomwhereI’dbeenstaying.Ididn’tmeantoslamthe
doorbehindme,butIdid.Ifellontothebed,myface
inthepillow.ButIdidn’tcry.
Icouldn’t.Thereweren’tanytearsleft.
Ididn’tleavetheguestroomfortwodays.PartlybecauseIwassadand
miserableanddidn’twanttoinflictmypainonanyoneelse.ButmostlybecauseIwasashamed.Ashamedofmymeltdowninfrontof
Amy’sparents.Ashamedofthetruth.Mr.andMrs.Rushknocked
onthedoorafewtimes,butIdidn’tanswer.IwantedtogotoAmy,to
findsafetyandcomfortwithherthewayIalwayshad.IwantedtocallRyder,orbetteryet,tohavehimherewithme.Tohavehimputan
armaroundmeandtellmeitwouldbeokay.TosaysomethingpretentiousandridiculoussoIcouldmakefunofhimandstopthinkingabouteverythingelse.Imissedthem.But,morethananything,I
wantedtobarricademyselfinthisroom,tobealoneforever,punishingmyselfforevery
awfulthingI’ddone.Eventually,however,my
needforfoodoutweighedmydesiretolockmyselfawayRapunzel-style.Iwaiteduntileveryoneelsewasasleepbeforesneakingdowntothekitchen.Atleast,Ithoughteveryone
wasasleep.“Whydidn’tyoutellme?”
IlookedupfromthebowlofcerealI’djustpoured.Amywasstandinginthekitchendoorway,dressedinpink-and-black-stripedpajamasandfuzzygreenslippers.IduckedmyheadandfocusedmyattentionontheCocoaPuffsIwasabouttoconsume.“Ithoughtyou’dbeasleep,”
Isaid.“Ihaven’tsleptwelllately.”
Shewalkedpastmeandopenedacabinet,grabbingabowlforherself.Onceshe’dfilleditwithcereal,shecameovertotheislandandstoodacrossfromme.“Myparentstoldmewhathappenedatyourhouse….Igetwhyyoudidn’twantthemtoknow,
butwhydidn’tyoutellmeshewasgone?Iwould’vekeptitsecretforyou.Iwould’vetriedtohelp.”Therewasanoteofhurtinhervoice.“Iknowyouwouldhave,”I
said,swirlingmyspooninmybowl.Myappetitewaswaningallofasudden.“But…itwasn’taboutadmittingit
toyou.Itwasaboutadmittingittomyself.”“Whatdoyoumean?”Ishrugged.“Idon’tknow.It
waseasiertosayshe’dkickedmeoutfordoingsomethingwrong.ThenIcouldpretenditwastrue.Ithurtlessthanacknowledgingthatshe’d…she’dleftme.Justleftme.”“Doyouhaveanyidea
whereshewent?”Ishookmyhead.“No.She
wasseeingaguy.Sheprobablytookoffwithhimsomewhere.Whoknows?It’snotlikeit’sthefirsttime.”I’dcalledmymother
“flaky”foryears,butthatwasanunderstatement.FromthetimeIwaseleven,Ineverknewifshe’dbehomewhen
Igotoffthebusafterschool.Sometimesshe’dstickaroundformonths,andthingswouldbealmostnormal.Shemightforgetmybirthdayoraccidentallylockmeoutofthehouse,butshewasaround.Andthen,sometimes,she
wasn’t.Iwasinsixthgradethefirst
timeshepulledherdisappearingact.She’dbeenseeingthisguy,Dave.Hewasyoungerthanher,andeventhenIknewhewaskindofaloser.Oneday,Icamehomeandthehousewasempty.Luckily,bythen,Iknewhowtotakecareofmyself.Ilivedoffcerealandmicrowavablemeals,evenwhenshewas
home.She’dcomebackthreedays
later,tannedandhappy.DavehadsuggestedanimprompturoadtriptoFlorida,andshecould’veswornshe’dleftanote.Asifthatmadeitbetter.AfterDaveitwasCarl.AfterCarlitwasTrevor.AndthenIstoppedkeeping
upwiththeirnames.Itwasn’t
likeIsawthemmuch,anyway.SometimesMomwouldbegonefordays,andI’dfindoutlatershe’djustbeenacrosstown,crashingatherboyfriend’shouse.Sometimesshe’dvanishforaweek—ashoppingtripinAtlanta,aromanticgetawayinSt.Louis,aweekinChicago.Shelostseveraljobs
becauseofthoserandomtrips.SowhenIcamehomeone
afternoonlastSeptember,Iwasn’tsurprisedtofindhergone.Butaweekturnedtotwo.Tothree.Tofour.She’dneverbeengonethat
long.Andthehousewastoo
quiet.Thenightmareshappenedalmosteverynight.SoI’dcalledAmy,toldher
Ineededaplacetostay.ToldherI’dbeenkickedout,becauseIdidn’tknowhowtosaythetruth:thatmymomwasgoneforrealthistime.Thatshe’dleft,andIdidn’tthinkshe’dbecomingback.“I’msorry,”Amysaid.“But
maybethingswillgetbetter.Myparentsusedtobegoneallthetime,too,and—”“It’sdifferent,”Isaid.
“Yourparentsweregone,buttheypaidthebills.Theymadesureyouhadaplacetostay.Youcouldcallthem,andyouknewthey’dbebackeventually.Ihaven’theardfrommymomin…five
months?”Ipushedmybowlaway,barelytouched.“Herphonedoesn’tevenworkanymore.ForallIknowshecouldbedead.”“Don’tsaythat.”“EvenifIdon’tsayit,I
can’tnotthinkit.And—thisisterrible,but—sometimesIwonderifthatwouldmakemefeelbetter.IfIknewshe
hadn’tcomebackbecauseshecouldn’t.Notbecauseshedoesn’tcare.”Ishookmyhead.“Sorry.That’smorbid.YoualreadythinkI’mabadpersonandIjusttoldyouIwishmymotherwasdead.Nicejob,Sonny.”“Idon’tthinkyou’reabad
person,”Amysaid.“No.Justabadfriend.”I
pickedupmybowlandtookittothesink,dumpingmyfoodintothegarbagedisposal.OnceitstoppedrunningandIturnedaround,IfoundAmystaringatme.“CanItellyousomething?”
sheasked.“Sincewe’rebeinghonestwitheachother?”“Sure.Whatisit?”Amychewedonherbottom
lipandlookeddownatherownbowl.“ImeanteverythingIsaidtheotherday.Aboutyoupushingmearound.Butthat’snottheonlyreasonIwasmad.”“Whatdoyoumean?”“It’salwaysbeenjustus,
youknow?”shesaid.“SonnyandAmy.AmyandSonny.Wewereateam.Andthen
everythingstartedhappeningwithRyder,anditfeltlikeyouonlywantedmearoundtohelpyouwinhimover.”Ryder.Justthementionof
himcausedapainfulacheinmychest.Amycontinued,“Andit
wasn’tjustthatyouwerepushingmearound—I’mkindofusedtothat.”
