Wing Jones(32)

Aaron blows out a long breath, his lips perfectly pursed, and I let myself imagine what it would be like to lean over him, my hair bouncing across his chest, against his collarbone, and press my lips against his. What he tastes like. If his lips are as soft as they look. How they would fit against my own.

“I get that.” He rolls up so he’s sitting next to me and I don’t have as good a vantage point to admire him, but now he’s sitting closer to me, so this new position has its perks. “What do you think I was doing out here in the middle of the night?” He adds, “I couldn’t sleep,” answering his own question. “My mom was asleep in front of the television, neighbors were shouting, I just wanted to get away. Get somewhere quiet. Be alone.”

“Oh.” The syllable falls out of my mouth like a pit in the middle of a plum. Sharp and awkward all at once. Something I can’t swallow.

“Aw, Wing, girl, you know what I mean. Being with you is like being alone.”

I frown, not sure how to take this.

“But better. I guess.” He laughs softly. “If that makes sense.”

He turns my face toward his, his fingers soft on my cheeks. “I’m glad you were here,” he says, and I’ve never been so close to him and he’s looking at me like he’s never seen me before and I close my eyes because I am sure, absolutely sure that he is going to lean forward and kiss me.

“Wing,” he says. His voice is soft and so close to me that I feel his breath on my cheek. “I gotta get home. And I bet you do too. You don’t want your mama wakin’ up and finding your bed empty, do you?”

I shake my head away from him, furious at myself for thinking he was going to kiss me. Just because he said that being with me is like being alone. Being with a tree is like being alone too. It doesn’t mean you want to make out with a tree.

“Let me drive you home,” he says.

His car is small; he looks like he won’t fit in it. I realize I’ve never been in his car. When I mention this he shrugs.

“Marcus likes to drive.”

I roll down the window to say goodbye to the night, but the sky is lighter than it should be. Where has the night gone? I think of Monica asleep in my room, waking up alone, wondering where I am…

“What time is it?”

Aaron looks at the green clock on the dash. “Almost five.”

How have I been at the track for so long?

I know the answer. Because Aaron was there with me.

“This isn’t over,” he says, and I feel my heart leap. Does he feel it?

“What?”

“I’m not going to let you hide … whatever this is.”

“Are you sure?” Is he saying what I think he is, that he doesn’t want to hide … us?

“You are good, Wing. And I think you could be great. You’ve got to show someone.”

My heart stops its leaping and lies down. It tries to curl up into a ball, and I press my palm against my chest to comfort it. It’s impossible for Aaron to know what my heart is doing, but still, it hurts when he goes on in the same excited voice.

“But you’re right. You can’t just show up at track. We’ve got to wait for the right moment.” He looks over at my battered Converse. “Get you the right shoes. The right form.”

“What’s wrong with my form?” I frown. “I run just fine.”

“Yeah, you do.” He taps his hands on the steering wheel in a staccato beat. “But I could help you run better than just fine. You could be perfect.”

His words echo in my ears the rest of the way home. They’re still echoing when we pull up in front of my darkened house.

“Tonight wasn’t what I was expecting,” says Aaron. “I’m glad you were out there, Wing-a-ling-ring.”

The childish nickname doesn’t bother me the way it usually does. Instead, it reminds me how long Aaron’s known me.

“You won’t tell anyone?”

He shakes his head. “Nah.”

“And you’ll be out there tomorrow night? I mean, tonight?”

“Yeah,” he says. “I’ve been sitting around every Saturday night, worrying over Marcus. I’m not gonna stop worrying over him now. But it’ll be nice to have something else to do. I don’t wanna party, but I don’t wanna stay home either. This might be just what I need.”





CHAPTER 19


I’m on the porch, putting my key in the lock, when the front door opens from the inside. I bite back a yell.

“So. Where the hell have you been?”

Monica is standing in front of me, arms crossed, eyes blazing. She looks over my shoulder, eyes narrowing as she sees Aaron’s taillights fade away down the street. She grabs my arm and pulls me into the living room. I can feel her fingers digging into my skin. She points at the couch.

“Sit,” she says.

“Shhh! You’ll wake up my mom!” There’s no way she could wake up LaoLao or Granny Dee. LaoLao sleeps through anything and snores, so Granny Dee wears earplugs. And an eye mask. And sleeps with a hot water bottle, no matter how hot it is outside.

Monica sits next to me and leans very close to my face, so close I can smell her morning breath. Or middle-of-the-night breath. Whatever it’s called at five a.m. I wrinkle my nose and she frowns.