Emmy & Oliver - Robin Benway Page 0,20

beating heart. I squinted a little against the sun, and when Oliver opened it, I sort of took a step back. “Oh,” I said. “Um, hi. Hi.”

“Hi,” he said. “My mom’s not here, she took the twins to get new shoes.” His hair was rumpled, like he had been lying on his bed for too long, and his shirt was a little wrinkled.

“Oh, cool.” Why would that be cool, Emmy? Shoe shopping with four-year-olds is not cool. “No, actually I’m here to see, um, you? My mom and dad thought that maybe we could hang out?” Once the words were out of my mouth I wanted to cram them back in. I sounded ridiculous, like some made-up character in a health class textbook. No, thanks, I don’t want any drugs. Hey, how about we play a board game instead?

“Hang out?” Oliver repeated, but he didn’t sound entirely disinterested. “Yeah, sure. Okay.”

“Okay!” I said, entirely too cheerful. “Cool, yeah! Okay. Cool. I have my car, or you could drive or—”

“I don’t have a license,” he said. “I didn’t really need one in New York.”

“Oh yeah. Right. Okay. Well, then, I guess I’ll drive. Don’t want to do anything illegal, right?” I tried to smile as I realized, I just made a joke about illegal activity to someone who had been kidnapped for ten years. Oh God. Let the trauma begin.

But Oliver just turned around. “Give me a few minutes. Gotta find my keys.” He patted his pockets, like they were hiding somewhere in his jeans.

“Sure!” I said, then went to fire up my car, my jaw tight with embarrassment.

This was all my parents’ fault.

“So,” I said once Oliver was settled in the front seat of my car, “what do you want to do?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugged. “What do you do here?”

“Not a lot,” I admitted. “The movies, coffee, ice cream. Just hang out at the Spectrum, usually.” I paused for a few seconds before adding, “It’s a new shopping center. Well, not new new, but it went up right after . . .”

Right after you were kidnapped.

I needed a subject change, fast. “What did you do in New York?”

“Oh, you know, movies, coffee, ice cream,” he said, then looked over and smiled. That motion made something in my heart seize up for a few seconds. “No, seriously, whatever you want to do,” he said, not realizing what he had done. “It’s cool. I have one question, though.”

“Yeah?” I asked as I backed down the driveway. I could see my parents peeking through the blinds and I ignored them.

He glanced down at the floor. “Why the hell is there so much sand in your minivan?”

I glanced over at Oliver, then back at the blinds, which had quickly snapped back into place. “You really want to know what I do around here?” I asked him. “Because if you do, you cannot tell my parents. They’ll murder me.”

Oliver raised an eyebrow. “Literally?”

“Metaphorically,” I amended. “Which would probably be worse.”

“Deal,” he agreed.

“Cool,” I said. “Do you have swim trunks?”

Oliver hesitated for a few seconds. “Yes?”

“Go get them and then we’ll find Drew.”

Drew lived five minutes away and when we pulled into his massive driveway, he was standing in the garage, surrounded by boxes and a broom. “I’m helping my dad,” he said before I could even ask. “We’re”—he made finger quotes around the word—“bonding. Oh, hey, Oliver. Hey.”

Oliver startled a little but just nodded at Drew. “Hey, man.”

“Drew,” he introduced himself. “I’m Drew.”

“Oh, right,” Oliver said. “Right. Sorry.”

Drew gave me a look that clearly begged to know more, but I ignored him. “Can we borrow your board and wet suit?” I asked him. “I’m going to teach Oliver how to surf.”

“You’re what?” Oliver and Drew both said.

I grinned at them. “You asked me what we did around here,” I said to Oliver. “This is what I do. Just don’t tell my parents, remember?”

“Because they’ll metaphorically kill you,” Oliver repeated dutifully. “Got it.”

“They will,” Drew agreed. “Or send her to Bible camp.”

“My parents don’t even go to church!” I said.

“Bible camp is the last refuge of every desperate parent, regardless of religious affiliation,” Drew said, his eyes cutting over to Oliver as he realized what he said. Luckily, Oliver just seemed amused. “C’mon, dude, let’s get you suited up.”

We left a few minutes later, Drew’s old wet suit and board shoved next to mine in the back of the minivan. “So when did you learn to surf?” Oliver asked as we waited at a light,