Igrimaced.Thatwasn’tsomethingIwantedmybestfriendtobe“usedto.”“It’sthatyouweredoingit
forhim.Youweredoingeverythingforhim.Youtalkedabouthimallthetime.AndIstartedtorealizeyouweren’topeninguptomethewayyouusedto.Youweretellinghimthingsinstead.I
didn’tevenknowyou’dwrittentoyourdaduntilhecalledonChristmas.That’sthekindofthingyouusedtotalktomeabout.AndthenwhenyoustarteddatingRyder,youhardlyspenttimewithme.Iwasjealous.SowhenI’dfoundoutyou’dliedabouttellinghimthetruth…Itreallyhurt,Sonny.Ididn’t
feellikewewereateamanymore.It…itfeltlikeyoudidn’tcareaboutme.”Shelookedupatme,eyes
wideandalittlewet.Andseeingheronthebrink
oftearsbroughtmethere,too.“I’msorry.Forallofit.Of
courseIcareaboutyou,Amy.Morethananybody.You’remybestfriend.Inevermeant
tohurtyou.”Itookadeepbreath.“PartofthereasonIspentlesstimewithyouafterIstarteddatingRyderwasthewholecollegething.”Amylookeddownather
feet.“Ishouldn’thavesaidall
thattheotherday,aboutyouhavingitsoeasy.”“Youweren’twrong,”she
said.“Istillshouldn’thavesaid
it.AndIshouldn’thaveliedtoyouaboutcollege,”Isaid.“Buteverytimeyoutalkedaboutit,Ijustfelt…scared.BecauseIknewyou’dbeleavingme.AndIknewthatifyouknewIwasn’tgoing,you’dbeupset,too,and…Idon’tknow.Ididn’twantto
thinkaboutit.AndIdidn’thavetowhenIwaswithRyder.”“I’msorrythatIjust
assumedyouweregoing,”shesaid.“IguessIdotakethegoodthingsinmylifeforgrantedsometimes.”“Ithinkwe’rebothprobably
guiltyofthat.”Shehesitated.“Whydidyou
lietomeabouttellingRyderthetruth?”“BecauseIdidn’twantyou
tobemadatme?”Isaid.“Thatsoundsridiculousinhindsight.ButIguessIjustthought…IthoughtthatifIlied,Imightbeabletokeepyouboth.Instead,Ilostyouboth.”“Youdidn’tloseme,”she
said.“Butyouwillifyoukeepdoingthis.”“Iknow,”Isaid,wrapping
myarmsaroundmyself.“Butit’sscarytotellthetruthsometimes.I’vealwaysbeenabletohidebehindlies.Toshieldmyself.”“Whatareyoushielding
yourselffrom?”sheasked.“Judgment?Scorn?Idon’t
know.”Iwantedtolierightthen.Togetoutofthisconversationbeforeitgottoohonest.ButAmywasright.Icouldn’tkeeplying.“Thefunnythingis,IhidbehindliesbecauseIwasscaredthat…thatifpeoplekneweverything,sawallofme,they’dtakeoffrunning.Likemymomdid.SoI’donlylet
bitsandpiecesshow.Instead,theliesendedupdrivingeveryoneaway.”“Noteveryone,”shesaid.
“You’vegottheRushesinyourcorner.Butyou’vegottostartlettingusin.Lettingushelp.Youknow…youmentionedcollege.”“Idon’twanttotalkabout
thatanymore.”
“Justhearmeout,”shesaid.“That’sanotherthing.Nomoretalkingovermeorpushingmearound.That’sgottochange.”Inodded.“Sorry.”“That’sonme,too,”she
said.“I’vegottostartspeakingup.I’vegottostopbeingquiet,weakAmyandstartbeing…FierceAmy.”
“FierceAmy?”Icouldn’thelpbutlaugh.“Someone’sbeenwatchingAmerica’sNextTopModel.”Sheignoredme.“Backto
thecollegething.Itmightbetoolatefornextsemester,butthatdoesn’tmeanitcanneverhappen.Therearescholarships—I’llhelpyoufindthem.Andmyparents
aren’tjustgoingtokickyououtonthestreetafteryougraduate.”“Ican’tletthemkeeptaking
careofme.”“Thenyoucanpaysome
rentwhenyoufindajob,”shesaid.“Butletushelp.You’repartofthefamily,Sonny.Whetheryoulikeitornot.You’restuckwithus.”
“IguessIcanthinkofworsepeopletobestuckwith,”Isaid.“Butwhataboutus?Arewebacktonormal?SonnyandAmy?”“Notquite,”shesaid.
“That’sprobablygoingtotakeawhile.Iloveyou,Sonny,butyou’regoingtohavetoprovethatIcantrustyouagain.Thatyou’renot
goingtolietomeanymore.”“Icandothat,”Iassured
her.“It’llbeahardhabittobreak,but…butIcantakeanoath.Avowofhonesty.”“Thatsoundsalittlemore
dramaticthanwhatIwashopingfor,butokay.”Sheputherbowlinthesink.Shehadn’teatenmuchofhermidnightsnackeither.“Now
comeon.Iknowit’ssilly,butIhaveahardtimesleepingwhenyou’reintheotherroom.”Weheadedtowardthestairs
together.“Youknow,”Isaid.“Whilewe’retryingtobuildahealthierfriendship,wemightwanttodealwithourwholecodependencything.”“Probably,”sheagreed.
“Butmaybeanothernight.”
“Okay.Heregoes.Ahem.I,SonnyElizabethArdmore—”“Shouldn’titbeSonya?”
Amyasked.“No.”“I’mjustsaying,ifyou’re
goingtobeallofficialabout
it,itshouldprobablysayyourfullname.”“Ugh.Fine.”Ipickedupa
penandscratchedoutSonnybeforescribblingSonyaaboveit.“There.Sonya.Happy?”Amyshrugged.“Personally,
Istillthinkthewholethingisalittleontheridiculousside.ButIguessthat’snotreallya
surprisecomingfromyou.”“Forgivemeforlikinga
littlebitofformalitywhenitcomestotakingmyoaths.”Ipickedupmypaperagainandclearedmythroat.“I,SonyaElizabethArdmore,hereaftersweartotellthewholetruth,nothingbutthetruth,sohelpme—”“Isn’tthatplagiarism?”
Ilookedup.“Huh?”“Aren’tyouplagiarizingthe
oathpeopletakeonthestand?”Amyasked.“Idon’tknowifthat’s
plagiarism.”“Itmightbe.”“WhatifIchangethelast
bit?From‘sohelpmeGod’to‘sohelpme’…Gert?”“I’mnotsureifithasquite
thesamepower?Gertcan’tsmiteyou.”“No,butshecanstop
runningwhileI’minthemiddleofabusyhighwayandgetmekilled.”“Fairpoint.”IscratchedoutGodand
replaceditwithGerttoavoidanypossibleplagiarismallegations.
