Page 72 of 10 Signs You Need to Grovel

Says the guy who claims he’s not a hipster. “Shouldn’t you be the one buying me a gift certificate for giving your business a boost in this area?”

He waves me off. “The gift’s not for that. You’re here, at Sadie’s home. Seems my dare worked.”

Nothing’s working at the moment. Sadie’s being cagey. I just proved how low I land on the post-high-school success meter with Justin Jaws of Life Bernardini. The last thing I need is more Lennon interference. “Give it a rest.”

“Do we need to play another—”

“Maggie Edelstein,” I say.

He whips his head around and crouches. “What? Where?”

I step around him and go inside. When I see E in the hallway, I pound his back. “Dude, that Maggie trick is genius.”

“Her name’s like Lennon pepper spray.”

I almost smile, thinking of the ways I can torment him. “Why exactly is he terrified of her?”

“More like secretly obsessed, and we can’t figure it out. They both deny ever hanging out.”

Good dirt, indeed. “Where’s Mom?”

“Out back with Delilah, Sadie, and Max.”

We walk into the kitchen, and I need to pause at the view through the windows.

Mom’s on the grass with Max, the two of them playing with E’s dogs, grinning up a storm. Sadie and Delilah are sharing a lounge chair, talking close. When they notice us through the window, the girls flip around and lean closer.

Lennon stomps in loudly, stalking by us to go outside. He doesn’t say a word, just holds up his middle finger as he passes.

“You must be stoked about school,” E says, ignoring Lennon as we normally do.

I rub my jaw and shrug. “Sure.”

He stares at me in that penetrating way of his. “Sure?”

“Whatever. It’s just school. A means to an end.”

Last night, I grabbed one of my recently purchased law textbooks, ready to finally crack the spine and get ahead on readings. I barely got through two pages. I kept picking up my phone, scrolling through social media—even though I never post anything online. Then I decided I needed another workout.

E continues staring at me. “Interesting.”

I don’t know what’s interesting, and I don’t comment. I swear he doesn’t exist on oxygen. E’s brain thrives on overanalyzing every sound and twitch people make, the way Sadie analyzes art. Searching for deeper meaning.

When he gives up trying to read my mind for God knows what and grabs a glass from a cupboard, I exhale.

“Seems like Max took the dad news well,” he says as he fills the glass with water.

“He’s amazing.” Except I haven’t talked about Max with my family since then. Not even on the phone. I watch E’s easy maneuvering around the kitchen, then glance at the girls seeming so friendly on the lounge chair. “You guys visit Sadie much?”

“Couple times this week, actually. She didn’t mention it?”

I shake my head, wishing she’d invited me too.

“We stopped by for dinner once, and I’ve been teaching Max how to illustrate a graphic novel. He’s been a lot more upbeat than when we first met him.”

“I bet he loves the illustration stuff,” I say, glad he’s been more open with my family. “I signed us up for a couple of Delilah’s Sunday baking classes starting next week.”

Can’t wait for those mornings, and I love that Max is getting to know his uncle better, but I’m also a bit jealous. Unlike E, I couldn’t tell you where the glasses are kept in here, or the dishcloths, or where Max likes to sit on the big blue couch. I haven’t seen Max’s room yet. Or Sadie’s room. I don’t know if she still sleeps on the left side of her bed. If she still hogs the covers like her old cover-hogging days. If she still does that little body jerk when she’s about to fall asleep.