Текст книги "My Life Next Door"

Автор книги: Хантли Фитцпатрик

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“Hey,” Jase says neutrally. “It’s hot. Let’s get out of here.”

Daniel has found his way to Nan, looming behind her as she accepts more congratulations. Nan’s beaming so much, the sun pales.

“C’mon, Tim,” Jase repeats. “I’ve got the Bug over by the store. Let’s hit the beach.”

Tim looks back and forth between us, then into the crowd again. Finally, he shrugs and slogs after us, hands stuffed in the pockets of his tux. When we get to the Bug, he insists on crawling into the back, even though the length of his legs makes this ludicrous.

“I’m cool,” he says curtly, waving away my repeated offers of the front seat. “Sit next to lover boy. It’s a crime to keep you guys apart anyway, and I’ve got enough of those on my conscience. I’ll just sit back here and perform a few of the more acrobatic positions in the Kama Sutra. By myself. Sadly.”

The sun’s so hot and high that you’d expect everyone in town to lemming to the beach, but it’s still deserted when Jase, Tim, and I get there.

“Whew,” Jase says. “I’m swimming in my shorts.” He pulls his shirt off and tosses it through the window of the Bug, bending to pull off his sneakers.

I’m about to say I’m going to walk home for my suit when I see Tim fall back into the sand, tuxedo and all, and I’m not going anywhere. Did he buy anything from Troy? Even if he did, when would he have had time to smoke it or take it or whatever?

Jase straightens. “Wanna race?” he calls to Tim.

Tim moves his forearm away from his eyes.

“Hell, yeah. Race. ’Cause you’re an athlete in peak training condition and I’m an out-of-shape fuckup. Let’s definitely race. On the beach. With me in a tux.” He holds up a finger. “No. Second thought, let’s not. I have too many unfair advantages. Wouldn’t want to make you look bad in front of Samantha here.”

Jase kicks at the sand. “Don’t be an ass. I just thought it might help get you out of your head. I run when I’m trying not to think about stuff.”

“No shit?” Tim’s voice is at its most sarcastic. “That works for you? Does running keep your mind off Samantha’s hot body and—”

“If you want me to hit you, man,” Jase interrupts, “you don’t have to be more of a dick than usual. You don’t need to bring Samantha into it.”

Tim drags his arm across his eyes again. I look out at the blue waves. I want to get my suit, but what if Mom’s already there and I get sucked into some political event?

“Alice always keeps suits in the trunk of the car,” Jase tells me, just as my cell phone rings.

“Samantha Reed! Where are you?”

“Um, hi Mom, I—”

Luckily the question is rhetorical because Mom charges ahead. “I looked around at the end of the parade and you were nowhere to be found. Nowhere. I expect this from Tracy, not you—”

“I—”

“Clay and I are taking the Steamboat train upriver. I’m making a speech in Riverhampton, then we’re taking the riverboat back down to the sound to see the fireworks. I wanted you to come along. Where are you?”

Tim’s methodically taking off his cummerbund and bow tie. Jase leans against the Bug, bending one ankle, then the other, to his thighs, stretching out. I scrunch my eyes shut. “With Nan,” I say, leaping off a precipice of hope that Nan’s not standing right there next to Mom.

Thank God, her voice softens. “She was wonderful today, wasn’t she? A perfect lead-in to my speech. What?” she calls, muffled, to someone in the background. “The train’s leaving, honey. I’ll be home about ten. Check in with Tracy. I’m coming, Clay! Be good, sweetheart. See you later.”

“Everything good?” Jase asks.

“Just Mom,” I tell him, frowning. “I can find a suit where?”

He flips open the front hatch of the Bug. “I don’t know whether they’ll—well, Alice kind of…” He looks chagrined, and I’m wondering why, but then my cell beeps again.

“Samantha! Samantha!” Nan shouts. “Can you hear me?”

“Gotcha.”

She continues yelling, as though that will help. “I’m on my cell, but I have to talk fast. Tim’s used all my minutes again! Daniel’s taking me out on his parents’ boat. Can you hear me? My reception stinks!”

I bellow that I can, hoping it’ll go through.

“TELL MY PARENTS I’M WITH YOU,” she hollers. “OKAY?”