“Okay.Lasttry.I,SonyaElizabethArdmore,hereafter—”“Shoulditbe‘hereafter’or
‘hereby’?”Idroppedthepaperback
ontothedesk.“Igiveup.I’mneverreadinganythingoutloudtoyouagain.”Amygiggled.“Sorry.It’s
justhardtotakethis
seriously!I’mgladyou’redeterminedtostoplying,butisthisreallynecessary?”“Yes.Thismakesitofficial.
AnditgivesyoulicensetopunishmeifIbreaktheoath.”“Well,inthatcase…”She
stoodupfromthebedandwalkedovertowhereIwassitting.“IknowI’mteasing
you,butIreallyamgladyou’redoingthis,Sonny.Nottheoath—thatdoesn’tmattertome—butjusttryingtotellthetruth.”“It’sterrifying,”Iadmitted.
“Itshouldn’tbe.Iknowitshouldn’tbe.ButI’vebeenabletohidebehindmade-upstoriesforsolong,beinghonestfeelslikebeing
vulnerable.”Ipickedupthepen.“Butclearlythelyingdidn’tdomeanyfavors,so…”Ileanedforwardandscribbledmysignaturebeneaththetyped-outoath.“So,there.It’sofficial.Nomoreliesforme.Noteventinywhiteones.”“Hey,Sonny,whatdidyou
thinkofthechickenDad
madelastnight?”“Icanstillpleadthefifth.”Amychuckled.Ipickedupthesignedoath.
“CanIframethis?Dowehaveaframe?”“I’msurewecanfindone.”
Shesmiledatthepieceofpaper.“Ithinktellingthetruthwillearnyousomeseriouskarmapoints,too.
HaveyoutalkedtoRyder?”“Karmadoesn’tlikemethat
much.AndneitherdoesRyder.Hestillwon’tspeaktome.”TherewasasqueezingfeelinginmychestandthethreatoftearswheneverImentionedhim.Itookadeepbreathandtriedtoshakeitoffbeforestandingupandstretchingmyarmsovermy
head.“IthinkIhavealongwaytogobeforetheuniversestartsdoingmeanyfavors.”Justthen,mycellphone
begantoring.IglanceddownatthescreenandwassurprisedtoseeanumberIrecognized.ItbelongedtoDaphne’s,oneoftheclothingstoresintheOakHillMall,whereI’dappliedbackin
December.Amymusthavenoticedthe
startledsmileonmyface,becauseshelaughedandsaid,“Ormaybenot,”beforeprancingoutoftheroom.
***
Ihadmadeavowtobehonestabouteverythingandwitheveryone,nomatterhowdifficultitwas.
AndthatmeantIhadtotalktomydad.Inperson.Itwasatwo-hourdriveto
thecorrectionalfacility,butMr.Rushassuredmethathedidn’tmindtakingme.Whenwearrived,aguard
pattedusbothdown,checkingthatweweren’tbringinginanythingillegal,thenwewerefreetoenterthe
roomwheretheinmateswaited.Theroomwaslinedwithlong,rectangulartables.Thewearersoftheorangejumpsuitswereononeside,andtherestofuswereontheother.Imaynothaveseenmydad
inyears,butIknewhimtheminuteIsawhim.Mostlybecausehelookedsomuch
likeme.Hishairwasblondandcurly,hisnosehadaslightupturn,andhisearsstuckoutjustalittlemorethanwasfashionable.Yep.Iwashisspittingimage,astheoldfolkssay.“Sonny.”Hisfacesplitinto
awide,boyishgrinwhenhesawme.“Wow.You’reagrown-up.Inmyhead,you’re
stillthistall.”Heheldhishandjustabithigherthantheedgeofthetable.“Well,you’renottoofar
off,”Isaid.Ismiled,butthenerveswereeatingmealive.Thismanmightlookandsoundlikeme—Idefinitelygotmycharmfromhim,notMom—butIstilldidn’tknowhim.
Hecouldhavebeenaliarlikeme,too.Hehadbeeninthepast.Dadlookedupandspotted
Mr.Rushstandingbehindme.“Hello,”hesaid.“Dad,thisisMr.Rush,”I
said.“He’smyfriendAmy’sdad.”“Oh,yeah.Irememberlittle
Amy.Andthat’swhereI
calledyouonChristmas,right?AttheRushes’house?”Inodded.“Hi.I’mCollin,”Mr.Rush
said.“It’snicetomeetyou.”“You,too.”Dadhesitated.
“ThanksforbringingSonnyBunnyheretoseeme.Itakeithermotherrefused?She’salwaysbeenalittleonthedifficultside,ifyouknow
whatImean.”Isatdowninthefolding
chairacrossfromDadandtookadeepbreath.Behindme,Mr.Rushclearedhisthroat.“I’mgoingtostepoutside
foraminute,”hesaid.“Giveyoutwoachancetotalk.”Whenhewasgone,Dad
turnedtome,confused.
“What’sgoingon,SonnyBunny?”“Dad,I…Ineedtotalkto
youaboutMom.”Iletitallspilloutthen.
FromhershortdisappearanceswhenIwasyoungertohercompleteabandonmentnow.ItoldhimaboutstayingatAmy’sandhowkindtheRusheshad
beentome.Itoldhimeverylittledetail,evenwhenithurtlikehelltosayaloud.BythetimeIwasdone,hisconfident,smiling,all-charmdemeanorhadfallenaway.Hisheadwasinhishands,
hisshouldersslumpedforward.Andhelookedlikeadifferentperson.Older.Haggard.Likesomeone
who’dbeeninprisonforyears.“Fuck,”hesaid.“Goddamn
it.”“Dad?”“I’mso,sosorry,Sonny.”
