Chapter 1 #3
Julia smiled down at the ground. At his white high-tops. Someone had written Wyatt is cool :) on the sidewall of his Nikes.
Wyatt bounced on the swing like he was testing the chain, then kicked himself back, so he’d swing just a little.
Julia ran her hands over her hair, tucking it behind her ears. She peeked over at him. She should probably say something . . . “Did you get in a fight with your friends?”
Wyatt frowned. (She should have said something else; Chloe said Julia was terrible at small talk.) “I was hoping you hadn’t seen that,” he said.
“I couldn’t really help it,” Julia said hesitantly. “You guys were blocking my view.”
He twisted his swing to grin at her. “Oh, sorry about that. Did you miss something important? I could probably sum it up for you.”
Julia smiled again, relieved that she hadn’t offended him.
Wyatt let his swing right itself and kicked it back into motion.
Julia didn’t have the sort of crush on Wyatt Hardy that meant she’d yearned for him all summer. But it was good to see him again. His big, warm smile and his crinkly brown eyes. His wavy dark hair.
Wyatt looked a little more solid than he had last year. Like his neck was thicker. (Could your neck get thicker?) And his skin looked like it had cleared up. It had never looked that bad—only someone who watched him as much as Julia did would notice the difference.
“We weren’t exactly fighting,” he said. “You know how it is . . .” He glanced over at her. “I mean, maybe you don’t. You probably don’t have irritating friends.”
Julia’s hand was in her hair, twisting a curl between her fingers. She froze. Did he mean that she probably didn’t have that many friends, period? Because that was true. Did he know that was true? Did he know her?
She started twisting her hair again. “If they’re irritating,” she said, “why are you friends?”
“That’s the million-dollar question,” Wyatt said, stopping his swing. “They’re not usually this irritating—at least, I don’t think they are. This is the first time we’ve hung out all summer. Everything feels a little off.”
Julia would have guessed that the popular kids did fun, popular-kid things together all summer. Pool parties and road trips. “Were you avoiding them?”
“Nah, I was in Michigan.”
“Michigan?”
“Staying with my uncle. He was teaching me how to build stone fireplaces.”
She planted her foot so her swing would turn her toward him. The chains crossed in front of her face. “Is that what you want to do? Build stone fireplaces?”
Wyatt was already turned toward her. He laughed. “No.”
She laughed, too, making a confused face.
“It was my mom’s idea,” he said. “I think she wanted some space.”
“Wow. I can’t even imagine that—my mom can’t tolerate space. I’m surprised she lets me go to school.”
Wyatt was smiling still. “No wonder I’ve never seen you here before.”
Did he mean Julia? Here? Or did he mean . . .
He tilted his head toward the cars. “Are your parents here?”
“No. I came with a friend.”
“So you do have irritating friends . . .”
“She’s not irritating,” Julia said. It came out defensive.
“She must be,” he said, “or you wouldn’t be sitting back here by yourself.”
Julia shook her head. She refused to throw Chloe under the bus, even anonymously. “It’s not that. It’s— She’s with her boyfriend. I’m tagging along. I was in the back seat.”
“Ahhh,” Wyatt said meaningfully.
Julia hoped he couldn’t see her blushing.
He smiled at her. “You know,” he said, “when we all started coming out here, my mom didn’t want me to go because she said it was a ‘passion pit.’ But I come with, like, twelve people, and we all sit in the back of Coty’s—my friend Coty’s—truck.”
Julia knew Coty.
“There’s no passion,” Wyatt said. “Nobody ever even shuts up.”
Julia shook her head. “Does nobody come here to watch the movie?”
“I watch the movie.”
“Is this you watching the movie?”
Wyatt snorted out a laugh. “Okay, touché.” He let his swing go, and it spun forward and rocked from side to side.
Julia let her swing go, too. She was blushing again.
Of course she’d spoken to Wyatt Hardy before. But she’d never really talked to him. She’d never made him laugh.
He really must not recognize her . . .
She should say something. Something like—I didn’t know that Coty Christensen had a truck.
And Wyatt would say, How do you know Coty?
And she’d say, Wyatt, it’s me, Julia, from AP World History.
And he’d say, Julia? Or maybe, Julia who?
And she’d say, I cut my hair.
And then he’d really look at her—and he’d finally see it. That she was plain old Julia Kimball. Not some exotic girl from a different school, some swing-set fairy. And he’d go back to his popular friends and be grateful for them.
“Am I actually bothering you?” Wyatt asked.
“No,” Julia said softly.
“Because I could let you watch the movie.”
“I’ve already missed too much.”
“You are going to be so confused during Jurassic Park 2.”
They both laughed.
