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Now, here I am, having walked the three blocks to school on my own legs, smiling the whole way because I can tell Bec’s new seizure meds are working—she’s more alert by far. The air is crisp, the leaves are gorgeous gold and flaming orange and wine red. Luca should be here in minutes.
I take a step back toward the fence that frames the tennis court, so people driving by won’t be able to spot me on the sidewalk. I figure I should do that every morning as I wait for Luca. Not because I think my dad would have me followed—because I know my dad would have me followed. I don’t know what’s behind this Luca stuff, but he’s been cool toward me the handful of times he’s been home for dinner since that night.
I rub my fingertip over a leaf, wondering again why Dad said what he said about the Galantes. What did it mean? And how does he know them? I feel like there’s no way he could know Luca, so does he know Luca’s dad? Was Mr. Galante a client of his? Or does he know the Galantes in some other way? And are Luca’s Galantes even the ones Dad knows?
I hope I never find out, because I don’t plan to ask. With any luck, I can keep my first real relationship a secret for winter, spring, and summer. Then I’m moving into an apartment near campus, and we’ll be home free.
I look down at the pointer finger of my left hand, where there’s a star-shaped pink gumball-machine ring. Luca brought it to me yesterday, along with orange Tic-Tacs.
In a makeup bag inside my backpack are the other things he’s brought—the ones I didn’t snarf down, anyway. There’s been lemon cake and orange-flavored chocolate, a tiny, two-by-four-inch canvas with a painting of the Statue of Liberty, and a little lucky clover paperweight his grandma gave him, followed by a tin of lavender lip gloss he got at an Italian market in Red Hook. And then the ring. I smile at it again before I cast my gaze down the sidewalk.
And I see him. My heart catches at the sight: his long, familiar strides, the wide shoulders and slight swagger, the black hoodie and worn jeans. His backpack is red, and there’s a patch sewn on it that his brother gave him. Pokémon. When I asked about it the other day, Luca said he sewed it onto the pack himself.
“What about your mom?” I’d asked him.
“You saying a dude can’t sew?”
I laughed, feeling embarrassed by my assumption—especially since I can’t even thread a needle.
I’m smiling at that memory as I step out from behind the trees.
His face lights up, and he speeds up. When he’s close enough, I launch myself at him, and he hugs me to his chest, squeezing me a little before planting a quick kiss on my lips. He takes my hand, and we start walking quickly toward the bridge.
I’m ready. Enclosed in my fingers is my gift for him. It’s small and silly, but I saw it in a store window on my walk home from school yesterday, and I couldn’t resist buying it. Now I press it into his hand, watching his eyes widen as he looks down at me in burgeoning surprise.
“What is this?” he asks as we walk into the covered bridge.
“What does it feel like?”
“I don’t know.” He’s smiling, his blue eyes doing their crinkle at the corners thing that I love.
I can feel his fingers rub over the trinket.
“It feels bumpy…”
“Mmm hmmm.”
“And round.” His eyebrows scrunch up. Then he holds it out in front of him, and I watch his mouth twist into a smile. “That’s a little lemon.”
I grin down at the thing.
“That’s a little lemon with a smilie face,” he marvels.
“It’s a little lemon keychain. I saw it at—you will never guess this—a lemonade stand! Really it’s more like a shop, but they have lemonade and cookies. In your case, though, this is about lemon cake. That there is a lemon who aspires to be cake.”
Luca’s smile is so big, it makes my heart ache. He hugs me against his side as we walk. “Thank you. I’ll attach it to the house key. Or my backpack.” He frowns like he’s contemplating and then gives me a careful look. “How was your night? Did things go okay?”
“Yep. My mom’s still being nice—suspiciously so. And she’s been around more. Becca had a good day yesterday. And Dad is working a lot. I haven’t seen him in four full days.”
“Sweet.”
“Yep, I think that’s the winning combo.”
I haven’t told Luca what my dad said about the Galantes. I don’t see how it would make anything better, and there’s a good chance it could hurt his feelings or offend him. I told him my dad was mad I’d gone to a party rather than where I said I’d be, and was extra mad to have found me there with a guy.