AndIthoughthemighthavebeenonthevergeoftears.“Ihadnoidea.Yourmotherwasalwaysunreliable,butIdidn’tthinkshe’dever…”Hetook
adeepbreathandlookedup,oureyesmeeting.“I’msorry.”“It’snotyourfault,”Isaid.“Yes,itis.I’myourfather.I
should’vebeenthere.Insteadofhere.”Therewasanoteofangerinhisvoicenow.ThisgrufftonethatIhadn’texpected.ItwassostartlingthatIscootedbackinmyseat
alittle.“Ishould’vestayedintouchwithyou.”“Yousaidyoutriedtowrite
andcall.”“Ididn’ttryhardenough,”
headmitted.“ItoldmyselfI’ddoneeverythingIcould.I’magoodliarthatway.”“Yeah.Me,too.”“Ifiguredyou’dbefine
withyourmother.Shedidn’t
wantmeinvolvedanyway,so…Butdamnit,ifIhadknownshe’ddothis,Iwould’ve…God,Icouldkillherforleavingyou.”“Maybedon’tsaythatwith
somanyguardsaround?”Isuggested.“Look,theimportantpartisthatyou’reherenow.”“Yeah.”Hereachedacross
thetableandtookmyhandinhis,theangerinhisvoicefading.“I’mherenow.AndI’mnotgoinganywhere.”“Literally,”Ijoked.“Prison
andall.”Ipaused.“Sorry.Wasthatrude?I’vebeentoldIhaveabadhabitofundercuttingseriousmomentswithjokes.”ButDadwassmiling.“You
getthatfromme.”“Ido?”“Oh,yeah,”hesaid.“It’s
gottenmeintotroubleafewtimes.Asforbeingstuckhere,though…Well,notformuchlonger.Ishouldbegettingoutinacoupleofmonths.”“Really?”Henodded.“And…Iknow
youdon’treallyknowme,andIdon’tevenknowwhereI’llbelivingyet,andyou’llbegraduatingsoon,but…”Heclearedhisthroat.“ButIhopewecanspendmoretimetogetherthen.”“I’dlikethat,”Isaid.ButIwasn’tgettingmy
hopesupjustyet.Dadhadbeenoutofjailbefore.The
questionwas,howlongwouldhestayout?Iwasn’treadytotrusthim
completely,butIwasreadytotry.Togivehimachanceandtolethimsurpriseme.NowthatheknewthetruthaboutMom,abouteverything,weatleasthadaplacetostart.Wetalkedforawhilelonger
abouttheboringstuff:school,hobbies,etcetera.HeaskedaboutAmy,whomhevaguelyrememberedfrommychildhood,andheeveninquiredaboutmyromanticstatus.“Iactuallyjustwentthrough
abreakup,”IadmittedasthefamiliaracheofmissingRyderthrobbedinmychest
again.“Oh,I’msorry,”hesaid,
squeezingmyhand.“Boysaretheworstandyoucan’ttrustanyofthem.Ishouldknow.”“Well,notinthiscase.In
thiscase,I’mtheonewhoshouldn’thavebeentrusted.”IwasgladthatMr.Rush
walkedinbeforemydad
couldaskanymoreaboutthatsubject.Because—vowofhonestyandall—Iwouldhavehadtotellhimthetruth.“Sonny,”Mr.Rushsaid,
puttingahandonmyshoulder.“It’sabouttimetogo.”Dadstoodup.“Thankyou,”
hesaidtoMr.Rush.“Fortakingcareofmydaughter.”
“There’snoneedtothankme,”Mr.Rushsaid.“WeloveSonny.We’regladtohaveher.”Theguardsignaledthatit
wastimeforustogo.IstoodupandhuggedDadoverthetable.Hisscentoverwhelmedme.Thesmellofgenericsoapand…him.Irememberedbeingthreeorfouryearsold,
cryingafterI’dslammedmyfingerinthedoorasheheldmetohischest,rockingme,tellingmeitwouldbeokay.Fast-forwardfourteenyears,
andIwascryinginhisarmsagain.“Iloveyou,Sonny,”he
murmuredintomyhair.Heletmegoslowly,andI
wipedmyeyes,notsurewhat
hadbroughtonthesuddentearsthistime.“Bye,Dad.”HewavedasMr.Rushled
meoutpasttheguards.Itwashardtowalkawayfromhim.Butwe’dgivethiswholefather-daughterthingarealtry.Andevenifitdidn’tworkout,ashardasthatwouldbe,IknewIwouldn’tbealonethistime.
“Thankyou,”IsaidtoMr.Rushoncewewereinthecar.“Ofcourse,”hesaid.“I
don’tminddrivingyoutovisityourdad.”Ishookmyhead.Becausethatwasn’twhat
I’dbeenthankinghimfor.
Meet me in the art roomat lunch.
IfrowneddownatthemessagefromAmy.Itwasn’tlikehertotextduringschoolhours.Why,thatwasbreakingtherules.SomethingAmyneverdid…unlessI
madeher.Nonetheless,Imademy
waytowardtheartroominsteadofthecafeteria.IfiguredAmywantedtoshowmesomethingshe’dbeenworkingon—Iknewherartclasshadbeeninthemiddleofsomebigproject.AndIwaseagertotellhermygoodnews.I’dgottenane-mail
fromDaphne’sthatmorning,lettingmeknowthatthey’dliketohireme.Apparently,Ihadwowedtheminmyinterview,andtheywantedmetostartimmediately.HopefullyIcouldholdonto
thisjobforawhile.Iwastiredofbeingpoor.ButwhenIwalkedintothe
artroom,Amywasn’tthe
onlyonewaitingforme.“Ryder,”Isaid,startled.My
stomachwasalreadytwistingitselfintoknots.“Whatareyoudoinginhere?”“Hegotthesametextyou
did,”Amyexplained.“Ifiguredthatwasagoodwaytocommunicatewithyoutwo.Consideringtherecentpast.”
Minorouchthere.“Butwhy?”Iasked.“I’mgoing,”Rydersaid,
movingtothedoor.Myheartsank.ButAmy—tomysurprise—blockedhim.“You’renot,”shesaid.
“You’restayinginhereuntilyoutwotalk.”Iblinkedather.“You’re…
trappingusinaclassroom?”
“ItwastheonlywayIcouldthinkoftogetyoutwointhesameroom,”shesaid.Herboldnesswascompletelyunexpected.ShewasreallytakingthiswholeFierceAmythingseriously.“Noonewillbeinthisroomuntilafterlunch,soyouhavehalfanhour.Andyouhavealotoftalkingtodo.SoI’llbe
outside.”Sheturnedandsteppedintothehallway,herhandontheknob.“Anddon’teventrytocomeout,”sheadded.“Iwon’tletyou.”Iwasstillstaring,myjaw
ontheground,assheclosedtheclassroomdoor.“Seemslikeyou’renotthe
onlymanipulativeoneinthisfriendship,”Rydermuttered
asheslidintoaseat.Okay.Majorouch.“She’stryingtohelp,”I
said.Heshrugged,hisgaze
deliberatelypointedawayfromme.“Weshouldtalk,”Isaid.
“She’srightaboutthat.Evenifhermethodsarealittle…extreme.”
