Something in the Way (Something in the Way #1)(40)

His eyebrows lowered. “Is it dangerous up there?”

“No, not at all,” I said quickly. “I mean, there might be bears.”

The wrinkles between his eyes vanished. “You think I can protect you from bears?”

“I . . .” I couldn’t tell if he was teasing me or not. If anyone could take on a bear, it’d be him. “No? Maybe?”

He laughed, a rare sound that made me relax.

“Why is that funny?” I asked. “You’re as big as a bear.”

“Maybe to you, Birdy.”

I couldn’t contain my smile, even if I wanted to. “The meeting’s at six-thirty.”

“You said that already.”

“We could meet there ten minutes early, and I’ll introduce you to the director. Or I was going to have my mom take me, but I could go with you instead?”

He leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms. “What do you think, Lake, that I can just pick you up in my truck and take you somewhere?”

Yes. Yes! A thousand times yes. I had never wanted anything more. “Why not?”

He shook his head, looking away. “Have you talked to Tiffany about this?”

Like a wet blanket, the mention of her name dimmed my mood. I stuck my hands in the back pockets of my jean shorts. “Can I ask you something?”

“Probably shouldn’t.”

“Do you like her?”

He paused. “That’s something I should discuss with her, don’t you think?”

My throat felt dry. I didn’t care. I wanted to know. “She discussed it with me.”

He studied me. “Oh yeah?”

“I’m not going to tell you what she said.”

“I didn’t ask you to. I’ll talk to her about it.”

I sighed up at the sky. Nobody ever told me anything. “But it’s not fair. You and I were friends first.”

“Friends?” he repeated. “Do you think that’s appropriate?”

I frowned. “I thought we were.”

“Your sister and I are friends. You and I—yeah, we are, too. But you have to think about how that looks. When you introduce me to the director of the camp, maybe say I’m your sister’s friend. You know?”

“No, I don’t know,” I lied, just to hear what he’d say. “How does it look for us to be friends?”

Manning exhaled deeply. “I’m older and wiser. Just trust me.”

Of course I understood why we had to keep our friendship to ourselves. It wasn’t anything to be ashamed of, but not everybody would understand it. That meant that to other people, there was only thing linking us: Tiffany. “Are you going to ask Tiffany to go to camp?”

“Yes.”

“But why?” I asked. “She thinks camp is for losers.”

“Because it would be good for her. Think about it. She’s not working right now, maybe a little aimless.”

“A little?”

“Maybe she’ll end up liking it.”

I looked over my shoulder at the house, surprised nobody at home had thought of it. It was a good way for Tiffany to make some extra cash and get some space from Dad. But it meant I’d be giving up a week alone with Manning. I turned back to him. “Is that really the reason you want her there? Or is it because it looks bad for you and me to be friends?”

Manning took out a cigarette. “I have to go back to work. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Fine.” Frustrated, I walked back along the curb toward my house. I’d have to trust him. He’d been good to me so far. He’d won me a pelican. He made eye contact with me. He didn’t talk over me like a lot of people did. Whatever his reason was for wanting Tiffany there, I’m sure he was looking out for all of us.

When I reached the front door, I turned and looked back. Manning still leaned against the wall, arms crossed, a lit cigarette hanging between his lips.



Tiffany parked her car with a sigh and stared out the windshield at the YMCA.

“You don’t have to do this,” I reminded her.

“Manning asked me to.”

“So you like him again?”

She looked over at me. “I never stopped.”

“After dinner last week, you acted like you weren’t sure about him.”

“And yesterday I hated overalls, but this afternoon, I went to the mall and bought two pairs because I saw them on Heather Locklear. It’s not a crime to change my mind.”

Thankfully for her. Tiffany changed her mind about a lot of things, like outfits and friends. She’d do the same with Manning, too.

I got out of the car and looked around the parking lot, half-expecting Manning not to show. But there he was, leaning against the side of his truck, smoking. I waved, but it was dusk, and I couldn’t tell if he’d seen us, so I started over toward him.

When I was close, he put his cigarette out on the ground. “You’re late,” he said.

He didn’t talk much, but when he did, my heart dropped into my stomach. All the time, when we were apart, I thought about his deep, rumbling voice and wondered when I’d hear it again. “I told you six-twenty,” I said. “It’s six-nineteen.”

“Your clock’s slow.”