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Well, if he wants to. Izzy, Waylon, and I are determined to convince him.
One and a half more years to go…
Not to mention he’ll be able to attend prom with us next year too. He’s yet to go to a school dance, and as cringey as they are, there’s no way he can’t go to prom. If I didn’t know Izzy would beat me to it, I’d kidnap him myself.
Yeah, right. As if the second he started panicking, you wouldn’t bend over backward to insist having prom here instead with just the four of you, and whoever Waylon’s flavor of the month is.
“Proofs?”
I snap out of my thoughts to find Jeremy arching me an expectant look.
I groan and flop onto my back. “Why? When will I ever need this in my life?”
Chuckling, he sits on the bed. “Go get your stuff. We can do it together.”
“Fine…” I go to climb off the bed when something occurs to me. I look over my shoulder, staring at the back of his head. “Hey, by the way, I didn’t just come in here to get you to help me with homework.”
“Uh huh, sure.”
“No, seriously.” I wait for him to turn around, and say, “I told you. I didn’t even know you were home. I heard you singing and made a detour.”
His jaw drops. “I was not.”
I wink at him, and turn away.
Ever since Jeremy got his license last month—and his own car—he’s rarely home these days. He says he just drives around mostly, though with how much gas money he’s been blowing through…and the fact he doesn’t have a job…
Well, I assume he has to be going somewhere.
In the hall, I freeze, frowning.
Could he be…could he be seeing someone?
Shaking my head, I cast off that thought, and throw open the next door, entering Izzy’s room. Pictures and posters and wall art decorate nearly every inch of her walls—Polaroid’s immortalizing our childhood and pre-teen years.
On her nightstand, there’s three framed photos. One of her and Jeremy as little kids, faces smushed together, tongues out. One of her, me, and Waylon dressed as The Three Musketeers from Halloween when we were nine. And one of just her and me, with my arms wrapped around her.
It’s from homecoming last year. She’s grinning, braces strung across her teeth. And I’ve got my cheek pressed to hers, my pale blue eyes red in the centers where the flash got me.
I grab my bag, and return to Jeremy’s room. It’s a wild contrast compared to his sister’s room. His walls are gray, and meticulously decorated with various band and movie posters and comic book prints. No pictures of any of us.
Makes me sad…
Does he not have any?
Did we…did we not include him enough?
“What is it?” he says, when he catches me standing there, frowning.
“You don’t have any pictures of us.”
His brows spike.
“On your walls, I mean. Of any of us.”
“Oh,” he says, nodding. “You mean I didn’t turn my room into a life-sized scrapbook like Izzy did.”
My lips twist, eyes narrowing in amusement. “Be nice.”