“Ihavenothingtosay,Sonny.”Ifelthelplessbutpressed
on.“That’sfine,becauseIhaveplentytosay.”Iwalkedacrosstheroomandsatdownatthedeskacrossfromhis.Hedidn’thavetolookatme,hejustneededtolisten.“Iknowyouhateme,Ryder.Andyouhaveeveryreason
to.ButImadeapromisetoAmy—andtomyself—thatI’dbehonestfromnowon.Andthatmeanstellingyouthetruth,too.”Itookadeepbreathand
claspedmyhandsinmylap,clutchingmyfingerssohardthatithurt.“SoIguessI’llstartatthe
beginning.Um…Itwasn’t
…Inevermeantforanyofthistohappen.Thatfirstnight,whenyouIMedme—well,IMedAmy—Ididn’trealizeIwasonheraccount.We’dsentyouthatmeane-mail,andwebothfeltbadaboutit.SowhenIgotthatmessage,Ithoughtitwasforme.That’swhyIresponded.Andthenwetalkedallnight,
andIdidn’tknowthatyouthoughtIwasAmyuntilyouloggedoff.Iwasgoingtotellyouimmediately,butyouwouldn’tletme.Itried,andyoujustcutmeoff—”“Soyou’reblamingthison
me?”Ryderasked,finallylookingatme.“No,”Isaidquickly.“No,
I’mnot.Becausewhat
happenedafterthatisstillmyfault.”Iwentthroughthewhole
story,everylastdetail.Fromtheinstantmessageconversationstothestupid,convolutedplanI’ddraggedAmyinto,tothetextsandthekissing.Ispilledmygutsandlaidthemoutonthetablelikeanartproject.Andallthe
while,Ryderstayedpainfullysilent.“Sothat’sit.That’showall
ofthishappened,”Isaid.“AndIknowit’sscrewedupandIknowIdidalotofbadthings,but…youshouldknowthetruth.”“Fine,”hesaid.“NowI
know.”Therewasalongpause.
“Isthatallyou’regoingtosay?”Iasked.“Whatelsedoyouwantme
tosay,Sonny?”“Idon’tknow,”Isaid.
“Something.Anything.Imean,thiscan’tjustbeit.Acoupleofweeksago,youthoughtwehadafuturetogether.YousaidIwasincredible.”
“Youweren’twhoIthoughtyouwere,”hesaid.“ButIwas!”Iwasonmyfeet,butI
didn’trememberstandingup.SomehowI’dbegunpacingbackandforthbetweenthedesks,myhandstwistinginmyhair.Ispuntofacehim,feelingdesperate,determinedtomakehimunderstand.
“IwasexactlythegirlyouthoughtIwas,Ryder.IwasmorehonestwithyouthanIeverhavebeenwithanyone.EveninthetextsandtheIMs,Iwastellingyoumoreaboutmyselfthananyoneknew.Youjustdidn’tknowitwasme.ButeverythingItoldyou,aboutmymom…Ryder,you’rethereasonIcalledmy
dad.Thereasonwemighthavearelationshipnow.I’veneverevenopeneduptoAmyaboutthat.Maybenoneofthatmeansanythingtoyou,butitmatterstome.”“Soyouwantmetoforgive
you?”hedemanded.Andthenhewasonhisfeet,too.“Youwantmetojustforgetallofthishappened?”
“Ineversaidthat.”“Amymightbeabletoget
overeverythingyoudid,butI’mnotthatforgiving.”“Oh,believeme,Iknow.”“What’sthatsupposedto
mean?”Ithrewmyhandsintheair.
“Youknowwhat?I’mbeinghonesthere,soImightaswellbehonestaboutthis,too.
I’mnottheonlyonewithproblems.”“Ihaveproblems?”“Haveyoucalledyourdad
yet,Ryder?”“Howdoesthathave
anythingtodowith—?”“Ithaseverythingtodowith
it,”Isaid.“WhenIfirstmetyou,youworshippedthegroundhewalkedon.You
hatedyourmomfordraggingyouawayfromhim.Buttheminuteyoufoundouthewasn’tperfect,youflipped.Youthoughtyourmomwasasaintandyourdadwastheworsthumanwhoeverlived.”“Myparentshavenothingto
dowiththis,”hesaid.“Youputpeopleon
pedestals,Ryder.Youtell
yourselfthatthey’reperfect.Youignorealloftheirflaws,untilonedaytheydisappointyoujustalittletoomuch,andthenyou’redone.Youcutthemoutandthinkthey’reworthless.”RyderandIweresoclose,
staringeachotherdown.Myheartwasbeatingsofast,andmybreathwasalittleragged.
“Yourdadscrewedup,”Isaid,myvoicelowered.“Whathedidwasawful.Buthe’syourdadandhewantstobeapartofyourlife.You’relucky.Andyourmom—”“Stop,Sonny.”“She’snotperfecteither,”I
insisted.“Maybeshe’snotasselfishasyouthoughtshewaswhenyoufirstmoved
here,butshemadesomemistakes,too.She’scoldandjudgmental.Andit’sokaytoseethat.Youcanlovepeopleandstillrealizethey’rescrewedup.”Ryderwassilentagain,and
stiffasaboard.Iswallowed,knowingI’d
crossedafewlines.Ihadn’tmeanttosayanyofthis.I’d
beenholdingitback,knowingitwasn’tmyplacetogetinvolvedwithhisfamily.Butitwasn’tjusthisfamilyanymore.Now,Iwastheonewho’dfallenoffthatpedestal.“YoudiditwithAmy,too,
youknow.Youactedlikeshewassomesortofgoddess,evenwhenshewasrudeto
you.Youignoredit.Youwereintotaldenial.Untilonedayyourealizedyoulikedmemoreand…andthenyouactedlikeshewastheworstpersonimaginable.”Ishookmyhead.“Andnowme.Thesamething.”Ilookeddownatmyfeet.
Staringupathimwastoomuch.Thosegreeneyeswere
killingme,especiallywhenIcouldn’treadthematall.Avoiceinmyheadwasscreamingatmetostop.Toshutthehellup.ButIcouldn’tputthebrakesonnow.I’dcometoofar.“Youactlikepeopleare
eitherperfectorterrible,”Isaid.“Likethere’snothinginbetween.Butthereis.You
mightthinkI’mterriblerightnow—maybeIam.Buttherewerethingsaboutmeyouliked.Thingsaboutmethat…”Iforcedmyselftolookbackup.“Thingsaboutmethatyouthoughtwereincredible.Thosethingsdon’tgoawayjustbecauseImessedup.”Westoodthere,staringat
eachother,ourbodieslessthanafootapart,foralong,longtime.Myhandswereshaking,andIballedthemintofistsatmysides.Thiswasthelongest,mostpainfulsilenceofmylife.Finally,quietly,heasked,
“Areyoudone?”“No,”Imurmured.“Ihave
onemorehonestthingtotell
you.”Itookadeepbreath.Theclassroomdooropened
andAmystuckherheadinside.“Sorrytointerrupt,”shesaid.“Butlunchisalmostover,so…”Thebellrang,rightoncue.WefollowedAmyoutinto
thehallway,justasahugecrowdofstudentsstampededtowardus.IturnedtoRyder,
hopingtofinishwhatI’dbeenabouttosay,buthewasswallowedupbythecrowd.Ihadthesuddenurgetocry,
andIforceditaway.Forabrief,foolishsecond,I’dthoughtImightbeabletowinhimback.Butinstead,I’dlosthimagain.Amygrabbedmywristand
pulledmeintoalittlealcove,
outofthepathofourrecentlyfedpeers.“How’ditgo?”sheasked.“Could’vegonebetter,”I
said.“Whatdidhesay?”“Notmuchofanything.”I
sighedandshookmyhead.“Ididn’tevenfinisheverythingIwantedtosay.”“Well,thenwe’vegotto
makehimlistentoyou.Letyoufinish.”“How?”Iasked.“It’snot
likeyoucanlockusinaroomagain.Idon’tthinkhe’llfallforthattwice.”“You’reprobablyright,but
there’sgottobesomeway.”“Idon’tknowwhatitwould
be…unless…”Ipaused,anideadawningonme.
