Текст книги "Lying Out Loud"

Автор книги: Kody Keplinger

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Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 15 страниц)

Chapter 12

The Ardmores had never been big on Thanksgiving. Or any holiday that involved gathering, really.

My dad wasn’t close to his parents. I’d only met them once, when I was five, and now all I knew about them was that they lived in Florida somewhere. My maternal grandmother had passed away a few months after I was born, and my grandfather had died when I was nine. He might have left his house to his only child, my mom, but before that, he’d been the cold, unfriendly sort. Mom never saw the point of making a fuss over a dinner for three people, and after my dad was arrested, I guess it seemed even more pointless.

The Rushes, on the other hand, loved Thanksgiving.

There were a few years a while back where Amy’s parents weren’t home much. They jetted from one business trip to another, and Amy spent most of the time at her grandmother’s. But even then, when the family seemed to be drifting apart, Mr. and Mrs. Rush always came home for Thanksgiving. They made a big deal out of it: a huge turkey, the best stuffing you’d ever tasted, and enough side dishes to feed an army of hungry soldiers. They also invited everyone they knew: their extended family, their friends, their kids’ friends. Which meant I got to be a part of the annual feast. It was always a highlight of my year, and it was always hard to go home, full and happy, to a dark, quiet house.

This year was different, though. This year I was able to experience the Thanksgiving festivities from the time I woke up in the morning until I went to bed that night.

I was incredibly excited about this, and even Mrs. Rush’s request to invite my mom couldn’t bring me down.

“There will be more than enough food. I know things are rough with you two right now, but she’s always invited to Thanksgiving dinner and we’d be here to serve as a buffer. It might be good for both of you,” Mrs. Rush said as I helped her clean the house that morning.

“I’ll see,” I said. “But I think she’ll probably have to work today. You know how retail is these days….”

Mrs. Rush shook her head. “Forcing people to work on Thanksgiving is just terrible.”

I nodded, relieved when there were no follow-up questions.

After that, the day was fabulous. Good food, lots of people, the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade on in the background. The Rushes celebrated Thanksgiving all day.

And into the next morning, too.

Because the Rushes not only loved Thanksgiving, they also loved Black Friday.

“I don’t understand,” I told Amy as we stood on the sidewalk outside of Tech Plus, an electronics store (the only non-grocery store in Hamilton) at four a.m. I had to work at the bookstore later that afternoon and knew I was gonna regret being up this early. “You’re loaded. Isn’t Black Friday meant for poor people like me? So you all can watch us fight to the death, Hunger Games style, over a half-price iPod?”

“We’re not loaded,” Amy said.

“Excuse me. What kind of car do you drive?”

“A Lexus.”

“And your brother?”

She sighed. “A Porsche.”

“I rest my case.”

She shrugged. “I guess my parents like deals.”

At that moment, Mr. and Mrs. Rush were in Oak Hill, waiting outside the mall to do some hardcore Christmas shopping. As much as I hated being awake before seven (okay, let’s be real, I hated being up before noon if I could help it), I couldn’t complain much. Amy and I did have the easiest of the Black Friday tasks. We just had to run in, grab the newest video game console, and get out.

“Your brother better know I was a part of this gift,” I told her. “I may not be contributing financially, but it is a testament to my affection for him that I got my ass out of bed for this.”

“And here I thought it was so I wouldn’t be fighting the crowds alone,” Amy said.

“Nah. Why would I ever do anything for you?”

She giggled, then let out a huge yawn. “What time does the store open again?”

“Five.”

She whimpered.

“I know,” I said, patting her on the back. “It’s cruel to have sales start so early right after everyone’s loaded themselves with sleepy turkey chemicals.”

To make matters worse, it was also cold. We were bundled up in our sweaters and coats, but they didn’t do much to deflect the occasional gust of wind that blew into our faces. The amazing part about this was that Amy’s hair still looked flawless. Four a.m., cold and windy morning, and she still looked like a model with a classy, curly updo.

