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She grins, pushing up on her bare toes. It’s early September—already getting chilly out—but this girl would go barefoot all year if she could. Arms looped loosely around my neck, she tilts her head back, wavy brown hair falling down her back, ends teasing my arms.
Her amber eyes gleam gold in the soft yellow light coming from the porch lamps on either side of the front door.
“I know,” she says, nodding.
There she is, I think, dropping a kiss to her nose. “Good.”
“Take care of Way while I’m gone?”
I sigh dramatically, throwing my head back. “If I must.”
She shoves my shoulder. “Be serious.”
Chuckling, I dip down, burying my face in her neck. “You know I will.” I pause, and lift my head, arching her a look. “And you got JJ?”
She makes a face. “Duh. Always.”
And as if summoned, just then a black car rolls into the driveway, heavy music blasting from cracked windows. I immediately recognize it as “A Boy Brushed Red Living In Black And White” by Underoath.
Good, I think, watching him turn and park next to my Jeep, just under the big red maple tree. I was hoping I could say goodbye to him too. They’re catching an early morning flight, and have to be at the airport ass-crack early. Hence why I’m not allowed to sleep over tonight.
“Isobel!” a voice calls from inside.
Izzy rolls her eyes, and shouts back, “Coming, Mom!” She clicks her tongue, and stretches up for one last kiss. “I may or may not have packed yet.”
Chuckling, I shake my head. “Go. I’ll see you next week.”
Stepping back, she gives me a little wave, just like she used to do when we were kids.
And then she’s gone, the front door closing behind her.
Turning, I jog down the porch steps, heading for the line of parked cars, my own piece of shit Wrangler looking ridiculously out of place between Izzy’s and Jeremy’s twin Nissans—hers a pristine white that makes my Jeep look straight up filthy.
I found my ride not long after Waylon’s attack, bought for dirt-cheap from some old widow across town. But it wasn’t until early summer that I actually got to drive it. Reggie, Waylon’s uncle and now-guardian, is a mechanic, and has been a huge help getting it up and running. And fixing it every time it breaks down, and something else needs to be replaced or repaired. Which happens a lot.
But it’s been a whole three weeks now since it last needed some work—a new record.
And with school having started a couple weeks ago, I can’t deny how grateful I am for the reprieve, hoping it lasts. Seeing as I can no longer pick up as many hours at Ray’s Market as I was during the summer. And picking up shifts at Chickie’s here and there, is more of a favor than anything else, despite Linda insisting on paying me the same rate as her other servers every time I work.
As happy as I am to have my own ride, so I never have to feel trapped and helpless again like I did back in April…
I know I’m just flushing money down the toilet at this point.
I’ll be on my own next year, with or without scholarships. New York City is fucking expensive, and even if I do end up having to take out massive student loans…just every day expenses are gonna be a nightmare.
Pinching my brow, I shake away all the anxiety that comes with planning for college, and turn my attention to the car still running, headlights sweeping over the asphalt, faint plumes of smoke drifting out up into the sky from the open windows.
My steps slow, a frown pulling down my face when the windshield comes into view, and I notice there’s no one behind the wheel.
“The hell?” I mutter.
The music’s been turned down to a low, thudding beat that gently rattles the windows.
It’s not until I fully pass my Jeep that I see the trunk popped open.
Walking between our cars, I call out, “Hey, just heading ou…t…”
Jeremy whirls around from where he was bent over in nothing but a pair of tight black boxer briefs, jeans pooled around his ankles. Eyes bugging, he straightens, yanking them up in the process.
