all over, I want to be sure.
“Yeah?” he says, confused, but then he hears it, too, and says, “Oh shit, oh Jesus. I’m so sorry, Markham.”
Except I don’t want him to be sorry. I don’t want him to stop, or leave, or worry about who is coming, except we have to, even if I want this, it, us, to keep going.
“Ethan? You out here?” The voice grows closer and I try to focus on the pool through the trees, but the air is spinning and the yard is spinning, and I want to cry at how his mouth is gone from mine. “Ethan!” His name louder, in our direction.
Your mother, Aubrey.
Your mother.
“Out here, Mom!” Ethan calls, trying to make his voice sound normal. “We’re cleaning up.” He pushes me back, grabbing the towel from the ground and holding it up as some sort of proof of I don’t know what, as we move out from behind the bushes. “Kids left stuff everywhere. JL was helping. I’ll get this whole mess cleaned up before morning.”
Your mother’s eyes are on me, suspicious, taking in the scene. I have nothing in my hands to show I was helping. I didn’t have that kind of time to think.
There is nothing to indicate I’m innocent.
“Shouldn’t you be home, JL?” Your mom’s words are sharp, scolding. “Mr. Andersson can drive you. It’s way too late to walk alone.”
I could sleep here, I want to say. I always sleep here. But I don’t. I can’t. I’ve betrayed you, and your mother is rightfully sending me home.
My eyes dart to Ethan for help, for solace, for him to stand up for me, declare his love for me—anything—but he’s busy picking up cups and napkins and empties, as your mother disappears across the lawn.
* * *
And then the U-Haul is in your driveway, and Ethan is shoving his stuff into the back. And if you ever find out what happened, Aubrey, you’ll kill me. You’ll never want to be my friend again. And with my dad still gone, and my mother seeming more and more ill by the minute, I can’t lose you, too. I just can’t.
* * *
When the last of his possessions are stuffed in the truck, Ethan’s eyes catch mine for one split second, and he says, “That’s it, I think. Everything I need is loaded up.”
And I know right then, there is not a single person in the whole wide world solid enough to rely on.
No one, Aubrey.
Not even myself.
MID-MAY
TENTH GRADE
“I take it that’s a yes?” Ethan moves his grip on the steering wheel, drumming his fingers on the dashboard to the turned-down music. “You’re mad at me,” he clarifies, as if his understanding of the obvious is what makes it so.
He turns the car off, and pulls the key from the ignition. I trace the rays of sunlight from his hair, to his cheek, to his fingers, trying to block out the flashes of shoved-away things.
The pool.
Me, on his shoulders.
His lips.
His tongue in my mouth. Down my stomach …
“No. Not mad.” I want this to be true. “Distracted. Preoccupied. Overwhelmed.” I search for words, but none of them seem right. They all sound like lies set loose.
“So I see.” It’s not clear at first that he’s teasing me, being sarcastic, but then he motions around the empty parking lot and laughs. I’m tempted to blurt out about Max, how I’m waiting for him, how every day, practically, he meets me here, how his hands have been all over me, too. How I’m going to sleep with him the minute I turn sixteen. How I’m going to California with him.
Max Gordon will be here soon, so you might want to leave, I want to say. Max Gordon who hates you. Who pretty much hates all you Anderssons.
“They think they’re too good for everyone,” Max once told me when I was complaining how Aubrey had ditched me. “I could do circles around them, and not just in an open field on my bike. Give me any class, any test. On the fucking APs if I wanted to. But some of us don’t have anything to prove.”
Now I wonder if that’s true, Aubrey. If there’s anyone who doesn’t have something to prove.
Ethan opens the car door, and strolls toward me.
Shit.
I busy myself slipping the study packet into my backpack, and try to find something normal to say, opting for the inane, “So, you’re home for the summer already?” when he reaches me.
“Yeah, last week.” He places his