the answers .
Girls were always waiting patiently, hoping to do things for him. They were everywhere. After football practice by his car, at his locker between classes. Even at his house, sipping beer with Earl and anticipating the moment when Trip or Zane would grace them with a wink, a smile, a kiss—and they would do anything for it.
Shelby and I used to laugh at these girls as we sat on Trip’s couch, where we were more than welcome because Trip and Zane had invited us to hang out—not because we were doing their homework and waiting for them to give us something in return.
He smiles at me again, daring me to tell him no again . When Trip Chapman smiles at you, there are fireworks, and I can still hear them. But it’s different now. Thenoises might be just as loud, but it’s not as colorful, not as bright, not as enchanting. And without all that, fireworks are just explosions. They’re just a racket.
“I need your help, Aubrey,” Trip asks. “Will you help me?”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
M onday nights are the best. Yes, Mondays suck, but the dark cloud that is Monday has a silver lining in that Monday night is the night my friends and I always get together to watch our favorite show, Mercy Rose . It’s about a group of teenagers in the small town of—you guessed it—Mercy Rose. It’s a total soap opera loaded with scandal and betrayal, just the way we like it.
This Monday we’re at my house because my parents are going on a date— vile , I know—but we always try to gather at the house that is parentless so we can curse freely, drink if we want, and shout obscenities every time our favorite character, Jude, takes off his shirt.
Danica, Melissa, and I are discussing whether or not we think Scarlet will die from her mysterious, possibly life-threatening disease, and who we think should get her current boyfriend, Jude, if she does, when Shelby arrives holding a package of Oreos.
“If they drag out Scarlet’s death any longer, I’m going to die,” Shelby says, plopping onto the couch next to me.
“Right!” we all agree. Enough is enough. Scarlet has been crying and coughing for the last three episodes.
“You girls actually like this show?” my mother says, having overheard.
“It’s brilliant,” we all say at nearly the same time. This makes even my mother laugh.
My father walks past her, holding up his keys. This is his way of saying he’s ready to go.
“Enjoy Macy Rows ! Good night, girls.” He waves at us with one hand and uses the other to usher my mother out the door. He never gets the title of the show right. Sometimes I think he does it on purpose to make us laugh, which it always does.
The second we hear the garage door close, Gregory and Jason come bounding into the living room. They’re scared of my friends, probably of girls in general, and my friends give them yet another reason to be afraid when they squeal, “Hi, boys!” and “Cute pj’s!” Gregory and Jason put up with this for one reason—we have junk food and they want some.
“Are you surviving middle school?” Melissa asks Gregory. She’s asked him this every time she’s seen him since he started sixth grade this year. He always nods vigorously, and I almost wonder if he understands that middle school really does take surviving . It was a brutal time, even I’ll admit. Awkward growth spurts, shiny noses, overactive sweat glands.
“Gregory is resilient,” Shelby says. She’s got my mother’s large orange mixing bowls out and is filling them with chips and Oreos for my brothers. “Do you still have that scar?”
Gregory rolls his eyes slightly, but he’s grinning as he pulls back the sleeve of his pajamas to show Shelby the long white scar traveling from his wrist to his elbow, from the day he broke his arm.
“Scars are permanent, Shelby,” Jason says quietly, looking at the ground. He, too, is grinning a little, like he thinks Shelby is silly.
“You don’t say,” Shelby says. She hands them
Girls were always waiting patiently, hoping to do things for him. They were everywhere. After football practice by his car, at his locker between classes. Even at his house, sipping beer with Earl and anticipating the moment when Trip or Zane would grace them with a wink, a smile, a kiss—and they would do anything for it.
Shelby and I used to laugh at these girls as we sat on Trip’s couch, where we were more than welcome because Trip and Zane had invited us to hang out—not because we were doing their homework and waiting for them to give us something in return.
He smiles at me again, daring me to tell him no again . When Trip Chapman smiles at you, there are fireworks, and I can still hear them. But it’s different now. Thenoises might be just as loud, but it’s not as colorful, not as bright, not as enchanting. And without all that, fireworks are just explosions. They’re just a racket.
“I need your help, Aubrey,” Trip asks. “Will you help me?”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
M onday nights are the best. Yes, Mondays suck, but the dark cloud that is Monday has a silver lining in that Monday night is the night my friends and I always get together to watch our favorite show, Mercy Rose . It’s about a group of teenagers in the small town of—you guessed it—Mercy Rose. It’s a total soap opera loaded with scandal and betrayal, just the way we like it.
This Monday we’re at my house because my parents are going on a date— vile , I know—but we always try to gather at the house that is parentless so we can curse freely, drink if we want, and shout obscenities every time our favorite character, Jude, takes off his shirt.
Danica, Melissa, and I are discussing whether or not we think Scarlet will die from her mysterious, possibly life-threatening disease, and who we think should get her current boyfriend, Jude, if she does, when Shelby arrives holding a package of Oreos.
“If they drag out Scarlet’s death any longer, I’m going to die,” Shelby says, plopping onto the couch next to me.
“Right!” we all agree. Enough is enough. Scarlet has been crying and coughing for the last three episodes.
“You girls actually like this show?” my mother says, having overheard.
“It’s brilliant,” we all say at nearly the same time. This makes even my mother laugh.
My father walks past her, holding up his keys. This is his way of saying he’s ready to go.
“Enjoy Macy Rows ! Good night, girls.” He waves at us with one hand and uses the other to usher my mother out the door. He never gets the title of the show right. Sometimes I think he does it on purpose to make us laugh, which it always does.
The second we hear the garage door close, Gregory and Jason come bounding into the living room. They’re scared of my friends, probably of girls in general, and my friends give them yet another reason to be afraid when they squeal, “Hi, boys!” and “Cute pj’s!” Gregory and Jason put up with this for one reason—we have junk food and they want some.
“Are you surviving middle school?” Melissa asks Gregory. She’s asked him this every time she’s seen him since he started sixth grade this year. He always nods vigorously, and I almost wonder if he understands that middle school really does take surviving . It was a brutal time, even I’ll admit. Awkward growth spurts, shiny noses, overactive sweat glands.
“Gregory is resilient,” Shelby says. She’s got my mother’s large orange mixing bowls out and is filling them with chips and Oreos for my brothers. “Do you still have that scar?”
Gregory rolls his eyes slightly, but he’s grinning as he pulls back the sleeve of his pajamas to show Shelby the long white scar traveling from his wrist to his elbow, from the day he broke his arm.
“Scars are permanent, Shelby,” Jason says quietly, looking at the ground. He, too, is grinning a little, like he thinks Shelby is silly.
“You don’t say,” Shelby says. She hands them
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