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Jordy tries to suppress the tiny smile attempting to break free.
Caleb tousles his brother’s hair and wraps an arm around him. “We better get going because somebody, and I don’t want to name names,” he nods toward me, “is impatient.”
Jordy chuckles as he lets Caleb lead him out of the store. I follow close behind. We all shuffle into the car and head home.
Caleb turns on the radio. He hums along to each song, and when a nineties throwback comes on, he graduates to actual singing. His voice is a combination of smooth notes and a subtle raspy tone that sends goosebumps to my arms. He is good. Like really,reallygood.
My mouth falls open. “You can sing?”
His cheeks turn bright pink, and he gives me an overly wide cheesy grin while sunshine dances across his face.
“You actually sound good.” I run my hands over my arms to try and rub off the goosebumps that won’t seem to go away.
He laughs. “Everyone can sing,” he says, turning the car onto our road.
I slump back into my seat, his secret talent still processing in my brain. “Yeah, but not everyone should.” I cringe when I think about my voice. It’s only meant for the shower and, even then, only when everyone else is gone. “Why can’t you sing in your garage instead of playing those awful drums?”
The car slows to a stop, and when he shifts to park, he smiles at me. “I wouldn’t want to bring you that much joy.”
“Ha-ha.” I force out the sarcasm to drown out the tiny voice in the back of my head that wants to ask him to sing another song.
He pushes the door open but then pauses. “Hey, wait a sec.”
I sit still as Caleb rounds the front of the car and pops open my door for me.
“I have two hands that are very capable of opening my own door,” I say.
“Then next time beat me to it,” he says.
I bat an eye with a deadpan expression. “Maybe I will.”
“Challenge accepted.”
I step out of the car and intentionally brush past him.
I brushed past him?
How come he’s consistently making me break character?
“Sorry,” I say, whipping back around. “I have to go, but I’ll see you later.”
I scurry away, worried he might notice the brief contact.
CHAPTERFIFTEEN
When I open the door,I see Mom curled in the corner of the couch with a blanket and a scrapbook open on her lap. She dabs her eye with a tissue as she turns the page.
My heart sinks, and I rush to the stairs, hoping that I can slip away without her noticing.
I don’t even make it to the first step.
“Becca, you’re home.” She sits up and switches to her usual, chipper smile. The only difference is that her makeup is worn off, and her hair is ruffled from resting her head on the couch cushions. “Come tell me about your day.”
I trudge into the living room, crossing my arms. “It was fine.”
Mom pats the couch next to her. “Come sit.”
I want to reject her, to use my massive load of homework as an excuse. Instead, I sit at the far end of the couch, leaving a big gap between us.
