my mortification. I know my father’s attractive. He’s half Puerto Rican and half French, and it’s obvious that he stays fit when looking at his caramel skin. Flecks of gray sprinkle his thick, nearly black hair, which only adds character to him, and he has the warmest dark brown eyes I’ve ever seen. People often say I have his eyes, but I know without resentment that I don’t. In addition to his good looks, my father is the smartest person I know. But there’s just something inexplicably weird about having someone hit on your parent, even when they adamantly decline any advances. We all tend to be a little sensitive to this subject, but Sharon has always made it overtly clear that her friendship is completely benign.
“I can’t believe you guys are out here cooking! You must be exhausted,” Sharon says, turning to Max. “David, Kendall, and Ace just got back from France.”
“It may be an early night for me,” Dad admits with a grin.
Mom places a hand on Dad’s shoulder and takes a step forward. “Eric called,” she tells me, handing me my renegade cell phone. “He said he’s running late … again.” Her lips press into a thin line, and her artfully sculpted eyebrows rise, showing her displeasure.
“How is Eric?” Sharon asks. Before I can respond, she turns toward Max again and explains, “Eric is Ace’s boyfriend.”
Max rakes his large hand over his short cropped hair which is nearly black, then pushes it forward again before dropping his hand loosely to his side. His blue eyes are focused on me as though awaiting a response, and it takes me a couple of awkward moments to recall one had been asked.
“You know Eric, he’s always busy,” my dad offers, apparently sensing my inability to speak.
“Busy for sure!” Eric appears on the patio dressed in a pair of plaid shorts and polo, wearing a familiar smile. “I’m Eric, Eric Boyd,” he says, extending his hand to Max before any of us have the opportunity to introduce the two.
“Max,” he offers, accepting Eric’s hand in what could quite possibly be the most uncomfortable handshake ever as Eric vigorously shakes their joined hands with forced enthusiasm.
“Your mom mentioned you fish,” Eric says.
Max keeps his eyes trained on Eric and nods. “Yeah. Do you?”
“No. I don’t really have time for much these days.” Eric turns to me and his grin grows into a full smile before he wraps an arm around my shoulders and squeezes me to his chest. “I’m going to have to confiscate all these old T-shirts when you move into your apartment this fall. I can’t believe you still have them.”
“I can’t believe she still wears them,” Kendall chides. Kendall’s always up on every fashion sense, from hair to clothes to the latest nail trends.
I look down at my old track shirt, worn and washed to the point it’s now soft and comfortable and shrug with indifference.
“Hey, Ace, can I borrow you a sec?” Kyle calls from the open patio door.
With the easy excuse to leave, I head inside.
“Want to try your skills at another window? The neighbor locked himself out.” Kyle’s eyes narrow with thought.
“Last time you crawled through a window, you nearly got your face bitten off by a Doberman.” Savannah eyes me warily, standing in front of the door as a barricade.
Max follows our same path, stopping beside Kyle. “Which neighbor?” He tucks his cell phone into his back pocket.
I should be paying attention to Kyle’s answer, but I’m too distracted wondering who Max might have been texting, wondering if it was a girl, and if the same parade will return now that he’s back.
“You should be safe then. He doesn’t have any dogs.” Max winks at Savannah, causing an irrational pang of jealousy in my chest. “Come on, we’ll see if I can fit.”
Savannah slowly moves, allowing us permission to exit, looking slightly dazed by Max’s charm.
“You won’t be able to fit, dude. It’s a bathroom window,” Kyle explains.
Max doesn’t seem to find it necessary to respond as we cross the street to the Janes’s and loop around to the backyard.
“All right, Jack, I think I found our ticket in,” Kyle announces.
“Hey, Mr. Janes.” I smile in greeting.
“You went and got the prettiest one. What, are you trying to make me feel even worse?” Jack replies gruffly.
I doubt he can actually tell us apart; he has a tough time recalling how many of us there are.
“Don’t worry, Mr. Janes, I was often used to test theories,