The Lies They Tell(7)
“We’ve got to get you your own line of Hallmark cards.”
With a growl, Jovia turned to Pearl. “He tries anything out there, just slap him, okay?”
“Okay.” As Pearl stepped through the door, Reese dodged her and ran down the steps. She gave chase, following him along the flagstone path into the shadows of the carriage house, where towers of boxed napkins and coffee stirrers stood as tall as she was. Up the spiral staircase to the unfinished second floor, where Dark Brew stock took up most of the space except for Reese’s corner. A mattress on the floor, a set of plastic drawers, a box for a bedside table, and a standing lamp. Jovia had offered him the fold-out couch when he first moved in, which he’d flatly refused because he wanted his own space.
Reese tackled her onto the bed, and she shrieked, laughing. Pearl tickled his sides, and he yelped, rolling off. When he lifted her shirt and blew a raspberry on her stomach, she shrieked for real, scooting back on her heels and yanking down her hem.
Reese dropped back against his pillows, breathless and grinning. “If you really want to be safe, you could staple your shirt to your underwear.”
“Shut up.”
“Not like I saw anything.” A silence. “So, bras come in negative cup sizes. Who knew.”
She pummeled him. He covered his head and laughed until she tired herself out, kicking him once for good measure before flopping back and starting the movie on his old laptop. “Jerk.”
After about half an hour, he rolled onto his side and hung his arm over her waist. “You can’t fall asleep,” she said softly. He nearly always dozed off when they watched something together.
“I’m not.” It seemed to be growing between them, this closeness, in awkward fits and starts. Dad didn’t know how much freedom they had over here, how much privacy, and she wanted to keep it that way.
She and Reese had been friends since the start of junior year, when Reese had moved here from Portland. Why he’d picked her of all people to hang around with, she didn’t know; proximity, most likely. Same school, same job. She’d always been a square peg in both places: no good at currying favor with the queen bees, too old now to run with the boys. She and Reese had never kissed except for the night before Christmas Eve, such a humiliating memory that she’d tried to bury it as deeply as possible. Now she reached down and linked her fingers with his, feeling a small charge when he didn’t pull free.
His phone began vibrating on the bedside table. Groaning, he reached over, checked the screen, and put it back on the table before she managed to glimpse the screen. Indigo, maybe. He lay down and put his hands behind his head, watching the mayhem on the screen. “You okay?” he said finally.
“Me? Yeah.” But she was tense now, and she sat forward, hugging her knees. “Feel like a drive?”
After texting Jovia that they were going out—she wrote back not too late, be SAFE—they set off, Pearl driving, Reese riding shotgun with a Coors Light from his stash held below the sight level of any passing police cruisers, which were a common sight since December. The night smelled like ocean, car exhaust, the stifling perfume of peonies.
“She has to know you’re taking those.” Pearl headed down Ocean Avenue, passing a stretch of sprawling bed-and-breakfasts and inns lit by streetlamps, quaint little shops displaying souvenirs and work by local artisans. For those who found Bar Harbor ostentatious, Tenney’s Harbor was the place to summer, to leave behind the hectic pace of New York City, Boston, Chicago. Tenney’s Harbor’s population more than doubled from late June to mid-August, wealthy families returning to their summer homes and their yacht and country club memberships.
Reese shrugged, popping the top and sipping the foam. “I think Jov’s just glad I’m not cooking crystal in somebody’s basement. A couple beers missing from the fridge are no big.”
“Has she heard from your dad lately?”
Another sip. “Nope.” Jovia and Reese’s dad, Liam, had divorced almost three years ago. Reese’s mom was caught up with the two young children she had with her second husband, and Liam’s current wife, his third, hadn’t exactly loved the idea of having a teenager around, especially not one with Reese’s mouth. It was decided among the adults that Reese would move in with Jovia to finish high school. Liam had ignored his promise of financial help ever since. Last Pearl knew, Reese hadn’t spoken to his dad in over a year.
As they cruised down Ocean, Reese shook his head, reading aloud, “Vacationland,” from the license plate of the car in front of them. “That has to be crappiest state slogan ever.” He raised his beer to a Toyota Tundra from New Hampshire that cut them off at the lights. “Live Free or Die. Damn straight.”
A flock of summer kids strayed into the crosswalk, texting, talking, paying no attention to traffic. They were the same ones who sunbathed poolside at the club in chaise lounges, held languid tennis matches on the courts, and set the standard for unstudied cool around the bandstand in the town square. As Pearl hit the brakes, Reese’s hand shot over and honked the horn. He stuck his head out the window. “Hey, Alligator Shirts? Lacoste outlet is that way. You’re blocking the road.”
One boy flipped him off, and Reese returned the gesture, settling back with a grin.
“Feel better?” Pearl exhaled slowly, accelerating again. “You shouldn’t have done that.”