I wasn’t the only one who noticed either.

“Oh my God. You have to tell me how you did that.”

Amy and I both turned when we heard the voice behind us. There was a girl there, drinking Starbucks. She couldn’t have been much older than us, and she looked a little familiar. Probably a Hamilton High grad. She was wearing some amazing black boots over multicolored leggings that I only wished I could pull off.

“Sorry?” Amy said.

“Your hair,” the girl said. “You have to tell me how you did that.”

It was only then that I noticed her own curls. Brown corkscrews, even tighter than mine or Amy’s. They were a little frizzy because of the wind, but they still looked ten times better than mine. Damn it.

“Oh,” Amy said, patting her hair self-consciously. “It’s really easy. You just need a hair tie and a few bobby pins.”

“And by ‘easy,’ she means impossible for us commoners,” I said.

“Right?” The girl laughed. “Bobby pins and hair ties just leave me with a rat’s nest on top of my head.”

“It’s really not that hard. You just —”

“Chloe!”

Two more people were coming our way: a girl with straight black hair and a cute boy I recognized as Cash Sterling, a former player on the Hamilton High soccer team. (Soccer was the only sport I kept up with. Mostly because it was an excuse to stare at boys with really nice legs.)

“Sorry we’re late,” Cash said to the curly-haired girl, Chloe.

“You’re not. The store hasn’t opened yet.”

“I know,” Cash said. “But according to Lissa, we were supposed to be here by four. So I was told to apologize for making her late.”

Lissa, meanwhile, was too busy digging in her purse to argue with Cash. “I have a map,” she said. “I drew it last night. I figured out the best route to get back to the TVs when the doors open.”

“Oh dear God,” Chloe moaned. “We have to do this?”

“If I have to do Black Friday,” Lissa said, “I’m doing it efficiently.” She sighed. “Why does my stupid brother want a TV for a wedding present? Why couldn’t he just ask for a blender like everyone else?”

“He’s gonna need a TV to drown Jenna out,” Cash said. “I still can’t believe they’re getting married.”

“I just can’t believe he’s getting married before I had a chance to hook up with him.”

“Ew, Chloe. I can’t deal with you lusting after my brother right now. I’m already freaking out over the crowd here. Ugh. It’s gonna be awful in there. Here. Let’s study the map.”

Amy and I glanced at each other, then turned around, clearly no longer a part of this conversation.

“We should’ve made a map,” Amy whispered.

“I don’t think we’re neurotic enough for that,” I whispered back.

The minutes lurched by as the line got longer and longer on the sidewalk behind us. There was no doubt about it – when those doors opened, we were in for a freaking stampede.

“Ready?” Amy asked when there was only a minute to go.

“Why do I feel like I’m about to go to war?” I asked.

But she didn’t have time to answer because right then the front doors of Tech Plus swung open.

And everyone charged forward.

I ran, tripping over my own feet in order to avoid being trampled. With my relatively short legs, this was not easy. But after a lot of pushing and shoving and cursing at complete strangers, I made it inside the doors. It was still a madhouse, but people spread out, running for the items they’d come to buy.

“Okay, where are the game consoles, Amy?”

But when I turned to look at her, Amy wasn’t there. She wasn’t anywhere near me.

“Shit,” I muttered, realizing too late that we’d been separated by the crowd. Finding her in this chaos, especially when I wasn’t all that familiar with the layout of Tech Plus, was going to be impossible.

Maybe packing a map wasn’t as neurotic as I’d thought.

I wove my way through the crowd, hoping to spot a tall, curly head somewhere. A few times, I popped up on my tiptoes so I could look over the heads of the people around me. Unfortunately, with my neck craned and my balance compromised, I ended up falling flat on my ass in front of an iPod display.

“I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”

I looked up at the person who’d just slammed into me and was met with two very surprised green eyes.

“Sonny,” Ryder said. “I didn’t recognize you.”

“I’m sure I look different from this angle,” I said. “Help a girl up?”

