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Figures.
Tess is a runner, too, the kind who throws on her shoes and takes off without any plan. She comes into the library crowing about the five miles she ran that morning, and the next day she’ll do nothing. Sometimes she does nothing for several days. Then she’ll run three. Then five again. Then two. It’s possible I keep track of her runs more than she does.
How can a person know if they’re improving without a discernible goal? With no concrete evidence of progress? I’ll bet Tess doesn’t even keep a chart of—
“Dude.” Frank’s mouth slips sideways. “Am I boring you, man?”
“Huh?” I clear my throat. “Oh, no. Absolutely not.”
“Then what was I just saying?”
“Umm. You were talking about the… carburetor.”
“So youwerelistening.” Frank straightens and shuts the hood. “Hard to tell, when you’re busy checking out Tess.”
“I was not.”
“Keep telling yourself that. Anyway, what do you think?”
“About what?”
Frank points at the car. “About the fact that the baby’s finally done. I’ve got a few more diagnostics to run, but I think she’ll be ready for sale soon. I just want to make sure she’s absolutely perfect before I turn her over to a stranger.”
“You’re really thinking about selling the baby?”
“I am.” He cocks his head. “You’re not the only one in the family with plans, you know. Just because I don’t have a calendar tattooed on my forehead doesn’t mean—”
“I don’t have any tattoos,” I say. “Yet.”
Frank throws his head back and laughs so hard his hat falls off.
“What’s so hilarious?”
Frank’s belly-laugh slows to a chuckle. “Come on, bro. You’d never.”
“Sure I would.”
“Nope. No way.” He jerks his chin at both my arms, but one at a time. “Even with those newfound biceps. You can sculpt your body, but you can’t change who you are under your skin.”
I puff out a breath, aiming for disgusted. “You don’t know me.”
“I do.” He leans against the car, adjusting his stance. “And I’m telling you right now, you’d never do something as risky as puttingpermanentink on your body. It’s why you never date, either.”
Now hold on just a minute. This is out of line. I puff out my chest. “What do tattoos and dating have in common?”
“Sorry for saying it out loud, Spence, but there’s a reason you always go after girls you don’t really want, or who are out of your league.”
“Okay, Einstein.” I cock my head. “Why would I do that?”
“You’re scared.”
“Ha!” This is ridiculous. “First of all, they’re women, Frank. And secondly, I’ve got plenty of… league. And thirdly, scared ofwhat?”
Frank hoists an eyebrow up to his hairline. “Unpredictability,” he says. “As hard as you’ve tried—and believe me, I’m a lifelong witness—you can’tplanout another human being’s behavior. What they’ll do. Or say. Or think. And that drives you crazy. In order to let a real live girl into your life, you’d have to surrender a little bit of control. And you won’t do that. So you make sure it’s not an option. You go for girls you can’t have or girls you don’t care about.”
I huff. This is beyond ridiculous. “You’re saying Isabotagemyself?”
“I am, in fact, saying that. Yes.”
