Tease(76)

“Your brothers, yes, that’s a lot,” Teresa says. “But your relationships with your peers, too. Your friendship with Brielle. Your sexual relationship with Dylan. These are very intense situations.”

“I don’t—I mean . . . everyone has sex,” I stutter, embarrassed.

“Not everyone does in high school.”

I snort. “Well, they’re supposed to.”

She tilts her head. “I know it’s hard to see it now,” she says softly, “but this is a lot to take on, to process. You have very adult feelings, but everything you’re experiencing is for the first time. There’s a tremendous weight on all of it.” She holds up the hand holding her pen and turns it palm up, pulsing it up and down, as if she’s holding something heavy, weighing it. “These are complicated feelings, complex relationships, for women even in their twenties and thirties. Even older.”

I’m tipping a little to the side, and I have to pull my legs down, out of my sweatshirt, sitting like a normal person. Like an adult. Who has complicated feelings and relationships.

“If that’s true,” I tell Teresa, “then everyone at school needs a therapist.”

I’m joking, but she doesn’t laugh, or even smile. She just shrugs one shoulder and says, “Maybe so. But you’re here now. Let’s talk about you.”

My stomach lurches. “I haven’t finished the letter, if that’s what you mean.”

She tilts her head to the other side. “Why did you think I was talking about that?”

My eyes practically roll themselves at this—of course we’re back to Twenty Questions.

“Because it’s Saturday?” I say. “And I just went to see the lawyer with my parents, and I’m supposed to be ready to go to court on Tuesday?”

“And you’re not ready?” Teresa asks.

“No,” I say with a sigh. “I don’t think I’ll ever be ready.”

I drive home the long way. The very long way. Somehow I end up in Emma and Tyler’s neighborhood, which is only on the way to my house if you’re trying not to get to my house anytime soon. But it’s as if my car just goes where it wants now, like how it still seems to be able to find Dylan’s SUV. Well, used to.

I turn onto Emma and Tyler’s block and immediately have to slam on the brakes. TV reporters, with their network-logo-antenna-topped vans, are lined up along the curb. I couldn’t drive past if I wanted to. It’s not like we’re such a big town that we have so many TV stations or something—but it looks like maybe there are some national ones here too. Great.

Only a couple of them seem to be actually set up; it’s not like there’s anything going on right now. Emma’s house sits, as always, at the top of its sloping lawn, the line of columns across the front looking austere and dignified. This neighborhood is old enough that the trees are big and stately, too, and the leaves are all starting to turn and fall. It’s a pretty scene, I think, and then I figure: That’s what the news is going to say. “What a pretty place. You’d never think something like this could happen here.”

Creeps.

There’s a driveway to my left that isn’t blocked, so I pull into it and turn the car around. I head for home, for real this time.

“Hey. You look nice.”

I stare at Carmichael. “So do you. Your shirt has a . . . a collar.”

Carmichael looks down at his dress shirt. “I clean up pretty good,” he says modestly.

I can’t help but smile. Because it’s true—it’s just a navy button-down, nothing earth-shattering. But it’s not a black T-shirt. And it looks terrific on him, with his clean, combed hair and a nice pair of dark jeans. The evening sun is all glowy behind him, and I realize this is probably the first time a boy has come to my front door to pick me up on a Saturday night. This just wasn’t Dylan’s style at all. I never would have thought it was Carmichael’s style either, but he is full of surprises.

I look down at my own outfit, a merino sweater and jeans. Normally this ensemble would make me twice as dressed up as Carmichael, but now I’m not sure. “Should I change? I should go change,” I say, backing into the house.

“Nah,” he says, but I’m already on the stairs.

“Be right back!” I call, hurrying to my room. I have a skirt here somewhere, and a cuter pair of shoes, and . . .

And for the first time ever, I get to do that thing of walking down the stairs while a boy waits at the bottom, looking up at me. It’s not the prom or anything, but I’ll take it. He’s even talking to my mom, and they both smile when they see me. Like it’s just a normal night, like I’m allowed to be this regular girl.

It’s fully dark outside by the time Carmichael turns us onto Harney Street, scanning the rows of cars for somewhere to park. We’re downtown, and there’s a big weekend crowd I’ve never really seen before. Actually, the last time I was here was—

“Hey, um, we’re not going to the diner, are we?” I ask him quickly.

“No, why, you want to?” he asks. I shake my head, but his eyes are still on the sides of the street. “It’s not really worth getting dressed up for,” he adds.

“I want to go—wherever we’re going.”

He turns at the corner and, magically, someone is just pulling out. “Excellent,” he says, either about the parking space or what I’ve said, I’m not sure. Both, maybe.