started packing up, tossing things in his backpack like dirty laundry in a
basket. The lack of organization just about killed me. So did all his charm. Or lack there of . I mean,
everything he got from girls, he got with charm. Me, he bullied.
“So, what time do you want to get together tomorrow?”
He’d told me he was serious, but this was out of control.
When was I supposed to have a life?
The last two days flashed through my head. They consisted of
pining over my ex-boyfriend, being a third-wheel with Amy and Luke, and trying
to hold things together…something I hadn’t struggled with since watching Chris
awkwardly page through a textbook like he’d never seen one before.
He was better than an accessory. He was a distraction.
“How about after lunch?”
“Sure. Sounds good.” He glanced at
the clock on the microwave and pulled his backpack on. “See you tomorrow.”
I walked him back to the front door and threw it shut behind
him. Climbing the stairs, I noticed the crack of light from my mom’s room as
she shouted out to me.
“Honey, what time is Chris leaving?”
“He just left, Mom.”
Her door opened and she peeked out at me. “He just left? I
didn’t hear a car. Did you let Molly in?”
How parents string all those thoughts together and call us
the unfocused ones is beyond me.
“I let Molly in. And yes, he just left. His mom had his car
earlier.”
Now she was all the way in the hallway, the faded George
Michael T-shirt she slept in crinkled as if she’d been to bed already.
“Rachel, you can’t let that boy walk home at this hour on a
Saturday night. He may get hit by some crazy drunk driver.”
I rolled my eyes. I understand it’s part of the teen code to
do that to your mom at least once every forty-eight hours—even a quasi-cool
mom, like mine. Please ignore the above-described T-shirt.
“I highly doubt he’s going home. We’d be lucky if he wasn’t
throwing a party with half-naked cheerleaders and warm beer at the end of the
driveway.”
“Rachel Ann Wells, you get your butt out there and drive
that boy home. If he wants to go drink himself to death, he can do it after
checking in with his own mother.”
This was one of those arguments you knew you weren’t going
to win, but you had to put up a good fight so they didn’t think you caved too
easily.
“But Mom—”
“Don’t make me drive him home myself.”
Wow. That was a hugely wrong idea. I glanced down at the short
shorts I’d given her for Christmas as a joke. They said “DIVA” on the ass and
were too short even if they looked good on her…you know, for a mom.
“Fine.”
Chapter
9
I shouldn’t have been surprised to see the reflective strip
across the back of Chris’s backpack going the opposite direction of his house.
Pulling up beside him, I reached across the passenger’s seat and rolled the
window down.
“Hey.”
He glanced my way, a look of relief crossing his face when
he saw me. I found it hard to believe he’d think some random person was trying
to pick him up on the side of the road. Glancing away from the street and at
him again, I rethought that idea and wondered if being that good-looking might be a little bit of a pain in the rear.
“Where ya going?” I asked when I didn’t get a “hey” back.
He just kept walking, without another glance my way. It
seemed like he might want me to go away, but I couldn’t be sure. The more time
I spent around Chris, the more I realized he was a little odd.
“Chris?”
He stopped and I drove by him, surprised by the move.
Throwing the car into park, I pulled myself through my window and sat on the
ledge, watching him across the roof.
“Where are you going?” I asked again.
He stood there, his head tipped toward the moon, weight
shifted back on one leg as he ran his fingers through his hair. His head
lowered and he met my gaze straight on. It felt heavy. Important.
He crossed the white stripe edging the side of the road
basket. The lack of organization just about killed me. So did all his charm. Or lack there of . I mean,
everything he got from girls, he got with charm. Me, he bullied.
“So, what time do you want to get together tomorrow?”
He’d told me he was serious, but this was out of control.
When was I supposed to have a life?
The last two days flashed through my head. They consisted of
pining over my ex-boyfriend, being a third-wheel with Amy and Luke, and trying
to hold things together…something I hadn’t struggled with since watching Chris
awkwardly page through a textbook like he’d never seen one before.
He was better than an accessory. He was a distraction.
“How about after lunch?”
“Sure. Sounds good.” He glanced at
the clock on the microwave and pulled his backpack on. “See you tomorrow.”
I walked him back to the front door and threw it shut behind
him. Climbing the stairs, I noticed the crack of light from my mom’s room as
she shouted out to me.
“Honey, what time is Chris leaving?”
“He just left, Mom.”
Her door opened and she peeked out at me. “He just left? I
didn’t hear a car. Did you let Molly in?”
How parents string all those thoughts together and call us
the unfocused ones is beyond me.
“I let Molly in. And yes, he just left. His mom had his car
earlier.”
Now she was all the way in the hallway, the faded George
Michael T-shirt she slept in crinkled as if she’d been to bed already.
“Rachel, you can’t let that boy walk home at this hour on a
Saturday night. He may get hit by some crazy drunk driver.”
I rolled my eyes. I understand it’s part of the teen code to
do that to your mom at least once every forty-eight hours—even a quasi-cool
mom, like mine. Please ignore the above-described T-shirt.
“I highly doubt he’s going home. We’d be lucky if he wasn’t
throwing a party with half-naked cheerleaders and warm beer at the end of the
driveway.”
“Rachel Ann Wells, you get your butt out there and drive
that boy home. If he wants to go drink himself to death, he can do it after
checking in with his own mother.”
This was one of those arguments you knew you weren’t going
to win, but you had to put up a good fight so they didn’t think you caved too
easily.
“But Mom—”
“Don’t make me drive him home myself.”
Wow. That was a hugely wrong idea. I glanced down at the short
shorts I’d given her for Christmas as a joke. They said “DIVA” on the ass and
were too short even if they looked good on her…you know, for a mom.
“Fine.”
Chapter
9
I shouldn’t have been surprised to see the reflective strip
across the back of Chris’s backpack going the opposite direction of his house.
Pulling up beside him, I reached across the passenger’s seat and rolled the
window down.
“Hey.”
He glanced my way, a look of relief crossing his face when
he saw me. I found it hard to believe he’d think some random person was trying
to pick him up on the side of the road. Glancing away from the street and at
him again, I rethought that idea and wondered if being that good-looking might be a little bit of a pain in the rear.
“Where ya going?” I asked when I didn’t get a “hey” back.
He just kept walking, without another glance my way. It
seemed like he might want me to go away, but I couldn’t be sure. The more time
I spent around Chris, the more I realized he was a little odd.
“Chris?”
He stopped and I drove by him, surprised by the move.
Throwing the car into park, I pulled myself through my window and sat on the
ledge, watching him across the roof.
“Where are you going?” I asked again.
He stood there, his head tipped toward the moon, weight
shifted back on one leg as he ran his fingers through his hair. His head
lowered and he met my gaze straight on. It felt heavy. Important.
He crossed the white stripe edging the side of the road
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