“IF YOU TELL MY MOM I’M WITH YOU! OKAY?”

“WHAT?” she shrieks

“WHAT?” I shout back.

“WE MAY STAY ON THE BOAT TONIGHT. SAY IT’S A SLEEPOVER AT YOUR HOUSE!” She’s loud enough to make my cell into a speakerphone. Tim sits up, alert.

“I want to talk to her,” he tells me urgently.

“TIM WANTS TO TALK TO YOU.” He grabs the phone out of my hand.

“I’LL TELL YOU ALL ABOUT IT,” Nan roars. “JUST DO THIS ONE THING.”

“OF COURSE!” Tim hollers into the phone. “ANYTHING FOR YOU, MY PRIZE-WINNING SISTER!”

He hands the phone back to me.

“Is Tim okay?” Nan asks, in a quiet voice.

“I don’t—” I start, then the phone gives that depressed-sounding doo-dle that signals the end of the battery, and shuts down altogether.

“You’re not in trouble, are you, Sam?” Jase asks.

“I note you don’t ask me,” Tim calls, taking off his pants to reveal boxer shorts with little crests on them. He notices me looking.

“Ellery Prep sells boxers. I got these for Christmas from Mom. They don’t confiscate them when you’re kicked out.”

Jase is still looking at me quizzically. I scrounge in the back of the Bug.

“We’ll meet you at the shore after you change,” Jase says. “C’mon Tim.”

Rustling through the available suits in the trunk, buried under lacrosse sticks and soccer balls, Gatorade bottles and sports bar wrappers, I get what Jase means. The only matching pieces are these two tiny bits of black fake leather. Other than that, there’s nothing but a few pairs of Jase’s Stony Bay soccer team shorts and what looks like a one-piece bathing suit for Patsy. That’s probably Alice’s too.

So I put on the black leatherish stuff, grab a towel, and try to march nonchalantly onto the beach.

Not exactly possible.

Jase looks at me, blushes, looks again, and backs into deeper water. Tim looks at me and says, “Holy fuckin’ Catgirl!”

“It’s Alice’s suit,” I say. “Let’s swim.”

The rest of the day is just lazy. Jase, Tim, and I lie on the beach, get hot dogs at the Clam Shack, and lie around some more. Finally, we go back to the Garretts’ and hang out by the pool.

George snuggles up next to me. “I like your bathing suit, Samantha. But you kind of look like a vampire. Have you ever seen a vampire bat? Did you know that they don’t really get tangled in your hair? That’s just a myth. They’re really very nice. They only drink from cows and stuff. But blood, not milk.”

“Nope, I’ve never seen one,” I answer. “I’m in no hurry to, actually, however nice they may be.”

The back door slams and Andy drifts out onto the pool deck, beaming. She collapses against the fence, closing her eyes dramatically. “It finally happened.”

“Kyle Comstock?” I ask.

“Yes! He finally kissed me. And it was”—she pauses—“actually kind of painful? He’s got braces too. But it was still wonderful. He did it right in front of everyone too. After the parade? I’m going to remember it for all eternity. It’ll be my last thought as my eyes close for the final time. Then he kissed me again after we got ice cream and then when—”

“We get the picture,” Jase interrupts. “I’m happy for you, Andy.”

“Now what, though?” she asks, looking anxious. “Do you think he’ll use his tongue next time?”

“He didn’t this time?” Tim’s incredulous. “Christ.”

“Well, no. Was he supposed to? Did we do it wrong?”

“Ands, there aren’t any rules about this sort of thing.” Jase stretches out on his back on the towel next to me and George.

“There really should be,” Andy argues. “’Cause how on earth are you supposed to figure it all out? That was nothing like kissing my bedpost. Or the bathroom mirror.”

Both Jase and Tim burst out laughing.

“No tongue there,” Jase mutters.

“Or only your own. And solo’s never as good,” laughs Tim.

“Why would you kiss your bedpost, Andy? That’s kinda yuck.” George wrinkles his nose. Andy gives all three boys an annoyed look and floats back into the house.

Tim reaches for his jacket, taking his cigarettes out of the inside pocket and tapping one into his palm. George’s eyes get round.

“Is that a cigarette? Are those cigarettes?”