“Uh-oh,”Amysaid.“That’syourschemingface.NowI’mscared.”“Don’tworry,”Isaid.“You
don’thavetobepartofitthistime.Itdoesn’teveninvolveanylies.AllIneedis…RememberthatboomboxWesleyhadwhenwewerelittle?Hewouldn’tstillhappentohavethat,would
he?”
Imaynothavebeenanoverlyromanticperson,butIdidhaveasoftspotforromanticcomedies.WhichmeantIalsohadasoftspotfortheclichéoftheGrandGesture.AndIwashopingRyderCrossdid,too.
Theproblemwithgrandgestures,however,isthattheycanbereallyembarrassingforthegesturer.Butthen,maybethat’stherealgesture:showingthatyou’rewillingtomakeafoolofyourselfforanotherperson.ThesewerethethingsI
foundmyselfmusingoveras
IstoodonRyder’sfrontlawnonaFridayafternoon,myhandstremblingasIhelda(surprisinglyheavy)boomboxovermyhead.Itwasblasting“OfLionsandRobots,”theGoatsVoteforMelonslovesongthatI’dbeguntoassociatewithRyder.Ifhismotherwasworried
aboutwhattheneighborswouldthinkofmycar,thiswasgivingheraheartattack.Icouldseeherfaceinthelivingroomwindow,staringoutatmewithintensedisapproval.Itriedtoignorethatand
focusonlyonRyder’sbedroomwindow,which—sincehelivedinaone-story
house—wasonlyafewfeetawayfrommyface.Iknewhewasinside.I’d
seenthecurtainsshift,sonowIstoodthere,holdingmybreath,anxiousandalittleterrifiedasIwaitedforhimtoopenthewindow.Buthedidmeonebetter.Hecameoutside.“Sonny?Whatareyou
doing?”Iturnedandsawhim
headingdownthefrontsteps.“Gesturing,”Isaid,myheartracing.Ismiledandloweredtheboomboxalittle.Myarmswerekillingme.Slowly,hebegantowalk
towardme.“Youknow,Ilikeninetiesteenmovies,”hesaid.“JohnCusackholdinga
boomboxoverhisheadisfromSayAnything,whichisaneightiesmovie.”“Yeah,well,youtryfinding
aniconic,grandromanticgesturethatisn’tlameinaninetiesteenmovie.AtleastIgotthesoundtrackright.”“GoatsVoteforMelons
grewonyou?”“Youwish.Ijusthappento
likethisonesong.Andluckily,indorkyhipsterfashion,theyreleasedthisalbumoncassette.Weirdos.”Hestartedtosmile,butthen
hecaughthimself.“Whatareyoudoinghere?”heaskedagain.“Atschooltheotherday,in
theartroom,Ididn’tsayeverythingIneededto.”
“Yousure?”heasked.“Yousaidquiteabit.”Icringed.“Imayhavegone
overboard.”“Well,youweren’tentirely
wrong.”Buthedidn’telaboratebeyondthat.“IsthattheflannelIgaveAmy?”Ilookeddownatthered
shirt.“Oh,yeah.Itis.She’snotreallyintogrunge—that
wasallme—soshegavetome.”“Itlooksniceonyou,”he
said.“Thankyou.”Thesongon
theboomboxfadedaway,soIsetthearchaicmachinedowninthegrass.“Listen,Ryder,there’sonemorethingIneededto—”Thegaragedoorslidopen
andMs.Tanner’scarbackedout,stoppinginthemiddleofthedriveway.Shehonkedthehornonce,thenstaredatusfromthedriver’s-sidewindow.“Areyougoing
somewhere?”IaskedRyder,surprised.“Theairport,”hesaid.“Oh.Whereareyou
headed?”“DC.”MyfacesplitintoasmileI
couldn’tholdback.“You’revisitingyourdad?”“Yeah.Mom’snottoo
thrilledaboutit,but…Soyouhadsomethingyouwantedtosay,Sonny?”“Right.Yeah.”Itookadeep
breath.“IknowIsaidalotof
thingstheotherday,aboutyourflaws.AndImeantit.You’repretentiousandstubbornandyoudrivemeinsanesometimes,but…Iloveyou.AndIjustneededyoutoknowthat.”There,I’dsaidit.Inow
wantedtothrowup.ButI’dsaidit.Ihadn’texpectedhimtosay
itback.Ireallyhadn’t.Butforjustasecond,aswestoodthereinhisfrontyard,Ithoughthemight.Ithoughtmygrandgesture,myhonesty,mighthavewonhimover.Heopenedhismouth,but
beforeanywordscouldcomeout—“Ryder!”
Webothturnedandsawhismotherleaningouttheopendriver’s-sidewindow.“We’vegottogo,”shesaid.“Yeah,”hesaid,looking
backatme.“I’vegottogo.”Hestartedtowalkaway,but
Ipanickedandgrabbedhisarmandnearlytrippedovertheboombox.“Wait,”Isaid.“Justwait.Can…canyou
catchalaterflight?”“No,”hesaid.“Thatonly
worksinthemovies.”Iletgoofhisarm,feeling
defeatedalloveragain.“Sonny,I…”Hestopped
himself,thenshookhishead.“I’vegottogo,”herepeated.“Okay,”Isaid.IstayedwhereIwas,
watchingashewalkedaway.
Heclimbedintothepassenger’sside,andhismomrolledupherwindow.SheactedasifIwasn’ttherenow,aheartbrokenteenagegirlwithanoldboomboxinthemiddleofherfrontlawn.Ifeltmybottomlipbeginto
tremble,andIchokedbackthelumpinmythroat.Ididn’twantanyone,but
especiallyher,toseemecry.Istoodthere,tellingmyselfthatthiswasexactlywhatI’dexpected.ThatI’dhadnopreconceivednotionsofchanginghismindorconvincinghimtoforgiveme.ThatI’donlycomeheretotellhimhowIfelt,tofinishoffmyconfession.Butthatvowofhonesty
meantIhadtobehonestwithmyself,too,andthetruthwas,partofmehadheldontohope.Somesmallpartofmehadthoughtthatthisbigromanticgestureanddeclaringmyloveforhimeighties-movie-stylewouldbeenough.Thatmaybeitwouldmakehimseethat,nomatterhowI’dscrewedup,I
wasstillthegirlhe’dfallenfor.Twice.Buthismomwaspulling
outofthedrivewaynow,delicatelymaneuveringpastGert,andturningontothestreet.Chauffeuringhimofftoaplanethatwouldtakehimevenfartherfromme.It’sover,Ithought.Butthen—
Maybeitwasjustmyimaginationorwishfulthinking,butIthoughtIsawRyderlookbackatmeastheydroveaway.