“Sorry.” He took my hand and pulled me to my feet. I wanted to relish that moment of having his hand in mine, but it was over so fast I barely got to enjoy it. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine. Just surprised to find you here.”

Lie.

Confession Time: Ryder, not Amy or Wesley, was the reason I was at Tech Plus that morning.

It had been a couple of weeks since our little texting tryst (which still made me feel icky when I thought about it) and Ryder had been sending messages almost every day since. I’d ignored most of them, knowing that responding was counterproductive. That last conversation had, apparently, given him the confidence to approach Amy in person again. Luckily, I was with Amy pretty much any time she wasn’t in class, which meant I was able to shut down the conversation and hurry her away before she found out about the texting.

I knew I shouldn’t risk giving him more encouragement to pursue Amy, no matter how temping it was to reply to his messages. We were making some progress in person, but not as quickly as I’d hoped, and texting was the only way I really got to talk to him.

I’d been holding on to my last shred of willpower, fighting my self-destructive urges, but Thanksgiving break meant not even seeing him at school, and when he sent a text about needing a new iPod, I couldn’t help suggesting he go to Tech Plus on Black Friday. I knew Amy would be going, and it would make perfect sense for me to join her.

So here I was, in the middle of Black Friday madness, all so I could run into a guy who didn’t even know he liked me.

“I’m surprised to find me here, too,” he admitted. “But my iPod broke and Amy said this place would have them on sale, so … Hey, if you’re here, is she?”

“Um, yeah. Somewhere. I’ve lost her.”

And I sort of hoped she stayed lost. At least until Ryder and I had had a few minutes together.

Not that this was the most romantic setting, but I’d take what I could get.

“Oh. Do you think we should go look for her?”

“No, no. She had some shopping to do. I’m sure I’ll find her soon.” I cleared my throat. “So. A new iPod? What sort of music do you listen to?”

“If I told you, you’d probably call me a pretentious hipster.”

“Yeah … probably. But I already do that.”

He laughed. “At least you’re honest.”

Not something I heard often.

“So indie stuff no one else has heard of, then? Like Goats Vote for Melons, maybe?”

Ryder’s eyes widened, shocked. “You know Goats Vote for Melons?”

“I’ve heard a song or two.”

I’d checked out some of their stuff after Ryder had raved about them. As expected, it was pretty terrible for the most part. All acoustic, no catchy hook. Yes, I was part of the masses. I admit it. I loved bad pop music, especially if it was released in the nineties, and grunge, of course, but that was awesome. GVM just went way over my head.

They did have one decent love song, though, inexplicably titled “Of Lions and Robots,” which I’d been listening to a lot lately.

“Well, I’m also trying to broaden my musical horizons.”

“Oh, yeah?”

He nodded. “I’ve been exploring some other genres. Kind of getting into nineties grunge, actually.”

The grin that split my face was almost painful. Grunge! He was broadening his musical horizons because of me! I wanted to squeal. To hug him. And then to make out with him, right here, in the middle of this crowded electronics store.

But I couldn’t.

Because, in Ryder’s mind, we were little more than acquaintances.

Sometimes I had to remind myself of that.

“Grunge is great,” I said. “What albums have you tried? Anything you really like?”

He opened his mouth to respond, but his answer was drowned out by another voice.

“Sonny!”

I groaned, and then felt awful for it.

Amy had found us. She was coming up behind me, a box tucked under her arm. “There you are,” she said. “I’m so sorry we got separated. I didn’t mean to lose you. I looked —” She stopped midsentence when she noticed Ryder. “Oh. Hi.”

“Hey, Amy,” he said, his face totally lighting up.

And now I wanted to shake him.

Even if his continuing affection for her was sort of my fault.

“You play video games?” he asked, gesturing to the box under her arm.

“Huh? Oh. No. This is for my brother.”

“Hey, speaking of shopping,” I said, my voice louder than I’d intended. “You should probably get that iPod, Ryder. You don’t want them all to be taken.”

