The Rest of the Story(85)

She sounded so excited. But if she meant her getting with Roo, I wasn’t.

Blake slid behind the wheel, starting the engine, then beeped at the valets as we pulled around the circle in front of the Club. Just as we pulled out on the main road, I caught a quick glimpse of a white screen set up on the beach beyond the pool. This is probably a bad idea, I thought. But then we were accelerating, the wind picking up through the windows, and it was done.

“This neighborhood is like a maze,” Blake complained as we crept down yet another street, looking for house numbers. “And all the houses are so tiny.”

Hearing this, I felt a flare of annoyance. They weren’t that small, actually. I guess it just depended what you were comparing them to.

“Roo says it’s a white house with a carport,” Hannah said, reading off her phone’s screen. “And that he’ll come out so we can see him if necessary.”

This was the fifth time she’d mentioned his name in the short trip over. And yes, I’d been counting.

“I swear, we’ve already been down this road,” Blake muttered as we turned onto another dark stretch. “Unless it’s at the very—”

“Roo!” Hannah yelled. Six. “There he is.”

It was indeed him, standing at the end of a cul-de-sac right by a wooden staircase, waving at us. He had on jeans and a white T-shirt that said NORTH LAKE TIGERS, and seeing him, I felt my stomach drop. He couldn’t really be into Hannah. Could he?

“Where should I park?” Blake yelled out his window.

“Anywhere up here’s fine,” he replied. “The driveway’s already packed.”

Blake pulled up next to a mailbox. He hadn’t even cut the engine before Hannah was out of the car, slamming her door behind her.

“So ready to blow off some steam,” she said to Roo, and I watched his face for signs he was equally enamored with her. He was smiling, but then he always smiled. “We brought beer.”

“Great,” he said as she gave him a hug. Don’t, don’t, I thought, surprising myself with how much I really did not want him to return this gesture, even as he gave her what seemed to be a quick, friendly squeeze in return. “I wish I could drink it. But I’m sure someone will be happy to.”

“Do you really have to work?” Hannah said, cocking her head to the side.

“Money won’t make itself,” he replied cheerfully as Blake got out of the car, followed by Rachel. I was dragging my feet, enjoying being hidden in the dark of the back seat, like as long as I stayed put, this whole scene wasn’t happening. Then Blake was popping the trunk, though, so Roo came over, lifting out the cases of beer there. Just as he was about to shut it again with a bang, he looked through the window and saw me. His eyes widened.

“Saylor?” he asked.

“Hi,” I said, opening my door and getting out. “How are—”

This was as far as I got, however, before it happened: Blake, who’d been just off to my side, came over and took my hand, easily sliding his palm against mine and intertwining our fingers. And for some stupid reason, I didn’t stop him. I just stood there, like on the boat earlier, watching it happen like I was helpless against it, too.

Roo noticed. It was clear in the way his eyes narrowed on our now-joined hands, quickly processing what this meant. Then, the beers in his arms, he turned back to Hannah. “Let’s go,” he said. “It’s this way.”

They started down a wooden staircase that led off the cul-de-sac, with Rachel right behind them. Down below, I could see people were crowded on the small porch, the steps, and the dock, their voices rising up to us. I suddenly remembered Blake was holding my hand.

“What are you doing?” I asked, finally coming to my senses and pulling it back. “This is an apology. Not a date.”

“Oh, come on,” he said. I just looked at him. “Fine. Kill me for trying. I had a chance, I took it.”

“Well, we’re not like that anymore,” I told him. “Understood?”

“Yeah, sure. You just wanted a ride. I get it.”

“That’s what you offered!”

“Because I was trying to get back with you!”

I stopped walking, halfway down the stairs. Roo, Rachel, and Hannah had already gotten to the porch, their arrival (or that of the beer) celebrated with a burst of applause. “Why?”

He just looked at me. “What do you mean?”

“Why?” I repeated. Like his “nope” earlier, I wasn’t backing down. “Why do you want to be with me?”

“I don’t know,” he replied, frustrated. “Why wouldn’t I want to be with you?”

“You can’t answer my question with a question. Try again.”

He sighed, leaning back against the rail behind him. “What do you want me to say?”

“I want you to explain why you want to hold my hand. Why you want to date me. Why this”—here, I ran a hand through the air between us, to him, me, then back to him again—“is appealing to you.”

“Well, right now, it’s not,” he said. I made a face. “What? Look, I’m an assertive person, okay? I go with the flow. And the flow treats me well. So what’s not to like?”

I could not even begin to understand this. Yes, I’d been a person who’d benefited also from the actions of others: because of my dad and his hard work, I lived in a nice house and basically wanted for nothing. But people weren’t things you just came across. They had to mean more.