Ididn’thearfromhim.Ididn’texpectto,butAmy
did.“Ithoughthewouldcall,”
shesaid.“Iwassurehewould.”“See,thisiswhyyouneed
someonelikemeinyour
life,”Isaid.“Youaretoooptimisticforyourowngood,AmyRush.”Shesatdownnexttomeon
thebed.“Maybeafterspringbreak…Maybehe’sjustbusywithhisdadinDC.”Thatwaspossible.The
newscoveragedidmakeitseemliketheywereprettybusy.RyderandSenator
Crosshadposedforphotoswithsomeforeigndiplomats,andGregJohnsonhaddoneawholestoryaboutit.SenatorCrossmightnot
haverepresentedourregion,butthathadn’tstoppedRyderfrombecomingabitofalocalcelebrity.Asmuchasseeinghimon
thescreenhadmademeache,
ithadalsomademehappy.Inthephotos,Ryderlookedgenuinelypleasedtobetherewithhisdad.Ihopedthatmeanttheywereworkingthingsout.Amywrappedherarms
aroundmyshouldersandrestedherheadontopofmine.“Ifhecanforgivehisdad,maybehe’ll—”
“Don’t,”Isaid.“Don’tgivemeareasontohope.Iscrewedup,Amy.Hehasnoreasontoforgiveme….ItoldhimIlovedhim,Amy.Andhedidn’tsayitback.”“He’sanidiot,”shesaid.“He’snot,butthankyou.”Asmuchasithadsuckedto
loseRyder,IknewIwasluckytohaveAmyback.
KnowinghowmuchI’dhurtheroverthepastfewmonthsstillmademesick.Shewas,withoutquestion,themostimportantpersoninmylife.AndthemostselflessfriendIcouldhaveaskedfor.Iknewshedidn’tfullytrust
meyet,butwe’dfindourwaybackeventually.Andnomatterwhat,Iwouldnever,
everletanything—aboy,alie,ormyowninsecurities—getbetweenusagain.“Thankyou,bytheway,”I
saidassheuntangledherselffromme.“Forlockingusinaroomtogetherandhelpingmefindtheboombox.I’mnotsureIeverwouldhavegottenhimtolistentomeifyouhadn’tdonethat.”
“You’rewelcome,”shesaid.“Iwishithadmademoreofadifference.Ijustreallythoughtifheheardyouout…”“Itdidhelp,though,”I
assuredher.“Itwasn’tjustaboutgettinghimtoforgiveme.It’saboutbeinghonest.It’ssomethingI’mstillworkingon.”
“IlikeHonestSonny.”“Good,becauseshe’shere
tostay.”Ifrowned.“Andhonestly?HonestSonnyisnotafanofthatpurplelipstickonyou.”“HonestSonnycangetover
it.”Igrinned.“Oh.FierceAmy
isfun,too.”Sheblushed,butshesmiled.
IwasproudofAmy.Shewasstillshy,stillsweet,butshe’dstoppedlettingpeoplepushheraround.Evenme.Especiallyme.Amylookeddownatmy
phoneagain.“He’llcall,”shesaid.“Whatmakesyousosure?”
Iasked.“Idon’tknow.Ijustam.
Youtwohadsomethingspecial,youknow?”“Yeah,Iknow,”Isaid.I
shookmyhead.“You’rebeingtooniceevenforyou.BringFierceAmyback.Hurry.”Shetossedherbrowncurls
overhershoulderandgrinned.“ThisisFierceAmy.AndIamfierceinmy
assertionthathe’llcall.”Ilaughedandgottomyfeet
andextendedahandtoher.“Comeon,FierceAmy,”Isaid,pullingherup,too.“HonestSonnyishonestlystarving.”“Pizza?”Amyasked,
headingforthebedroomdoor.“Hellyes.”
***
“Whoareyouwritingto?”Wesleyasked,lookingatthepiecesofpalebluestationeryIhadspreadacrossasectionofthediningroomtable.He’darrivedattheRushhouseonthefirstnightofspringbreakwithasuitcasefullofdirtylaundryandabiggrinonhisface.Asany
collegestudentwould.Buttheweekwasnearlyover,andhe’dbeflyingbacktoNewYorkthenextday.AndI’dalreadyhandedhim
thelastofmypaymentstocoverGert’srepairs,thankstomynewjobatDaphne’s.Iwasnolongerindebttohim.Atleastnotfinancially.Thetruthwas,Iowedalot
toWesleyandhisfamily.I’dneverbeabletopaythembackforeverythingthey’ddoneformeoverthesepastfewmonths.AndIknewthey’dneverletmeevenifIcould.“Mydad,”Isaid,shaking
outmyachingwrist.“We’vestartedwritingletterstoeachother.”
Wesleysatdownacrossfrommewithhisbowlofcereal.Hisgrayeyesflickedoverthetable,countingthepagesI’dalreadyfilled.Iblushed.I’donlymeanttowritetwoorthree,butthisletterwasbeginningtoresembleanovel.“Whynottypeit?”he
asked.“Itwouldprobablybe
faster.”“IthinkI’vehadmyfillof
technologyforawhile,”Iadmitted.Iputdownmypen,decidingtogivemywristabreak.ThiswasthemostI’dhandwritteninyears.“Besides.Thisfeelsmorepersonal.AndIthinkthat’swhatmydadandIneedrightnow.”
Wesleysmiled.“Iamratherfondofhandwrittenletters.”“Youwriteletters?”“Iwroteacoupleinthe
past.You’reright.Theyaremorepersonal.”Hestaredoffforaminute,somethingwistfulinhissmile.Thenheshookhisheadandfocusedonmeagain.“Soeverything’sgoingallright
withyouandyourdad?”“Yeah.It’snicetohavehim
backinmylife.Evenifithastobelikethis.Andhopefullyhe’llbeoutinafewmonthsand…wecangofromthere.”“Whataboutyourmom?
Haveyouheardfromher?”Ishookmyhead,and
Wesleyknewbetterthanto
push.TalkingaboutMomwasstilltoohard.HalfthetimeIwasangryatherforleavingme,bitterandalmostgladIdidn’thavetolivewithheranymore.Theotherhalf,Iwasheartbroken,rejected.Shewasmymom,andIhadnocluewhereshewasorwhyshecouldn’tjuststayhome,staywithme.SometimesI
blamedmyself.SometimesIwokeup,panickedfromanightmare,sureshewashurtordead.Maybeshewas.Ihadnowayofknowing.ButIwasn’talone.Ihadthe
Rushes,peoplewhoknewme,whohadseeneveryuglypartofme,andwholovedmeanyway.Maybeitwasn’tblood,butitwasfamily
nonetheless.Andeventhoughitscared
metohopetoomuch,itwasstartingtolooklikeImighthavemydad,too.“So,”Wesleysaidafter
swallowinganotherbiteofcereal.“You’vegottocatchmeup.What’sbeengoingonwithyouandAmysinceJanuary?”