Tim looks a bit nonplussed. “Sure. D’you mind?”

“You’ll die if you smoke those. Your lungs get black and shrivel up. Then you die.” George is suddenly near tears. “Don’t die. I don’t wanna see you die. I saw Jase’s hamster die and it got all stiff and its eyes stayed open but they weren’t shiny anymore.”

Tim’s face goes blank. He glances over at Jase as if for instruction. Jase just gazes back at him.

“Hell,” Tim says, and shoves the cigarette back in. He stands up, stalks to the pool, and dives in deep.

George turns to me. “What’s that mean? Does that mean no or yes?”

Mrs. Garrett sticks her head out the back door. “Jase—the garbage disposal broke again. Can you help me out?”

The Garretts have fireworks, thanks, Mrs. Garrett tells me, to her brother Hank, who lives down south and ships them up illegally every year. So we’re all on the Garretts’ lawn as the summer sky darkens.

“Jack!” Mrs. Garrett calls. “Please don’t burn off your hand! Why do I need to say this? I tell you this every year.”

“If I do,” Mr. Garrett says, placing some fireworks in a circle of stones, “I’m suing your brother. He never sends instructions. Light up, Jase!”

Jase strikes a long match and hands it to his dad. Mrs. Garrett encircles George and Patsy in her arms. “You wouldn’t read them anyway!” she calls out as the match flares blue and the fireworks shoot into the night sky.

As the last firework fizzles down, I roll onto my side, following the lines of Jase’s face with my index finger.

“You’ve never played for me,” I say.

“Mmm?” he sounds sleepy.

“I’ve seen Andy and Duff play their instruments. You claim you can play the guitar. But I’ve never seen evidence. When are you going to play me a ballad?”

“Uh, never?”

“Why not?” I ask, tracing the arch of one of his dark eyebrows.

“Because that would be incredibly lame, not to mention goofy. And I try to steer clear of lame. Not to mention goofy.”

He shifts to his back, pointing into the night sky. “Okay, what’s that star? And that one?”

“The Summer Triangle. That’s Vega, and Deneb and Altair. Over there is…Lyra, Sagittarius…” I follow the path of the flickering stars with my index finger.

“I love that you know this,” Jase says softly. “Hey, is that a shooting star? You can wish on those, right?”

“An airplane, Jase. See the little red taillight?”

“Jesus. Okay. So much for not being lame and goofy.”

I laugh, lean over to kiss his neck. “You can wish on the airplane anyway, though, if you want.”

“Somehow the thrill is gone,” he says, pulling me close. “Besides, what else would I wish for?”

Chapter Twenty-eight

“Hello sweetheart.” The voice is cool as water. “Have anything to say to me?”

I freeze in the act of silently closing the front door. Oh God. Oh God. How did I not see Mom’s car? I thought the fireworks and steam train would take longer. How could I have stayed out so late?

“I never thought I’d be doing this for you.” The voice is amused now, and I look up to see Tracy sitting on the couch, shaking her head at me.

I’d forgotten her pitch-perfect imitation of Mom, which, combined with her impressive forgery skills, got her out of field trips she didn’t want to go on, school days with tests she hadn’t studied for, and health classes she was bored by.

I laugh and take a deep breath. “Jeez, Trace. You almost gave me a heart attack.”

She’s smirking. “Mom called right at curfew to make sure you were safe and sound. I told her you’d been tucked up in your little bed for hours, dreaming sweet innocent dreams. Good thing she can’t see you now.” She stands up and walks behind me, turning me to face the mirror in the hallway. “So who’s the guy?”

“There isn’t—” I begin.

“Samantha, please. Your hair’s a mess, your lips are all puffy, and you’ll be needing that stupid Breakfast Ahoy scarf to cover that hickey right there. I repeat: Who’s the guy?”

I do indeed look flushed and rumpled, a look I’ve seen on Tracy many a time but am still getting used to on myself. “You don’t know him,” I say, attempting to straighten my hair. “Please don’t say anything to Mom.”

“Little Miss Perfection has a secret lov-ah!” Tracy’s giggling now.

