Chapter Eight #2
“Uh, no,” I whisper back. “I’m driving. You can get your own donuts.”
Collin grumbles, “How can I? I don’t have a car.”
“Yes, you do,” I taunt him with a bratty smile. “You just can’t drive.”
“Funny,” he gripes, not appreciating my humor.
Iarrive the next morning with breakfast sandwiches that Magda was kind enough to make and to-go cups of coffee.
“You are the best,” Collin declares from the back seat.
“You didn’t have to walk to Collin’s,” I tell Jonathan as he buckles his seatbelt. “I could’ve driven to your house to get you.”
“This is fine. You’re already going out of your way,” he says. “I should be able to drive in a week, I think. Shifting shouldn’t be a problem.”
“Really?” I ask, knowing nothing about dislocated shoulders. Should I have looked it up, or is that overstepping?
“Yeah. I only have to wear the brace until I go back to get it checked by the doctor on Monday. Then I’ll have physical therapy to work it back to full range of motion. Just can’t move it around too much or lift anything in the meantime.”
“Oh,” I say, a little disappointed that the rides to school are already coming to an end.
“You can still pick me up,” Collin declares. “As long as you keep bringing these sandwiches. They’re amazing.”
I glance at him in the rearview mirror. “How many did you eat? They weren’t both for you!”
He looks guilty. “Well, they were good.” He offers Jonathan a half-eaten one. Jonathan declines with a raised hand. “Sorry, man.” Collin finishes the second sandwich off with a couple of bites.
I roll my eyes.
Is that what you’re wearing for your first date?” Danika asks while we walk to gym together.
“Is it bad? I wasn’t sure what to wear. I should’ve asked.
But I didn’t. And he’s just wearing jeans and a T-shirt.
I feel overdressed, but we’re leaving right after school.
How am I supposed to dress for a surprise?
Surprise could mean anything. And I don’t have a section in my closet that says wear for anything. ”
“Did you breathe at all during that entire freak-out?” Danika laughs. “You look pretty.”
Jonathan said the same thing after I took off my jacket when we arrived at school.
His exact words were, “Wow, you look really pretty.” He sounded surprised, like he didn’t realize I was pretty until today.
What does that mean? He only liked me for my personality before today? Is that good? I can’t decide.
I play with the cuff of my chiffon peasant blouse that’s tucked into tweed shorts.
I haven’t worn tights outside of ballet since I was a kid, but it’s too cold for bare legs, and it makes the outfit look more sophisticated with the lace-up boots.
I nearly forgot I had these shorts until I dug through my closet.
Not everything makes it onto a hanger, and I’m always discovering clothes my mother bought for me.
I prefer cultivating my eclectic, bohemian style by scouring vintage shops.
I know I promised I’d organize my room if my mom didn’t catch Jonathan hiding under my bed, but that’s going to take an entire weekend. Or several weekends. I keep telling her to stop buying me clothes I’ll never wear—until she makes me wear them at some ridiculous event.
“Want to come over before the showcase tomorrow and help organize my closet?” I ask Danika with an exaggerated, toothy smile and a flutter of lashes.
“Your closet scares me,” Danika says, not at all swayed.
“I’ll let you have whatever you want that still has tags on it.” If I’m left to organize it on my own, it’ll never get done.
This gets her attention. “Maybe. But only if you’ll stay over Livvy’s after… and not look at your phone the entire time.”
Why is she forcing Livvy on me all of a sudden? We’ve spent our entire lives being cordially ambivalent to each other. What makes this year different?
“I guess,” I reply without enthusiasm.
“I think you’ll really like her if you give her a chance,” Danika says, holding the locker room door open for me to enter. The scent of perfume, hairspray and sweaty sports equipment assaults me. I crinkle my nose. I hate gym. “How are you not friends already? She lives so close to you.”
There are reasons. First being, she’s never invited me until now. It feels too hard to put words around. So I don’t try.
We’re supposed to be playing badminton. Danika and I are partners.
There are more teams than nets—we shuffle around the gym, looking like we’re waiting to play the winner, but never actually make it onto a court.
I can’t afford to get sweaty or mess up my hair even a little.
This date is more important than badminton.
“Um… how did you know about the video camera and the footage at the construction site?” I ask Danika while sitting on the bottom row of the bleachers. I meant to ask her last night when I called, but she was too upset over an argument she had with Oren, so it didn’t feel right to bring it up.
“Luther Garrett’s my uncle. He’s kinda a dick,” she tells me.
Did I know he was her uncle? I feel like I should know this, but it doesn’t come up as known in my brain.
“He was complaining to my mom about it. She had him on speaker while she was making dinner. He thought about pressing charges for trespassing, but my mom talked him out of it, considering the guy broke his arm. She said that was punishment enough for doing something so stupid.”
“Oh,” I reply. “I guess it’s a good thing Jonathan’s father’s so paranoid about people stealing from his job sites.”
“I guess. It did clear his son.”
“Why would Jonathan be accused to begin with?”
“The guy probably heard about the Greenfield players showing up at the party and blamed the fight for his arm getting broken. And Jonathan’s the first to be blamed when it comes to fights.”
“That’s awful.” And that’s exactly how I feel for questioning whether he’s telling the truth about the fight and everything else. Just as bad as the people spreading rumors about him.
“The jackass doesn’t sound like the poster boy for morality if he’s hopping gates to trespass.”
“True.” I lean my shoulder against hers. “Are you and Oren okay?”
“For now,” she says with a sigh. “I don’t want to spend my senior year arguing with my boyfriend about why I don’t spend every free minute with him.
He needs to give me space to be with my friends.
Smothering me is not going to work, so he better get over it real quick—or he’ll have to get over me when I dump him. ”
I blink. Wow. And here I am, worried that Jonathan never thought I was pretty before today. Seems so petty in comparison. Guess I need to redefine self-respect with my reflection.