the crown of her head, athletic sneakers on her feet like possibly she was planning to run on back to Arizona right after this meeting. “It’s just something to consider, for next year.”
I found Patrick in the parking lot after last period, waiting for me in the driver’s seat of the Bronco. There was an old county law on the books that said kids could get their licenses six months ahead of everyone else if their parents needed their help with farm work, and because of the way the Donnellys’ house was zoned, all three of them got to drive way before everyone else did. Gabe usually drove us anyway, ’cause he was oldest, but Gabe was getting a ride with his sort-of-girlfriend, Sophie, and Julia had cheer practice until quarter of five. Tuesdays always worked that way, me and Patrick alone for the ride. Tuesdays were my favorite.
He was listening to Mumford with his head tipped back against the worn leather seat when I opened the door, afternoon sun making patterns on his smooth, April-tanned face. He kissed me hello with two hands on my face, familiar and good. “Whatcha got?” he asked when I handed him the pamphlet, curious gray eyes flicking from it to me and back again. His expression clouded over as I explained.
“Wow,” he said when I was finished. He handed the pamphlet back to me, glancing briefly over his shoulder and shifting the Bronco into reverse. “I—wow.”
“It’s weird, right?”
“Uh-huh.” Patrick laughed a little. “It’s
really
weird.”
“It is?” I asked, stung even though I was the one who’d said it first. “Oh.”
“No, I don’t mean because you’re not a fast runner, I just mean—wait,” Patrick said, looking at me again before turning out of the student lot. The wrapper from Julia’s before-school granola bar crinkled under my feet. “Do you want to go?”
“I don’t know.” I shrugged, wishing all of a sudden, and weirdly, that I hadn’t told him. I’d never felt like that before with Patrick. Every thought I had spilled out more or less constantly whenever he was around, practically since I knew how to talk. It was strange and disorienting, like stepping on a piece of broken curb. “No. I mean, I don’t think so. No.”
“What is it, like, a Hogwarts place? You live in the woods with a bunch of other girls, who make you do hazing rituals with virgin blood?”
“It’s not Hogwarts.” That chafed me a little, truthfully. It wasn’t like him to be so hugely dismissive—or okay, it
was
, but not when I was the person he was talking to. I was the one he listened to, who spoke his language. “We live in the woods anyway,” I pointed out, ignoring the bit about the hazing—and the bit about the virgins—and picking at a loose plastic seam on the interior door of the Bronco. It was rare for me to sit up in the front, since usually Julia called shottie and Patrick and I crowded into the back. “I think this place is in the desert. Whatever, I don’t know. You’re right; it’s dumb. Forget I said anything.”
We were stopped at a red light then—Patrick reached across the front seat, poked me gently in the thigh. “Mols,” he said, looking at me like I was yanking his chain, like he thought I was trying to shake his hand with a joy buzzer or get him to sit on a whoopee cushion, offering him one of those pieces of gum that turn your teeth black. “Hey, talk to me. Do you want to go?”
“No,” I repeated stubbornly. “I don’t, I just—I don’t like you talking like it’s not even a possibility, you know?”
“But it’s
not
a possibility,” Patrick countered, looking honestly confused. “Right?”
Right?
I’m only just thinking about it
,
I wanted to tell him.
It’s nice that somebody wants me for something. Sometimes I get afraid that you and me are too attached.
I looked at him across the car for a moment, laced my fingers through his, and squeezed. “Right,” I said. The light turned green, and Patrick went.
*
He
I found Patrick in the parking lot after last period, waiting for me in the driver’s seat of the Bronco. There was an old county law on the books that said kids could get their licenses six months ahead of everyone else if their parents needed their help with farm work, and because of the way the Donnellys’ house was zoned, all three of them got to drive way before everyone else did. Gabe usually drove us anyway, ’cause he was oldest, but Gabe was getting a ride with his sort-of-girlfriend, Sophie, and Julia had cheer practice until quarter of five. Tuesdays always worked that way, me and Patrick alone for the ride. Tuesdays were my favorite.
He was listening to Mumford with his head tipped back against the worn leather seat when I opened the door, afternoon sun making patterns on his smooth, April-tanned face. He kissed me hello with two hands on my face, familiar and good. “Whatcha got?” he asked when I handed him the pamphlet, curious gray eyes flicking from it to me and back again. His expression clouded over as I explained.
“Wow,” he said when I was finished. He handed the pamphlet back to me, glancing briefly over his shoulder and shifting the Bronco into reverse. “I—wow.”
“It’s weird, right?”
“Uh-huh.” Patrick laughed a little. “It’s
really
weird.”
“It is?” I asked, stung even though I was the one who’d said it first. “Oh.”
“No, I don’t mean because you’re not a fast runner, I just mean—wait,” Patrick said, looking at me again before turning out of the student lot. The wrapper from Julia’s before-school granola bar crinkled under my feet. “Do you want to go?”
“I don’t know.” I shrugged, wishing all of a sudden, and weirdly, that I hadn’t told him. I’d never felt like that before with Patrick. Every thought I had spilled out more or less constantly whenever he was around, practically since I knew how to talk. It was strange and disorienting, like stepping on a piece of broken curb. “No. I mean, I don’t think so. No.”
“What is it, like, a Hogwarts place? You live in the woods with a bunch of other girls, who make you do hazing rituals with virgin blood?”
“It’s not Hogwarts.” That chafed me a little, truthfully. It wasn’t like him to be so hugely dismissive—or okay, it
was
, but not when I was the person he was talking to. I was the one he listened to, who spoke his language. “We live in the woods anyway,” I pointed out, ignoring the bit about the hazing—and the bit about the virgins—and picking at a loose plastic seam on the interior door of the Bronco. It was rare for me to sit up in the front, since usually Julia called shottie and Patrick and I crowded into the back. “I think this place is in the desert. Whatever, I don’t know. You’re right; it’s dumb. Forget I said anything.”
We were stopped at a red light then—Patrick reached across the front seat, poked me gently in the thigh. “Mols,” he said, looking at me like I was yanking his chain, like he thought I was trying to shake his hand with a joy buzzer or get him to sit on a whoopee cushion, offering him one of those pieces of gum that turn your teeth black. “Hey, talk to me. Do you want to go?”
“No,” I repeated stubbornly. “I don’t, I just—I don’t like you talking like it’s not even a possibility, you know?”
“But it’s
not
a possibility,” Patrick countered, looking honestly confused. “Right?”
Right?
I’m only just thinking about it
,
I wanted to tell him.
It’s nice that somebody wants me for something. Sometimes I get afraid that you and me are too attached.
I looked at him across the car for a moment, laced my fingers through his, and squeezed. “Right,” I said. The light turned green, and Patrick went.
*
He
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