motorcycle in the middle of the driveway, looking like a cutout from a magazine. I guess I expected he’d borrow Cody’s car again, but I shouldn’t be surprised. He looks great on the bike—I’m just not sure how I feel about riding it. But I can’t be a coward. The Keely I am for him—the Keely I’ve created—would jump at the chance to ride a motorcycle, just like she enjoys drinking whiskey. And there’s a bit of a thrill in being that girl, the one who doesn’t worry about everything that could go wrong. I don’t want to let Dean down, but I don’t want to let her down either. I want to be a Gryffindor too.
He raises a hand to greet me and gets off the bike, cocking his head to the side when he sees Andrew.
“Hey, man, what’s up?” Andrew says, extending an arm to shake. “Andrew.”
“Dean,” Dean says back, bringing his arm up to match. They do a handshake all guys seem to know, full of snaps and bumps and manly aggression. “You’re the Hitchcock guy?”
“I’m a little more than the Hitchcock guy,” Andrew says, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jeans.
Dean laughs. “Got it. Well we’re gonna get going. It was nice to meet you, dude.” He turns to me, nodding his head in the direction of the bike. “You wanna hop on?”
I glance back at the house, wondering if my mom is watching, knowing she’d kill me if she saw me get on the back of some guy’s motorcycle.
“Do you have another helmet?” Andrew folds his arms.
“What?” Dean asks.
“She can’t get on the bike without a helmet.”
“Seriously, Andrew,” I say, feeling my face flush. “You’re not my dad.”
“Her body, her temple,” Dean says.
Andrew turns and walks over to the garage, reaching down and pulling hard on the door handle. The door rolls up slowly and he goes inside, grabbing a helmet that’s hanging from the rusty handlebars of a bicycle. It’s white with bright green reflective racing stripes on the side. He hands it to me and I turn it over, inspecting the inside for spiders.
“Can you please just wear this?”
“Drew,” I say, a warning in my tone. I glare at him but put the helmet on. To be honest, I’m kind of glad to have it. I just wish it didn’t seem like he was forcing me.
Andrew reaches up to help me buckle it, pulling the straps tight under my chin.
“Good,” he says, knocking the top of my head with his knuckles.
“All right, thank God that’s settled,” Dean says, grinning. He swings his leg back over the bike and turns it on. The engine roars to life and the bike shakes with the sound of the motor. I climb up behind him, slipping a little on the back of the seat. “Just wrap your arms around me,” Dean says, looking back at me over his shoulder. “Here, so you don’t fall.”
He reaches around and takes both of my arms, wrapping them around him and clasping my hands together. I can feel the hard muscle of his stomach through his shirt and I run my hands over it, trying not to be obvious.
Andrew kicks at the gravel of the driveway. “Where you guys headed?”
There are only two pizza places in town, a place that sells cheap slices and always smells like old beer, and Giovanni’s, the little Italian place we always go for my birthday. It’s the kind of place with checkered tablecloths and melted candles, and I’ve always wanted to go there with a guy.
“We should get nice pizza,” I say, “not slices.”
“Cool, nice pizza it is.” He nods toward Andrew. “See you later, dude.”
Andrew raises an arm up to say goodbye. “Yeah, see you later,” he says, giving us a thumbs-up.
Dean pulls the bike out of the driveway, spraying a cloud of gravel behind us.
TWENTY-ONE
THE RIDE IS bumpy and fast, and I hold on to Dean for dear life. The wind whips at my face, bringing tears to the corners of my eyes, and I bury my head in