“Good point. I’ll be right back.”

He walked a few feet away, disappearing into a crowd of desperate people clambering to get their hands on Apple products.

I grabbed Amy’s arm. “When he comes back, do something.”

“Something like what?”

“I don’t know. Something weird. Something he won’t like.”

“Sonny, you know I’m bad at this.”

“You’re not. You’d be a great actress if you tried.”

“But I don’t have a script here,” she pointed out. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to be weird.”

“You’re the only teenager with that problem.” I glanced around, searching for inspiration, and found it standing a few feet away. There was a guy – blond, early twenties, built like a Ken doll – on the other side of the aisle. And he was totally trying to catch Amy’s eye. “Perfect,” I said.

“What?”

I jerked my head toward the stranger. “Him.”

“What about him?”

“When Ryder comes back, go flirt with him. Right in front of Ryder,” I whispered. “It’ll make him think you’re super flaky and kind of mean.”

“Sonny, I don’t want to do that,” Amy whispered back. “That’s too much. It’s cruel to Ryder and to that guy.”

“Please. You’ll be making the other guy’s day. Plus, he’s cute. So it could be worse.”

“But —”

“Here he comes. Get ready.”

“I don’t —”

“Got the iPod,” Ryder announced as he moved toward us. “Some guy with a mullet tried to take it right out of my hands, but I managed to hold on to it.”

“Glad you survived,” I said.

“Me, too.” He glanced over at Amy, as if waiting for her to say something.

And I elbowed her. Hard.

She let out a tiny squeak. “I, um …” She looked at me, her eyes desperate.

Go, I thought, staring back at her. Just do it already.

Amy turned to Ryder, a forced smile on her pretty pink lips. “Just a second,” she said. Then she walked over to the Ken doll, who was checking out some tablets now, just down the aisle. His face brightened when he saw Amy approaching. And even though her greeting of “Hey … you” was super awkward, he didn’t stop smiling.

“Hi,” Ken Doll said.

The rest of their conversation was drowned out by a pack of women nearby, shouting at a Tech Plus employee about a guy who had taken one of their items before they could check out. But we could still see what was happening. The guy leaned toward Amy; she giggled, batted his arm. All the typical obvious flirting moves. Actually, it was probably more convincing this way, with Amy’s inevitably embarrassing words on mute.

“Does she know that guy?” Ryder asked, frowning as Ken Doll took a step closer to Amy.

“No,” I said. “That’s just Amy. She’s always flirting with someone.”

“Oh.”

We both watched the scene for a minute longer, then Ryder, face fallen, took a step back. “I should go pay,” he said. “I’m pretty exhausted.”

Even though I knew this was in both of our best interests, I felt bad for him. He thought he had a connection with Amy, and here she was, seemingly apathetic to that and hitting on other dudes right in front of him. It had to sting.

It was supposed to sting.

“It was nice running into you,” I said. “Literally.”

“Yeah. Sorry about that. Anyway … tell Amy I said good-bye.”

“Okay.”

He gave Amy one last glance before turning away, disappearing into the crowd.

As soon as he was gone, I ran over to Amy, interrupting her conversation with the Ken doll.

“Hey,” I said. “He’s gone. We’re good.”

“Excuse me?” Ken Doll asked.

“Hey. Sorry. She’s seventeen, so this isn’t gonna happen for you. Thanks for playing.” I grabbed Amy’s arm and dragged her away, toward the checkout counter. Though I made sure to take a different route than Ryder had so as not to risk crossing paths.

I fully expected Amy to scold me for how I’d talked to Ken Doll. To point out how rude it was.

But she didn’t.

She didn’t say anything.

In fact, she was silent the rest of the time we were in the store and the whole way back to her house.

Her parents still weren’t home from their own Black Friday adventure by the time we pulled into the driveway. Amy grabbed the console and carried it into the house, me trailing behind her.

“Do you want me to help you wrap that?” I asked.

“No. I can do it,” she mumbled.

