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I stop at the archway leading out, my back to him. “Yes?”
“Come here.”
I turn around. He’s facing me with that pained, weird look on his face. There’s only two reasons he makes that face. Either he’s having a weird emotional moment he isn’t sure how to process, or he has to fart.
He clears his throat and gestures at me. “You just got a couple of weeks before winter break, right?” I nod. He shrugs and spreads his hands. “Well, look, let me see you off or somethin’. I ain’t got a whole lot goin’ on today. Want me to drive you? I can drive you.”
Who the hell is this guy? What kind of motor oil has Carl been chugging to cope? “I can walk. Thanks, though.”
“Don’t worry, Toby. I’ve got our family.” He drops his arms. I am not entertaining the idea that he was actually expecting me to cross the kitchen and give him a hug. “No matter what life throws at us. My boss, he’s a donkey’s ass. He’ll probably change his mind and ask me to come back to work. Or else I’ll go to some other …” He waves his hand off somewhere. “Some car shop in Fairview. I’ll keep bringin’ in money. You got nothin’ to worry about.”
I wasn’t worried. I have income. My mom has income. Lee will pick up his winter job at the market soon. But I give my stepfather his moment in the spotlight and nod. “Thanks, Carl.” And as I turn to leave, I find Lee standing there by the front door already having witnessed some of this awkward exchange. “Have a good day, son,” Carl calls out at us, and I’m not sure who he’s talking to, but Lee gives him a, “Thanks, Dad,” before the pair of us head out the door together.
Halfway down the street, Lee asks, “Was he tryin’ to hug you earlier? And what was that about offerin’ to drive us to school …?”
“No idea,” I confess. “It felt like your dad was one step away from asking me to prom, the weirdo.” That makes my stepbrother laugh so loudly, claps of his deep laughter reverberate through the trees around us, likely waking every neighbor in sight.
And for the first time, when we reach the school, Lee doesn’t do his usual abandoning me as fast as he can. In fact, we don’t leave each other’s side even as we head straight for the entrance of the high school full of chatter and gathering faces. I find myself especially grateful that today, I’m not entering Spruce High alone. This may be an unfamiliar experience for both of us, but I get the impression he feels estranged from his jock buddies, so maybe our unspoken decision to keep together works in both our favors. Suddenly, I’m pretty sure my day is going to go smoothly.
Until Lee stops dead in his tracks. “What the …?”
I stop as well, alarmed, then follow my stepbrother’s line of sight to the parking lot. At first, I don’t see what he’s seeing. There is a car in the spot where Vann usually parks his motorcycle, and some guy in a long-sleeved flannel shirt, Wranglers, and boots has just gotten out of it. It takes me a second to realize I’ve never seen this random just-stepped-off-the-ranch hunk before.
Until he turns from his car and his dark eyes land on mine.
And I realize I know exactly who he is.
Lee clears his throat, then nudges me. “Well, go on then. Talk to him. Here’s your chance. Ball’s in your court, right?”
Vann, in all of his unanticipated country-boy glory, leans back against his car and crosses his arms over his chest. His reserved, cool-guy energy seems to indicate he’s still honoring our deal of letting me be the one to approach him. I find that weirdly sexy, his level of self-control and respect.
“Or you want me to wait for you?” asks Lee, who I forgot is still standing next to me. “I, uh, gotta get to the other end of the school for first period, but I’ll stick around if you—”
“Nah. I got this. Thanks.”
“Almost looks like just another dude from Spruce. Huh.” Lee chuckles to himself as he walks away, leaving me to my fate.
I cross the parking lot, ignoring the eyes and stunned faces that are already turning as more and more people notice Vann 2.0 leaning against his car. My heart thumps deeper and louder with every step I take. It feels like a mile separates us.
The next thing I know, I’m standing right in front of him. And instead of some polite, endearing greeting, I choose to address him with: “What the hell is this?”
Vann lifts an innocent eyebrow. “What the hell’s what?”
“This.” I drag my eyes down his fitted flannel shirt and jeans. He even has a belt with a Texas-sized buckle. “All you’re missin’ is a cowboy hat and spurs.”
