“It’s a dollar-fifty nine, unless you're buying the magazine too,” the cashier says, now magically awakened from his TV coma.
“No, sorry,” I say, closing the magazine and replacing it on the shelf. I fish out my dollar bills and lay them on the counter, then open the water bottle and gulp from it. He hands me my change and tells me to have a nice day. I have no choice but to leave the store, lost in curiosity over the article I didn't get to read.
I decide to walk the entire way home. My heels feel raw against the back of my shoes with each step I take and at one point, a bird actually craps on my toe. I guess I should be happy that the white poopy mess didn't land anywhere else on my body, but still – it's just another way Mother Nature is laughing in my face.
When I'm close enough to see my grandparent's house in the distance, I notice a red car driving eerily slow behind me. It's probably not a big deal, and the chances of someone jumping out of the car and kidnapping me are minimal, but my subconscious starts to get nervous. The car rolls to a stop. I dare to glance over at it. It’s a newer model red Chevy Malibu and I can't imagine any creepy psycho murderer driving a soccer mom car like that, so I stop walking and stare at the dark tinted windows for some sign of life.
The driver's side window rolls down, and it's Jace. My fear disappears instantly, only to be replaced by anxiety that Grandpa will somehow know I am talking to the enemy.
“Need a ride?” His hand reaches out the window and taps the side of the car door. My muscles tighten at the thought of riding with someone who was in jail, but the aching in my feet beg me to accept, so I sprint for the passenger door.
“Thanks,” I say, turning the air conditioning vent toward my face and leaning in so close that my nose touches it. He wasn't in jail for very long, so it couldn't have been for something bad. I'm immersed in the smell of new car and crinkly protective paper covers the floor boards. It really doesn't make sense that Jace would drive a car as nerdy as this one. “Nice car,” I say with a snort.
“It’s a rental.” He taps the dashboard like it's his pride and joy. “Yep, this baby was the cheapest model available, and she's mine for the whole summer.”
Laughing, I say, “You're not going to pick up any girls with a ride this lame.”
“I've already picked up one girl in it.” My head snaps away from the vent in just enough time to see him wink at me and I get dizzy – either from the head snapping or the wink, I'm not sure.
In only thirty seconds of conversation, we arrive at my driveway. The road is much shorter when being driven by a guy who races for a living than by Grandpa who always seems to drive below the speed limit. I tell Jace to keep going and drop me off in his driveway. He does what I ask, but not without giving me a confused look.
“Your grandpa doesn't like me, huh?” We pull into his driveway and come to a stop beside his shed. I nod, not knowing how else to answer his question. Sitting in a parked car always makes for awkward conversations.
“He's never said a word to me, but he's always glaring at me and shit,” he says.
“He doesn't really like anyone, actually,” I say. He raises an eyebrow like he doesn't believe me. “Fine, he doesn't like you because you're messing up the yard and he thinks it's disrespectful to your dead grandfather.”
“Ah.” He looks at Grandpa's yard for a moment and I fear he plans on marching over there and causing a riot. But instead, he sighs and says, “Fair enough.”
Chapter 12
With sore muscles from my stupid run earlier, I crash on the couch and thank god the local TV station is playing a marathon of a show I actually enjoy. Soap operas and court TV shows get really old after a while.
Even after a hot shower and three hours of television, I can't get Ian off my mind. I feel like an idiot because I knew we weren't officially dating. He had made that perfectly clear. But he didn't have to lead me on like that if he was just going to drop me for some skank he met at a party.
I can't believe I sent him that cell phone picture of myself. A cold chill runs down my spine. What if he sent it to other people? I don't want the guys at my school seeing that. Ugh, I am so stupid. Suddenly, getting back home for the first day of school doesn't sound so great anymore.
The marathon ends at midnight, and I finally drag myself from the couch to my room upstairs. A moving orange glow catches my eye from the window. I head to the balcony and peer out of it, finding a bonfire in Jace's back yard, Jace sitting in front of it in a lawn chair. He's staring into the fire, his eyes somewhere far away.
I don't know his story, but it sure seems a lot worse than mine. Sure, I'm stuck here with no friends and nothing to do, but my life is boring. He is a somebody where he's from. He's in magazines. And now he looks like the loneliest person on earth.
I lean against the balcony railing, watching him under the moonlight. Even the back of his head is sexy. What is wrong with me? I can't start liking someone immediately after getting over someone else. And yet, it happens.
As if he can read my mind, I watch in horror as Jace's head turns toward me, his eyes squinting to see in the dark. I press my back against the outside of the house, not knowing if he can see me in the darkness.
“You out there?” he calls out in my direction.
Embarrassment floods through me. How did he know I was standing here? Does he think I'm spying on him? I take a step forward, leaning over the balcony railing. “Yes,” I say. “I just walked out…I wasn't here long or anything.”
He motions toward the fire. “Come on down. I could use the company.”
I sneak out of the house, which doesn't require much work because my grandparents sleep like the rocks, and I cross the grass into Jace's yard. I sit in an empty chair next to him and he nods a hello. Classic rock music plays from an iPad in his lap.
“This bonfire could use some marshmallows,” I say after an awkward amount of silence has gone by.
He smiles, taking out his cell phone from his pocket. “I'll remember that for next time.” I watch his eyebrows draw together as he reads a text on his phone and then types out a reply.
More awkward silent minutes pass, and I start to wonder why he bothered inviting me over if he didn't want to talk. All he's doing is texting. He didn't text at all when we watched a movie together. “You okay?” I ask. “You're being super quiet.”
