The Life of Glass by Jillian Cantor Page B

hop in the shiny blue rental car I’d seen in the driveway on my way out and come get us.
    “My dad is going to kill me,” Ryan said.
    Mr. Thomason was a tall and serious-looking man whom I rarely ever saw smile, and there was something about him that always scared me just a little bit. “I’mgoing to call my aunt,” I said. I dialed my home number; it rang five times and I got the voice mail. So I called back two more times, until she finally picked up. “McAllister residence,” she said in this short and formal way that sounded nothing like how any of us ever would’ve answered the phone.
    “It’s me,” I said. “Melissa.”
    “Your mom’s not back yet, and neither is Ashley.”
    “I know.” I paused, considering how to ask her. “Can you come pick me up?”
    “Pick you up? Where are you?”
    I told her.
    “Okay,” she said. And she hung up. No argument. No questions.
     
    While we waited, Ryan and I sat on the ground next to our bikes in silence for a few minutes. His breathing had slowed back to normal, but his face was still red and flushed. “You mad?” I finally said.
    He shook his head. “Well,” he said, “maybe a little.” He paused. “What are you doing here anyway? What’s with this whole Sally Bedford thing?”
    “She’s someone my dad knew.”
    He frowned. “Knew how?”
    I shrugged. “I don’t know. That’s what I’m trying to find out.”
    “Mel…”
    “What?”
    “Nothing. Just forget it.”
    “No,” I said, suddenly on the verge of crying. “Just say it. I’m crazy. This is ridiculous.” I sucked in my breath a little bit and willed myself not to cry. “I’m sorry, but I am not perfect, like Courtney. I’m not beautiful. I worry about things. I didn’t get a new dog and a pink bedroom to help me forget.” That last part was mean and I knew it, but still, I didn’t feel like apologizing.
    He was quiet and looking down at his shoes, and when he finally said something, it was barely louder than a whisper. “I was just going to say that you might find something out that you don’t want to know, ya know?”
    I knew he was thinking about his mother and the gardener, because that’s the way Ryan sometimes saw the world: all black or white or good or bad.
    “I know,” I said.
    He looked at me. “I can help you if you want. But I just don’t want you to get hurt.” He put his arm around me and pulled me toward him in a sort of half hug, and despite the fact that we were both sweating, I wanted tolean into him, wanted to let him hold on to me.
    “I’m sorry,” I said.
    “You are crazy.”
    “Shut up.” I elbowed him and he laughed. “Don’t tell Courtney though, okay? I just don’t want her to make this into some whole big thing.”
    At the mention of Courtney he pulled his arm away and stood a little farther away from me. “Okay,” he said. “Our secret.”
     
    My aunt didn’t say anything until after we dropped Ryan off at his house. “That your boyfriend?” she said.
    “No. I told you. I don’t have a boyfriend. Just a boy. Just a friend.”
    She nodded. “Sure. I had one of those when I was your age. Frank.”
    “You were friends with Uncle Frank when you were in high school?”
    “I was hopelessly in love with him.” She laughed. “But I think he always wanted to date your mother. Of course, everyone always wanted to date your mother.” She laughed again, but she didn’t sound bitter, not the way I sometimes felt about everyone thinking Ashley was beautiful and thinking I was an imp.
    “Well, that’s not the way it is with me and Ryan,” I said. “I mean I’m not hopelessly in love with him or anything.”
    “Okay.”
    “Really. And besides, he has a girlfriend.”
    She nodded. “I believe you.”
    “Good.”
    She parked the car in the driveway; I got my bike out of the trunk and we went in.
    My mother was sitting in the kitchen. “Oh, you two. There you are. I couldn’t imagine where you’d gone.” She was waiting for