“We’re not…We haven’t—”

“Huh,” Tracy says, unimpressed. “Judging by the expression on your face, it’s just a matter of time. I covered for you. Now, spill. If I don’t know him, there’s got to be a reason why. Please tell me it’s someone Mom won’t have a fit about.”

“She would not be happy,” I admit.

“Why? Is he a druggie? A drinker?”

“A Garrett,” I say. “From next door.”

“Holy heck, Samantha. You’re really pushing the limits, aren’t you? Who knew you’d turn out to be the big rebel? Is he the one with the leather jacket and the motorcycle? If so, you are doomed. Mom’ll ground you till you’re thirty-five.”

I blow out an impatient breath. “Not him—his younger brother. Jase. Who’s probably the best person I’ve ever met…kind and smart and…good. He…I…” I run out of words, rub my lips with my fingers.

“You’re a goner,” Tracy groans. “I can tell by listening to you that he’s totally got the upper hand. You can’t let that happen no matter how amazing you think the dude is. If you are going to be knocking boots, make sure he thinks you’re doing him the favor. Otherwise you’re just asking to be done and dumped.”

My sister, the hopeless romantic.

Well? I text Nan the next morning.

???? she replies.

R U still on the boat? What happened?

No. Daniel had 2 get it back b4 parents knew he’d had it all night. I’m home.

And???

Where R U?

I’m at the beach before work at the B&T, watching Mr. Garrett train Jase. At the moment, Jase is slogging through the water knee-deep, emerging to do some push-ups and wading back in. If you’d told me I’d find this riveting a few weeks ago, I’d have laughed. My fingers hover, still hesitant to reveal too much to Nan, but finally I type: At SB beach.

Give me 10, she texts back.

Nan shows up fifteen minutes later, just as Jase flops onto the sand for another round of push-ups.

“Oh, I get it now,” she says with a knowing smile. “I thought you were swimming, or catching some early sun. But it’s all about the boyfriend, huh, Samantha?”

I ignore her. “What happened with Daniel?”

Nan flops on her back, wrist over her eyes—almost exactly what Tim did yesterday. Even after all these years, I’m fascinated by the way they sometimes unconsciously echo each other. She squints in the sun, then rolls onto her stomach, turning to look at me with serious gray eyes.

“On the boat? Well, we went upriver to Rocky Park, and anchored there and had a picnic. Then we went out in the sound. Daniel swam, but I was freaked that there might be great white sharks. He said it was too cold for them but—”

“Nan! You know that’s not what I mean.”

“I do?” she asks innocently, then relents. “Do you mean did Daniel and I ‘Take Our Relationship to the Next Level’?”

“Um, no. Because who calls it that?” I flick a toenail shell at her.

“Daniel calls it that.” Nan sits up, looking out at the water now, shielding her eyes from the sun. “We did not.”

“Because…? You decided you weren’t ready? Or it wasn’t what Daniel had in mind?”

Jase slogs back into the water, massaging his thigh as though he has a cramp.

“Why’s he doing this?” Nan asks. “It seems like torture. I keep expecting his dad to get out a hose and spray him in the face with cold water. Or make him sing one of those macho rhyming songs—Navy Wings are made of lead, hup, two, three…”

“Training for football season,” I say, flicking another orange-pink shell at her. “You’re evading the question.”

“It was what Daniel had in mind. What I had in mind. But at the last minute…I just couldn’t.” Nan sits up now, pulling her knees to her chest, ducking her chin down. “He overtalked it. First he got me wine, which would have been okay, but he had to explain that it was ‘to loosen my inhibitions.’ Then he went on and on about how this was a big step and it was irrevocable, and it would Change Our Relationship Permanently. I kept waiting for him to pull out a release form.”

“Sexy, baybee,” I say.

“I know! I mean…I know life isn’t like Love With the Proper Stranger.” This is Nan’s favorite movie, with her beloved Steve McQueen and Natalie Wood. “I don’t expect…bells and banjos. Well…not from Daniel.” She ducks her head. “Maybe not ever.”

I watch Jase, and, as though sensing it, he turns, flashing his incandescent smile.

“Why not, Nanny?” I ask gently.

“I think these things through.” Nan’s biting her already too-short thumbnail, a habit she’s had since kindergarten. I reach out, pull it away from her mouth, a habit I’ve had since kindergarten. “There’s not going to be mad passion here. We’ve been dating for two years…We’re compatible. It wouldn’t be awkward.”

