“Bless your heart, Bo!” I hear her say.
She walks to the car and I follow. “Uh? Mom?”
We get in the car and she says, “I’m so sorry, Will. That Pee-lates kicked my behind and I was out like a light the second I got home.”
“It’s fine,” I grumble as she’s turning out onto the street. “But what was that about?”
“Your sweet coworker. Bo, he said his name was?” She laughs, and out of the corner of her mouth says, “That boy’s jawline could cut glass.”
“Mom.”
“I said we were shuffling around, sharing a car, and I appreciated him waitin’ on me.” She turns, but not hard enough for her blinker to stop ticking. “But then he said y’all work the same schedule and he could drive you home every night.”
“Mom! You said no, right?” Panic rips through me. Click. Click. Click. The blinkers are still going.
“Well, why would I do that? He was so kind to offer. Don’t let me stand in the way of a good deed.”
I sigh. A huge dramatic sigh.
“Willowdean,” she says. “Enough with that sighin’. Count your blessings.” She pulls into our driveway. “Especially the good-looking ones.”
“I hate you,” I say as I climb out of the car.
“Well, aren’t you a wretched thing,” she calls after me. “And maybe do your hair before your next shift! A well-styled head of hair is a head above the rest.”
FORTY-FOUR
The bell for World History rings and I barely make it through the door before Miss Rubio shuts it behind me.
I stop. Right there, in Amanda’s usual seat next to mine, is Bo. I think my brain is dribbling out my ears. From the back of the room, she shrugs and mouths, Peachbutt wouldn’t move. I wave my hand at the air to tell her it’s fine. But really it’s not, because what the hell is even happening?
Seating for World History isn’t assigned, but no one has budged since the first day, so it goes without being said. Knowing Amanda, there was a confrontation when she saw him in her seat, but someone had to lose. And it wasn’t Bo.
He sort of half smiles when I sit down, and says, “Willowdean.” And that’s it. That is the only word he says for the whole damn period.
When the bell rings, I scramble out the door as fast as I can.
I meet Mitch in the parking lot and his face brightens because he thinks this stupid grin on my face is for him. No, I want to tell him. Don’t give me that sweet smile. I don’t deserve it.
The next day, Bo’s there again in Amanda’s seat. I watch from the corner of my vision as he brushes his knuckles across his chin. I want to touch him. It seems inevitable. He’s a negative and I’m a positive and all that stands between us is a matter of time.
Like yesterday, he says my name at the beginning of class, but this time adds, “I’ll see you tonight.”
There is a chorus of bees in my stomach as I listen to Bo whistling in the kitchen. Bo always whistles when he thinks no one is listening. But normally it’s no song in particular, just a hodgepodge of tunes. But tonight his lips press together and whistle “Jolene” by Dolly Parton. Which turns my knees to mush.
Ron comes out from his office and hums along as he restocks the receipt paper. With a few minutes to go before closing time, Marcus barks, “Don’t you know any other songs?”
The whistling stops for a moment as Bo flips a burger. The burger lands, sizzling against the griddle, and he begins to whistle again.
Marcus watches us curiously when, at the end of the night, we both walk toward Bo’s truck.
I get into his truck just as his phone rings. He picks it up, and I watch as he listens for a moment. The vein in his neck bulges, his head shaking. Through his clenched teeth, he says something and hangs up before sliding in behind the wheel.
“Who was that?”
He chews on the inside of his bottom lip for a moment. “My brother.”
“Oh.”
“He just needs me to pick him up after I drop you off.” He stares straight out into the field behind Harpy’s. “We don’t really get along.”
I don’t have any siblings, but I know what it feels like to butt heads with someone you see every morning and every night.
“I envy him sometimes,” he says. “It wasn’t the same for him when our mom died. I don’t know