Iraisedaneyebrow.“Wetalktoyouonthephoneeveryweek.”“Yes,butneitherofyoutell
meanythinginteresting,”hesaid,pointinganaccusatoryspoonatme.“AndwhileI’msureyourgradesandyournewjobarefascinating,Iwouldn’tmindsomethingjuicier.”
Ilaughed.“Whatdidyouhaveinmind?”“Idon’tknow.”He
shruggedandchewedanotherbite.“Whathappenedwiththatguyyouweretellingmeabout?”Ididn’tneedamirrorto
knowthecolorhadjustdrainedfrommyface.LeaveittoWesleytoleaveone
uncomfortablesubjectonlytolandonanother.“Nothing,”Imumbled,
pickingupmypenagainandhopinghe’dtakethehint.Hedidn’t.“That’sobviouslyalie,”he
said.“Ithoughtyouweretakingavowofhonesty?”Igroaned.“It’s…not
exactlyalie.Nothingis
happeningwithusnow.”“Whynot?”Iputthepenbackdown
withgreatreluctance.“Fine,butyou’reonlygettingtheshortversion.”Itookadeepbreath,alltooawareoftheheavyacheinmychest.ItmadeitselfknowneverytimeIsomuchasthoughtofRyder.“Itturnsouthedid
likeme,butIruinedit.Imessedthingsuptoomuch,andthere’snowayRyderisgoingtoforgivemenow.”Wesleywatchedmefora
minute,lookinglikehewastryingtocomeupwithsomethingtosay.Beforehecould,though,therewasabuzzingnoiseandmyphone,sittingonhissideofthetable,
begantoplay“Konstantine”bySomethingCorporate.WhatcanIsay?I’dbeenfeelingratheremolately.Wesleyglanceddownatthe
screenandgrinned.“Youneverknow,”hesaid,slidingthephoneacrossthetabletome.“Hemightsurpriseyou.”Ilookeddownatthe
display,andIalmostdidn’t
believethewords.RyderCrosswascallingme.“You’dbettergetthat,”
Wesleysaid,stillgrinning.Hestoodupandleftmealoneinthediningroomas,withshakinghands,Iclickedthebuttontoanswer.“H-Hello?”Ichokedout.“Hey,Sonny.”Itwashis
voice.Itwassoftand
nervous,butitwashisvoice.Theweightinmychest
easedalittle.Ididn’tknowwhathewasgoingtosay.Hemightstillbemad,butifhewascallingme,itwasbecausehewantedtotalk.AndIhadbeensoscaredI’dnevertalktohimagain.ItfeltlikeI’dfinallygaspedforairafterholdingmybreathfor
toolong.“Sonny?”hesaidagain
whenIdidn’tanswer.“This…thisisSonny,right?”“Yeah,”Isaid.Myvoice
crackedandIclearedmythroat.“Yeah.It’sreallymethistime.”
ItwouldbealietosayIdidthisonmyown.Thetruthis,therehavebeenseveralamazingpeoplehelpingtoshepherdthisbookintoexistence,andIwanttotakeamomenttothankthem.Thankyoutomyeditor,
JodyCorbett,whoputso
muchtimeandenergyintomakingthisstorythebestitcouldbe.Thankyoutomyagent,JoannaVolpe,whohadfaithinthisstoryevenwhenitwasjustahalf-formedideamentionedovercoffee.AndtothewholeNewLeafLiteraryandScholasticteams—therearenowordsforhowhappyandhonoredIamto
workwithallofyou.SpecialthankstoPhoebe
North,wholovedthisstoryevenwhenIdidn’t.ToAmyLukavics,whoconstantlymakesmefeellikearockstar.AndtoLisaDesrochers,whomademelaughevenwhenIwasfeelingprettydown.I’msoproudtoknowallthreeofyoutalented,
smart,amazingwomen.Thankstoeveryoneinmy
familyforbelievinginmewhilealsokeepingmegrounded.AndspecialthankstoMom,whoisalwaystherewhenIneedher,andDad,whoneverletsmedoubthowproudheis.I’mluckytohaveyouall.Andsincethisisabook
largelyaboutfriendship,Iwouldberemissnottothankmyownbestfriends.ShanaHancock,it’shardtobelieveit’sbeenalmostnineyearssincethatdaywemetinhistoryclass.Wemaybeseveralstatesapart,butIadoreyoujustasmuchnowasIdidthen.GaelynGalbreath,you’retheAnnto
myLeslie,mysoupsnake,andIcan’timaginemylifewithoutyouinit.Thankyoubothforalwaysbeingthereforme.Iloveyousomuch.
KodyKeplingerwasbornandraisedinasmallKentuckytown.Duringhersenioryearofhighschool,shewroteherdebutnovel,TheDUFF,whichwasaYALSATopTenQuickPickforReluctantReadersandaRomanticTimesTopPick.Ithassince
beenadaptedintoamajormotionpicture.KodyisalsotheauthorofShutOutandAMidsummer’sNightmare,aswellasthemiddle-gradenovelTheSwiftBoys&Me.Currently,KodylivesinNewYorkCity,wheresheteacheswritingworkshopsandcontinuestowritebooksforkidsandteens.Youcanfind
moreaboutherandherbooksatwww.kodykeplinger.com.
Copyright©2015byKodyKeplingerAllrightsreserved.PublishedbyScholasticPress,animprintofScholasticInc.,Publisherssince1920.SCHOLASTIC,SCHOLASTICPRESS,andassociatedlogosaretrademarksand/orregisteredtrademarksofScholasticInc.
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pagescmSummary:HighschoolseniorSonnyArdmoreisanaccomplishedliar,whousesliestotryandcontrolherout-of-controllife,whichhasbeenfurthercomplicatedbythefactthatsheissecretlystayingeverynightinherbestfriendAmy’shousebecauseshehasbeenkickedoutby
herownmother—butwhenshegetsintoanonlineconversationwiththestuck-upnewboyRyder,whohasacrushonAmy,shefindsherselfcaughtupinonelietoomany.ISBN978-0-545-83109-31.Truthfulnessandfalsehood—Juvenilefiction.2.Bestfriends—Juvenile
fiction.3.Interpersonalrelations—Juvenilefiction.4.Dating(Socialcustoms)—Juvenilefiction.[1.Honesty—Fiction.2.Bestfriends—Fiction.3.Friendship—Fiction.4.Interpersonalrelations—Fiction.5.Dating(Socialcustoms)—Fiction.]I.Title.PZ7.K439Ly2015
813.6—dc23[Fic]
2015000487Firstedition,May2015CoverdesignbyYaffaJaskollCoverphotograph©2015byMichaelFrostCoverphotos©Corbis:lockers(MikeKemp/Rubberball),floor
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