Mr. Garrett gives Jase a thumbs-up, calling, “You’re good, son.”

“Joel,” Jase replies, in between deep, ragged breaths, “could do it faster. I think.”

“And I couldn’t,” Mr. Garrett calls. “Still had colleges looking. You’re doing fine.” He claps Jase on the shoulder.

“Shouldn’t it be better than ‘not awkward,’ Nanny?”

Nan pulls her hand away from mine, starting on her pinkie nail. “In the real world? The only advice Mommy’s given me about sex is: ‘I was a virgin when I got married. Don’t do that.’”

I pull her hand away again and she swats at me playfully. Jase has thrown himself down for another round of push-ups. I can see his arms trembling.

“Mom told me the mechanics when I got my period, then told me never to have sex.”

“That approach worked so well with Tracy.” Nan giggles, then her brows pull together, following my gaze.

“Daniel’s going places.” She traces a finger in the sand. “Clearly. He was valedictorian, he got in early-decision to MIT. We’re alike that way…All I want is to get out of here.” She sweeps her hand across the horizon as though she could erase it with that one gesture. “I’ll apply ED to Columbia in the fall, I’ll get away from Tim and Mommy and Daddy and…everything.”

“Nan…” I say, then don’t know how to continue.

“Who’s he going to be, this Garrett guy?” Nan asks. “I mean, he’s gorgeous now, God knows. But in five years, ten…Just like his dad. Running some hardware store in this podunk Connecticut town. Having too many kids…Daniel and I may not stay together, but…at least…he’s not going to drag me down.”

I feel my face prickle. “Nan, you don’t even know Jase,” I start, but then he jogs up to us at exactly this moment, bends, his hands splayed on his outspread thighs, gasping for air.

“Hey Sam, Nan. Sorry, have to catch my breath. I gotta stop, Dad.”

“One more run,” Mr. Garrett says. “Just pull it out. You can do it.”

Jase shakes his head, shrugs at us, but wades into the water anyway.

Chapter Twenty-nine

Much to everyone’s surprise, and probably his own, Tim thrives at Mom’s campaign office. He makes voter registration calls in twenty different accents. He convinces ordinary folks who believe in Mom to write in to local papers about how their lives have been changed because Senator Grace Reed cares. Within two weeks, he’s even writing short speeches for Mom. She and Clay can’t stop talking about him.

“That kid really has it all going on,” Clay marvels as we drive to yet another meet-and-greet, where I stand next to Mom, trying to look wholesome and supportive. “He’s got smarts and he’s wily. Always thinking on his feet.”

“Yeah, well. Turns out it’s all about manipulating things—and people,” Tim allows when I repeat this to him. We’re hanging out in the driveway of the Garretts’ house while Jase works on the Mustang. I’m sitting on the hood, on a blanket, which Jase sheepishly insisted on, saying he didn’t want any of the primer scratched off. He’s wrestling with some sort of wiring issue. “Who knew that years of lying and bullshitting would be so useful?”

“You’re cool with this?” Jase asks. “Hey, Sam, can you hand me the wrench? God knows what the guy who owned this before me did. Drag races? The clutch is completely burned out…and the five-speed’s making this whining noise even though it’s still operable. Plus all the u-joints are loose.”

“English, dude?” Tim requests as I hand Jase the wrench. He’s under the car, working hard, and I feel this urge to kiss the line of sweat trailing from his throat. I’m out of control.

“Somebody didn’t take care of this car,” Jase responds. “But you—sorry Sam—you don’t believe in anything Grace Reed is supporting, Tim. You aren’t even a Republican. Don’t you feel wrong helping her out?”

“Sure,” Tim answers easily. “But when haven’t I felt wrong? Nothin’ new there.”

Jase ducks out from below the Mustang, slowly straightening up. “That feels okay? ’Cause I can’t see how.”

Tim shrugs.

Jase ruffles his hair, the way he always does when he’s confused or hesitant.

“So Nan went to New York with the boyfriend this weekend,” Tim mutters.

I start. I didn’t know Nan was going somewhere with Daniel.

