“Sure. I mean, I gave up pop a year ago. A Perrier, on the other hand? I’d have to think about that one. But if it were an ice-cold green tea? You’d be in the water before you could grab a life preserver.”
I roll my eyes. Mat tosses the notebook on my lap and backs out of the parking lot. We don’t speak. The radio blares the afternoon news. Only when the car beeps at me to put on my seat belt—and I obey—does Mat turn down the volume.
“In all seriousness, I don’t think it’s you,” he says quietly. “It’s just the way parents are.”
I frown. “They would never treat Ari or Bunny this way.”
“Maybe not, but your sisters probably had to endure situations you didn’t. My dad’s always saying, since I’m his oldest and only, that I get to suffer his mistakes without benefiting from the wisdom that comes with multiple children. Poor guy doesn’t even have my mother around to help him out.”
“Yeah.” I’m quiet for a minute, thinking it can’t be easy with just the two of them, father and son. Does Mat miss his mom? Or have they both just accepted their new life? “I still wouldn’t call my parents’ actions wise.”
“People don’t always get it right the first time. And this situation? Definitely a first,” he says wryly.
I peek at him. The sun’s on its descent, dappling his face with shadows. I have the strangest sensation that he’s not the boy I’ve hated all these years. It’s almost as though he were someone new and yet familiar…
“You actually sound reasonable.” I shake my head. “I’m going to do something I never dreamed possible—”
“Kiss me?” He smirks.
And the sensation evaporates.
“What? No.”
“You’re right. What am I saying?” He signals the turn for my street. “My kisses probably figure in your dreams on a nightly basis.”
I gag. “Excuse me. I just threw up in my mouth—a lot. I was going to say thank you, you world-class, insensitive, thoughtless, arrogant—”
“Go on,” he urges. “You can curse, you know. I won’t tattle on you in the notebook. I triple-bear dare you. Say it!”
“Donkey,” I say primly. “You’re a donkey.”
He smiles. “It’s not a bad word. Especially when you define it like that.”
He pulls into my driveway and turns off the car. His eyes sweep over my face, and he leans forward ever so slightly.
My breath catches. What is he doing? He wouldn’t kiss me, like he threatened. Would he? No way. But he’s so close…
He leans even farther—and then plucks the notebook right off my lap.
Right. That’s what he was going for. The notebook.
“So what are we going to write in this thing?” He peers at me over the cardboard cover. “Pretty sure you don’t want your parents knowing we discussed them.”
My mouth opens, then closes. I can’t believe he’s willing to cover for me. Even more surprised the gesture even occurred to him.
“How about our hopes, our dreams?” he asks when I don’t respond. “Parents love that serious career stuff. Are you going to major in art at Northwestern? I’m going there, too, you know. So you’ll have four more years of my magnetic personality.”
“Ugh, don’t remind me,” I say, avoiding the question.
“I’ll be premed. But you were always different from the rest of us. I remember how impressed I was when you told me you wanted to be an artist in the fourth grade.” He shakes his head. “At that age, I never dreamed such a career choice was possible. Still can’t, if I’m being honest.”
“People change,” I say stiffly. “They grow up. I’ll probably major in economics.”
He blinks. “That doesn’t sound like you.”
“Well, you don’t actually know me, do you?” I bite out. “You don’t have the first clue who I’ve become, so don’t pretend like you do.”
I want to take back the words as soon as I say them. I wish I could rewind the conversation. But it’s too late. As I watch, he packs away his open, friendly expression. All that’s left are tight lips and granite cheeks. His aloof face. The one that he seems to reserve especially for me. The one that forms a wall so impenetrable, I haven’t been able to break through in the last four years.
“You’re right. I don’t know you.” I can hear the full stop in his words. In our conversation.
He moves the pen across the page. “We talked about school. My Jeep. The new boy. That’s more or less true.” He glances up, his eyes opaque. “Your