“Okay … Hey, thanks for your help. I think it may have worked. Ryder seemed pretty upset.”

“I didn’t want to do that, Sonny,” Amy said. She put the game console down on the coffee table. “It was awkward and embarrassing. And gross. You made me flirt with a guy I didn’t know and didn’t like.”

“I know,” I said. “I’m sorry, but —”

“I don’t think you do know,” she said. After a pause, she shook her head. “I’m tired. I’m gonna go take a nap.”

She went upstairs to her room, and for once, I had the strong sense that I wasn’t supposed to follow her.

She just needs her space, I thought. She needs some time to herself, and it’ll be fine.

But I knew, deep down, that it was more than that. That, without me realizing it, I’d crossed a line that day.

And for the first time ever, in over a decade of visiting the Rushes’ house, I didn’t sleep in Amy’s bedroom when I got home from work that night.

Or the night after that.

Chapter 13

The next time I ran into Ryder outside of class wasn’t the result of any scheming – for once. This time, on a chilly Saturday in the beginning of December, we both ended up at the Hamilton Public Library by sheer coincidence.

I was walking around the first floor, scanning the shelves, when a familiar voice called my name. I looked up and saw him sitting at one of the wooden tables in the corner, a legal pad and a huge, leather-bound book in front of him. He was wearing giant retro-style headphones. When he raised a hand to wave me over, my heart began pounding just a little too hard.

“Hey,” I said, approaching the desk. “What are you doing here?”

“Research,” he said, tugging his headphones down so they hung around his neck. “For the history essay, actually.” He tapped the leather-bound book next to him. “Taking some notes on the French Revolution.”

“Yay guillotines.”

“A sentence that has oft been uttered.”

I smiled and picked up the book. It was massive and heavy. “Are you actually reading this whole thing?” I asked. “You know, they have this new invention. It’s called the Internet. It contains all of this and more – without the paper cuts.”

“Paper cuts are like battle scars for the academic,” he said, smiling back. “I guess I’m old school. I like to get my information from a real book, and I take my notes by hand.”

“I, on the other hand, am best friends with Wikipedia.”

“You know that site is woefully inaccurate a lot of the time, right? Because anyone can change the information.”

“Yep. I’m the girl changing the information to make it woefully inaccurate.”

“So half the high schoolers around the country have you to thank for their failing grades on research papers.”

“Yes, sir. I’m practically a celebrity. Or, I would be if it wasn’t anonymous.”

He laughed, and even though there were still butterflies in my stomach, I felt relaxed. This felt natural. It felt like it had when we were instant messaging all those weeks ago. Like it did in our text messages, which, admittedly, I’d been sending again.

I hadn’t slept in Amy’s room since the Black Friday debacle, and the silence of the guest room had contributed to my insomnia. And to my recurring nightmare, which I’d had at least three times in the past two weeks. When I woke up, panicked and alone, it was easy to text him. To reach out and know someone else would answer.

I kept telling myself I would stop soon. Or that it wasn’t actually detrimental for the plan – that maybe, somehow, it made Amy seem even flakier to be texting him when she was so weird in person.

I’d told myself so many lies, I didn’t even know what to believe anymore. I just knew that I liked him. A lot.

And finally, after more than a month of inching closer and closer, we were having that same connection face-to-face.

“So what are you doing here?” he asked. “If you’re such a denizen of the twenty-first century.”

“Dropping off some books for Amy,” I said. “My one day off from the bookstore job and I still find myself surrounded by books.”

“Is that a bad thing?” Ryder asked.

“No. Just ironic. I actually applied for a job here, too. Unfortunately, I was informed that the last time the librarian hired teenagers to help her, they were caught making out between the shelves … multiple times.”

“Interesting,” Ryder said, tapping his chin with the end of his pen. “Who knew the Hamilton Library was such a scandalous place.”

“Right? I should hang out here more often.”

