“I was changing songs. I wasn’t even that close!” Caleb never stops his car, though, continuing to roll into the garage so that he’s yelling back at me when he says, “Can’t you talk on the phone inside?”
Caleb doesn’t bother waiting for my response, and the garage door gurgles shut behind him.
What?Is he so determined to not see me that he didn’t even glance up to make sure I was all right and just assumed I was on my phone?
“Are you okay? I’m so sorry.”
“I’m fine,” Bus Boy says with a laugh, already back to looking unruffled.
“That was just my asshat brother,” I explain.
Bus Boy nods in understanding. I know a lot of siblings aren’t best friends and that my distant relationship with Caleb is probably normal. But there are so many days I wish things were different between us. That it wasn’t just the two of us, or that we had some kind of middle ground. Right now, though, I sort of want to kick him.
“Hey, aren’t you ever cold?” I ask, noticing then that Bus Boy is not wearing winter clothes. Again. His shirt is long-sleeved but far from warm enough to be walking aroundin.
“I’m not very cold,” he says.
“It’s, like, twenty degrees,” I say, still stunned that he’s not shivering or morphing into an icicle right in front of me. Can he not afford winter clothes? He doesn’tlookmalnourished or homeless or anything. I don’t see holes in his shoes or jeans. “You can’t walk back home in that. You’ll get hypothermia.”
“It’s really okay,” he says.
I don’t know if I sound more like Katy or my mom.
“You’ll get hypothermiaand die,” I say, deciding to invoke a stronger version of their voices.
Bus Boy laughs. A full, rich sound that makesmefeel a little less cold. “Then I can go to Jimi Hendrix concerts.”
“Or not. I bet you still need an invite,” I retort. Okay, I’m definitely flirting. It’s like channeling Katy a second ago has made her invade my body.
“You know, I have a coat I can lend you,” I say, suddenly thinking of something. “Well, my brother does.”
Caleb won’t like the idea of me lending his coat to a stranger, but it’s the least of my concerns.
“It’s really okay,” Bus Boy is saying, his smile gone. “I’m not even that cold. And I bet it’s not my size.”
“It’s a jacket, not a leotard,” I say, and then we both burst out laughing at the mental imagery of either my brother or him in a leotard.Ew.Why did I say that?
“Hold on, I’ll be right back,” I say.
“No, look—” I miss the last of his protests as I race inside the house and set down my music binder. I find an ivy-green winter jacket hanging in the coat closet, still warm. Must be what Caleb just took off. He’s nowhere in sight, so I rush back out the front door.
“Okay, you can probably return this tom—” My voice breaks off as I stare out at the empty driveway. I look right, then left, then right again, as if I’m getting ready to cross the road.
Where did he go?
I walk to the edge of the driveway and look to both ends of the street, but there’s no sign of him.
I had so many questions for him.
Who are you?
Why do we suddenly keep running into each other?
Once again, I didn’t even manage to get his name.
I stand there, clutching my brother’s coat as my hands tingle with cold, and I can’t believe Bus Boy just left. All I can think is,It felt like we were at the start of something.
BEFORE
