As I’m pulling into my driveway, I notice a car on the side of the street in front of my house. It’s silver and looks vaguely familiar.
When I get out of the car, I realize it’s the same one I saw outside the Cohen house days ago. And climbing out of it now is Luke.
I stay frozen as he crosses my driveway, walking toward me.
My heart beats a frantic rhythm in my chest the closer he comes, and then he’s standing right in front of me, the moonlight making his hair look shiny in the dark.
“I tried to call you” is the first thing he says. “Didn’t know if you were home.”
After a second, I manage to stutter, “I didn’t—haven’t checked my phone.”
I stare at him, and all the ways he is different stare back at me. The edge in his eyes, the coldness in his voice, the thin layer of scruff along his jaw.
“Luke—” I start to say, but he talks over me.
“She wants to see you,” he says.
And I know right away who he means.
Mel.
Mel wants to see me.
A million questions race through my mind, but all I manage to say is, “When?”
“Tomorrow?” Luke asks, and I nod.
He looks at me for one more second, then turns and walks back to his car.
He drives off, leaving me standing in my driveway, wanting to call after him, to drive after him, to go with him to the place that used to feel like home.
4
THEN
If you countedall the secrets I’d spilled in the Cohen house over the past ten years, you would think I lived there. We were cleaning out the garage when I told Mel I’d gotten my period when I was in fifth grade, and we were dancing to Amy Winehouse in the living room when I told her about Callum Turner, the first boy I kissed when I was thirteen. Ro, Luke, and I were in the backyard running through the sprinklers when I told them I’d seen my dad smoking in the driveway, and Ro and I were in the shed when I told him that having me was what made my mother so sad.
We were in the kitchen during the fourth week of summer school, when I finally admitted to myself and to Mel that I was failing calculus.
“Oh, no! Is it because you’re spending so much time over here?” Mel asked. “I told you to stop trying to look after me. I’m fine!”
“No, it’s not that. I just suck at it,” I said, defeated, as I sifted flour into a mixing bowl.
“Do you know what sucks? Babies and climate change,” Mel said. “You donotsuck.”
“Maybe I’ll just retake it in the fall and drop one of my electives.”
Mel took a break from whisking her sugar and butter mix and frowned thoughtfully. There was a line of sweat on her upper lip and her face was paler than normal. I’d tried to suggest that we spend the day lounging in front of the TV, but she’d refused. These days it was like she was on a personal mission to prove she was the lone human who responded to radiation with renewed energy and zest for life rather than the nausea and fatigue she’d been told to expect. Between me and her sons, though, she was fooling absolutely no one.
“Should we take a break?” I asked, but she ignored me.
“Youcouldretake it in the fall,” she said now. “Or maybe you could find someone who excels in math, has the time to tutor, and won’t make you pay an arm and a leg for it.”
I knew right away where she was going with this and immediately regretted not keeping my academic woes to myself. I was so used to divulging all the details of my life to Mel; it never occurred to me to keep my mouth shut.
“I probably just need to study more,” I said, trying to course-correct.
“You probably do,” she agreed, nodding. “Then again,” she continued, “a tutor could have its benefits. Someone who lives in the area, has experience tutoring, probably wants to be paid in comic books, and is around six feet tall. But we shouldn’t be too specific.”