He nodded, and then we just stared at each other for this long, intense moment. At least, I thought it was intense. A little voice in my head was silently calling out to him: See me. Figure out that it’s been me all along. Of course, that would be a disaster. It had been long enough that any hope of Ryder not being pissed that I’d been sort of, accidentally, and then deliberately catfishing him was out of the question.

I didn’t want him to know that it was me sending all those messages.

I did want him to know that I was the girl he should be with.

If I hadn’t been sabotaging myself with those text messages, maybe he would have by now.

“Hey,” he said, after a second. “Would you want to get out of here? Go for a walk or something?”

I thought my brain might explode. He wanted to go somewhere with me. He wanted to take a walk with me. There was no Amy, no reason we should talk about school. It was just Ryder asking me to hang out with him.

Finally.

“Yeah,” I said. “Sure. Let’s go.”

However, my exuberance faded pretty much as soon as we stepped out into the cold afternoon and Ryder said:

“I was hoping to talk to you about Amy.”

Fuck.

Of course.

What was wrong with this boy? As far as he was concerned, Amy had been leading him on for over a month with IMs and texts, only to be a completely different person (literally) in real life.

I knew it was partly my fault for keeping up the correspondence, but come on. Was that really enough to keep him clinging to the idea of her? They hadn’t even kissed. Hell, they hadn’t even touched.

“Amy. Right.” I shoved my hands deep into the pockets of my old, battered coat. “What about her?”

“It’s just … I’m confused. Really confused.” He kicked at a pebble on the sidewalk, and I watched as it rolled away from us, wishing I could follow it, away from this conversation. “Do you know why she avoids or ignores me when we’re in the same room?”

I shrugged. “That sounds like a question for Amy.”

“I’ve asked,” he said. “A thousand times. I never get a straight answer.”

It was true. Ever since our first bout of texting back at the start of November, Ryder had sent multiple messages, asking why I (read: Amy) didn’t talk to him in person. Why they hadn’t been on a date yet. Why things were so different in texts and IMs than they were in real life.

Most of the time, I ignored these messages. They’d come midconversation, and they’d serve as the end of the correspondence. Sometimes I’d respond with something vague – a simple I don’t know or a blatantly untrue I don’t avoid you!

I was hoping all the inconsistencies would scare him away from Amy.

But he just kept trying, in real life and via text message.

“You’re her best friend,” he said. “I figured if anyone would know what’s going on with her, you would. And since you and I are friends now….”

Friends.

He thought we were friends. A smile fluttered onto my lips, and I had to hurry to hide it. At least it hadn’t all been in vain.

“Do you have any idea why she’d avoid me?” he asked. “Does she … does she even like me? No. No, I know she does. Of course she does. It’s just that when we’re together, she’s so … different.”

“I don’t know,” I said. “She seems pretty normal to me.”

“She doesn’t act like the Amy I know.”

“Then maybe you don’t know her that well.”

“I do, though,” he insisted. “Or I think I do. When we’re texting or talking online, she’s so … She’s great. She’s funny and smart and it’s so easy to talk to her. The virtual Amy is incredible.”

I got all shivery when he said that, and not just because it was cold.

“I just wish the Amy I saw in real life was more like that.”

My hands balled into fists in my pockets. I wanted to tell him. I wanted to come clean so bad. That person he thought was “incredible,” the person he’d fallen for, was standing right here.

Instead I said, “I’m sorry, Ryder. I don’t know what to tell you.”

“Why are you friends with her?” he asked.

I was taken aback. “Excuse me?”

“Why are you friends with her? What do you like about Amy?”

“Well …” I probably should have said something vague. Or something shallow. Something to reinforce this image of the flaky, bizarre Amy he couldn’t figure out. But this, Amy, was one thing I couldn’t lie about. “She’s generous, for one thing. She’d do anything for the people she cares about. Hell, she’s letting me live with her right now. She’s always been there when I needed her.”

He nodded. “What else?”