“From what I can see, he’s a conceited douche bag who’s only going to wind up hurting Nan. But did I stop her? Nope. I’ve made a million mistakes. Time for ol’ Nano to catch up.”

Jase’s fingers close on something in his tool kit. He slides under the car again. “You’ll feel so much better when she’s unhappy?”

“Maybe.” Tim reaches for the Mountain Dew he’s been nursing for the last half hour. “At least I won’t be alone.”

“Samantha, you’re slouching. Stand up straight and smile,” Mom whispers to me. I’m standing next to her at a Daughters of the American Revolution gathering, shaking hands. We’ve been here for an hour and a half and I’ve said “Please support my mother. She cares deeply about the State of Connecticut” approximately fifteen million times. And she does care. That much is true. I just find myself feeling worse, more guilty, at each event, about what she cares about.

I’m no political animal. I know about current events from the newspaper and discussions at school, but it’s not like I go to rallies or picket for causes. Still, the space between what I believe and what my mom believes seems to be widening by the day. I’ve heard Clay talking to her, telling her it’s great strategy, that Ben Christopher’s big weakness is that he’s too liberal, so the more Mom talks up the other side, the better for her. But…last time she ran, I was eleven. And she ran against this maniac who didn’t believe in public education.

But this time…I wonder how many children of politicians have thought the way I’m thinking right now, shook all those hands and said “Support my mom,” while thinking, “Just not what she stands for. ’Cause I don’t.”

“Smile,” Mom hisses through her teeth, bending to listen to a small, white-haired lady who is angry about some new construction on Main Street. “Things should have a certain look, and this does not! I am up in arms, Senator Reed, up in arms!”

Mom murmurs something soothing about making sure it complies with the bylaws, and having her staff look into it.

“How much longer?” I whisper.

“Until it ends, young lady. When you’re working on behalf of the people, you don’t have regular hours.”

I look off in the distance at one of Mom’s posters propped on a tripod—GRACE REED, FIGHTING FOR OUR FOREBEARS, OUR FAMILIES, OUR FUTURE—and try not to notice, just outside the French windows, the turquoise shimmer of a pool. I wish I could lunge into it. I’m hot and uncomfortable in the navy blue empire-waist dress Mom insisted I wear. “These are very conservative women, Samantha. You need to show as little skin as possible.”

I have a mad desire to rip off my dress. If everyone here screamed and fainted, we could all go home. Why didn’t I just tell Mom no? What am I, a mouse? A puppet? Clay rules Mom, Mom rules me.

“You didn’t need to be so unpleasant the entire time,” she says crossly as we’re driving home. “Some daughters would be thrilled to be involved in this. The Bush twins were everywhere when W ran.”

I have nothing to say to this. I pick at a pulled thread in the seam of my dress. Mom reaches over, closing her hand on mine to stop me. Her grip is firm. Then it relaxes. She takes my hand, squeezes.

“All that sighing and shuffling your feet.” She sighs. “It was embarrassing.”

I turn and stare at her. “Maybe you shouldn’t bring me along next time, Mom.”

She shoots me a sharp look, seeing right through that one. There’s steel in her eyes again, and she shakes her head. “I don’t know what Clay’s going to say about your little performance.”

Clay left a little early, to go back to the office and get more paraphernalia for the next event, a clambake in Linden Park, where I fortunately am not required.

“I don’t think Clay was paying attention to me. He only has eyes for you,” I tell her.

A flush crosses her cheekbones and she says softly, “You may be right. He’s very…dedicated.”

Mom spends several minutes expounding on Clay’s expertise and dedication, while I pass them hoping she’s only speaking professionally. Though she’s not. He leaves clothes and keys and things around our house all the time now, has a favorite chair in the living room, has tuned the radio in the kitchen to the station he likes. Mom buys his favorite brand of soda, some weird Southern cherry drink called Cheerwine. I think she’s actually having it sent up from below the Mason-Dixon Line.

When we’re finally home, climbing out of the car in silence, I hear a rumble, and Joel’s motorcycle heads down the street. But it’s not Joel riding it. It’s Jase.

I say a quick prayer that he’ll wheel into his own driveway, but he sees us, circles into ours, stops. Pulling off his helmet, he wipes his forehead with the back of his hand, giving me his warmest smile. “Hey, Samantha.”