Julia wasn’t obligated to tell Wyatt who she was . . .
You didn’t have to introduce yourself to someone you already knew. That wasn’t etiquette.
Julia wasn’t lying. She was just letting him believe his own eyes.
“Are you staying for the second movie?” Wyatt asked. It was a double feature—Jurassic Park and The Lost World.
“Do people really do that?”
“Heck yeah. I mean . . .” He shrugged. “A lot of people do fall asleep. I usually get more out of the second movie than the first one.”
“Oh god,” Julia said. “I’m going to be stuck on this swing for three hours.”
“Excuse me,” someone said.
There was a woman standing next to the swing set with two grade-schoolers. She looked fed up. “These little guys have been waiting for their turn.”
They couldn’t have been waiting that long; Wyatt had just sat down.
He was already standing up. “Sorry about that. Here you go.”
Julia stood up, too.
“The swing set is meant for little kids,” the woman said. “Not teenagers.”
“Yeah,” Wyatt said, walking away. “Have a good night.”
Julia followed him. “I’m not going to keep little kids off the swings,” she said quietly, “but it’s not like teenagers aren’t allowed to swing . . .”
“Teenagers aren’t welcome anywhere in public,” Wyatt said matter-of-factly. “It’s why we’re depressed—we don’t have any ‘third spaces.’ I gave a whole speech about it in forensics.”
“You should have given that lady your speech.”
He was rubbing the back of his neck again. “You’d be surprised how rarely people want to listen to speeches.”
Both the picnic tables were full of middle-schoolers. Julia looked out at the cars. “Guess I’ll head back to the passion pit.”
“Yeah . . .” Wyatt was looking over at her. “You could come sit with us, if you want.”
With his friends from school. Who would definitely recognize her. Julia had known Coty Christensen since kindergarten. (If none of them recognized her, this would all feel like a nightmare. Proof that no one around Julia ever looked at her twice.)
“Or . . .” Wyatt pointed up toward the front of the lot. “There are some benches up there. They’re more like logs. We could go see if they’re free?” He looked at her—then laughed, like he was embarrassed. “You’re making a face. It’s okay. We don’t have to.”
Julia was making a face because she couldn’t believe he was trying to prolong his time with her. (Could a haircut really be this powerful? Was Chloe right about lip tint?) Julia herself wasn’t brave or bold enough to keep this encounter going.
But Wyatt Hardy wasn’t asking Julia . . .
“That sounds good,” Not-Julia said. (The mysterious girl with the curly hair and raspberry-pink lips said.) “Let’s do that.”
Wyatt grinned. “Yeah. Let’s do that. Follow me.”
They walked to the edge of the parking area, then up toward the front. The drive-in was fenced in on one side, and there was a soybean field on the other. They were walking on the gravel driveway between the cars and the soybeans. It was getting darker as they walked.
“The benches are just up here,” Wyatt said. “At least they were . . .”
Julia stumbled over a railroad tie set in the gravel. Wyatt grabbed her elbow. “Okay?”
“Yeah,” she said.
“Let me take that popcorn.” He took her drink, too.
Julia felt like she was walking fully into the dark. She couldn’t see as well with her contacts as she could with her glasses.
“Here they are,” Wyatt said. “You see them?”
There were a few long benches sitting in the weeds next to the field. They were made out of split logs and sat low to the ground. “I see them.”
Wyatt waited for her to sit down. “You good?”
“Yeah,” she said.
He sat down next to her. (Right next to her. Not even a foot away.)
“It’s actually a pretty good view,” Julia said, smoothing down the back of her hair. They were a little far to one side, but she could still see the whole movie screen.
Wyatt laughed. “Oh my god, we can’t hear it. I didn’t even think about that.”
Julia hadn’t noticed—and it didn’t matter to her even a little bit. “You can sort of hear . . .” she said. If they were quiet, the dialogue sounded like it was coming from the next room.
“Sort of,” Wyatt agreed.
“I think it’s okay. Jurassic Park works as a silent movie.”
Wyatt looked thoughtful. “I think you’re right.” He relaxed a little. “I wish I would have taken my share of the popcorn when I stomped away from my friends.”
“You can have the rest of mine,” Julia said. “Oh, and I have candy.”
He looked at her. “Where are you hiding candy?”
She was already digging it out of her jacket pocket. “Your choice: Twizzlers or Sour Patch Kids. I was supposed to bring them back to my friend.”
Wyatt took the Twizzlers. “That’s what she gets for being rude.”
“She isn’t rude. Don’t say that.”
He opened the package and held it out to her. She shook her head.
He put a piece of licorice between his molars and pulled it away until it snapped. “It’s rude for her to get down with her boyfriend while you’re trapped in the back seat.”