“She balances me out. I’m the loud, dramatic one and she’s the quiet, practical one. She’s my other half, in a lot of ways. People talk about soul mates in a romantic way, but I think if soul mates do exist, Amy would be mine. I think I’d be lost without her.”

I had to shake off a pang of guilt. Since Thanksgiving break, I’d been telling myself things were fine between us. Me sleeping in the guest room was just a natural progression. We couldn’t sleep in the same room forever, after all. Amy didn’t act mad at me. She was still sweet and giggly and we still hung out. But something was different.

“I like the way you describe her,” Ryder said. “Why doesn’t she show that side when she’s around me?”

I didn’t answer. There were only so many times you could say “I don’t know.”

“Do you think it has something to do with her mom?”

“What?”

“She’s told me a little about her mom.”

It took me a minute to understand what he was talking about. Mrs. Rush was amazing – what would Amy’s weirdness have to do with her? But then I remembered. I’d talked to him about my mom. Great. Another subject I’d rather not discuss.

“Oh. Yeah. Her mom.”

“She said once that she thinks her mom might regret even having her,” Ryder said.

“Yeah,” I said. “Amy’s mom is … Well, she’s interesting. Complicated. That relationship has definitely screwed her up in a lot of ways.”

“I know how she feels,” he said.

I shook my head. “I don’t think you do.” Seeing an opening to change the subject, though, I added, “But, hey, congrats on your dad winning the election.”

“Thanks,” he said, voice flat. “It’s official: My parents are getting a divorce.”

That seemed like a good thing to me. At least things were being decided. But I couldn’t say that because I wasn’t supposed to know the backstory. So instead I replied, “I thought they were already divorced?”

Ryder shook his head. “My dad’s been holding out. Asshole. He’s still waiting a few months so it doesn’t look like he was just waiting until he got elected. Even though that’s precisely what he was doing.”

“That sucks,” I said.

“God. He’s such a cliché. Cheating on my mom with some young model,” Ryder said bitterly.

“Then as shitty as it is, maybe the divorce is for the best.”

“He’s still a dick. And I’m done talking to him.”

Guess Ryder and his dad hadn’t resolved their issues yet.

We were passing the elementary school, and without even saying a word, we both started walking toward the empty playground.

“What does your mom have to say about that? About you not talking to him?”

“I don’t really talk to her about Dad,” he admitted. “She gets upset about it. Mad, even. I can’t blame her. She’s a great person, and he screwed her over.”

I wanted to point out that, not long ago, Ryder was (rightfully) upset that she’d dragged him all the way to Illinois without even asking how he felt first.

But Sonny wouldn’t know that; Amy would. So I had to bite my tongue.

“What about you?” he asked as we made our way toward the swings. “What’s your family drama?”

I shrugged and sat down on one of the swings. The leather was cold, even through my jeans. “It’s pretty boring.”

“That seems unlikely,” he said, sitting on the swing beside mine. “You just said you’re living with Amy. Doesn’t sound too boring to me. Where are your parents?”

I’d already had to move the conversation away from my mother, and I wasn’t eager to return to it. So instead, I blurted out something I hadn’t talked about in years:

“My dad’s in prison.”

“Oh.” Ryder looked startled, and I couldn’t help but notice the way he moved away from me a little. Like he suddenly remembered that I wasn’t the rich, beautiful girl he wanted.

I was poor white trash.

At least by his standards.

But, to my surprise, Ryder shifted again on his swing, his hands wrapped around the chains, and swiveled to face me. And he didn’t look disgusted at all. “How long?”

“In and out since I was seven. But I haven’t seen him in … I don’t even remember the last time I saw him. My mom stopped taking me to visit after she divorced him, when I was still in elementary school.”

“Does he ever try to write to you?” Ryder asked. “Or call?”

“No,” I said. “Although I’ve moved since the last time I saw him. My granddad died and we moved into his old house. Plus, I don’t have the same cell phone number. So I guess I don’t really know. I just assumed he hadn’t because my mom always told me what a deadbeat he was. Not that she’s the most reliable …”