Mom looks at me sharply. “Do you know this boy?” she asks under her breath.

“Yes,” I say emphatically. “This is Jase.”

Ever polite, he’s already extending his hand. I pray he won’t mention his last name.

“Jase Garrett, from next door. Hi.”

Mom gives his hand a perfunctory shake, shooting an unreadable glance at me.

Jase looks back and forth between us, pauses, then pops the helmet back on. “Just going for a ride. Wanna come, Sam?”

I wonder exactly how much trouble I’ll get in if I do. Grounded till I’m thirty? Who knows? Who cares. I find, suddenly, that I don’t. I’ve been stuffed inside a crowded room for hours, pretending, badly, to be the daughter my mom wants. Now the sky overhead is dazzling blue, the horizon wide. I feel a sudden rush—like the wind, but instead it’s the blood whooshing in my ears, like when Tim and I were little and would go plunging headlong into the huge waves at the beach. I fling my leg over the back of the motorcycle and reach for the spare helmet.

We rocket off. I bury my head in Jase’s shoulder, determinedly not looking back at my mother, but still somehow expecting sirens or helicopters with SWAT teams to overtake us. Soon, sheer sensation carries me away from all that. The wind flips my hair and my hands tighten around Jase’s waist. He drives along the sandy, sea grass–lined Shore Road for a while, then through town, such a contrast with its neat red and white saltbox houses and evenly spaced maples. Then back to Shore Road near the beach. He cuts the engine in McGuire Park, near a playground I haven’t been to for years. It used to be the stop on the way home from half-day kindergarten.

“So, Samantha.” Jase takes off his helmet, hanging it on a handlebar, and reaches out a hand to help me off the seat. “Guess I’m from the wrong side of the tracks.” He turns away, knocking down the motorcycle kickstand with the side of his sneaker.

“I’m sorry,” I say reflexively.

He still doesn’t look at me, kicking at the pebbles. “First time I’ve met your mom. Thought she was just strict. About you. I didn’t realize this was actually about me. Or my family.”

“It’s not. Not really.” My sentences are coming out short and choppy. I can’t seem to catch my breath. “It’s her. She’s…I’m sorry…She is—she can be one of those people who make comments at the supermarket. But I’m not.”

Jase lifts his chin, looks at me for a long moment. I stare back, willing him to believe me.

His face is a handsome, indecipherable mask he’s never offered me before. Suddenly, I get angry. “Stop that. Stop judging me by what my mom did. That’s not me. If you’re going to decide what I’m like because of how she acts, you’re as bad as she is.”

Jase doesn’t say anything, nudging at the ground with his sneaker. “I don’t know,” he says at last. “I can’t help but notice that…well, you’re in my life…at our house, with my family, in my world. But am I really in yours? Things got pretty awkward when I saw you at your club. You never even told your best friend about me. I’ve never…” He runs both hands through his hair, shaking his head. “Had dinner at your house. Or…I don’t know, met your sister.”

“She’s away for the summer,” I point out in a small voice.

“You know what I mean. I mean—you’re all over the place with me. In my room and at the store and helping me train and just…there. Where am I with you? I’m not sure I know.”

I get that thick feeling at the back of my throat. “You’re everywhere with me too.”

“Am I?” He stops kicking the dirt and advances, heat radiating from his body, hurt from his eyes. “You sure about that? Seems as though the closest I get is your roof—or your room. Sure you’re not just…I don’t know…slumming?”

“Slumming? By seeing my next-door neighbor?”

Jase looks at me as though he wants to smile, but can’t. “You’ve got to admit, Sam, your mom wasn’t exactly looking at me in a neighborly way. Not like she wanted to send over a casserole or something. More like a restraining order.”

Relieved that he’s joking, I take off my helmet. “It’s my mother, Jase. Nobody’s good enough for me. In her mind. My first boyfriend, Charley, was a deviant sex fiend who wanted to use me and discard me. Then Michael, that emo guy you saw, he was a druggie loner who was probably going to lure me into addiction and then go assassinate a president.”

“You’d think I’d look good by comparison. But I guess not.” He winces.

“It was the motorcycle.”