You'd Be Home Now (42)

Max blinks, looks at me. I look at my lap.

“But everybody needs friends, Mrs. Ward. I mean, I can hang out with Joey without being high.” The neediness in his voice makes me sad. I mean, I get it. Especially now. The friendless thing.

“I’m sorry, Max. It can’t be helped. Please tell your mother I say hello.”

I hear my mom retreat into the house, the heavy door clicking shut behind her.

“Damn,” Max says. “Your mom is harsh.”

“Max, I told you when you came by before. I don’t know why you came back.”

“Because he’s my—”

But I look away from him, distracted by the whole reason I’m on this porch anyway.

I was reading, but I was also waiting, hoping to get a glimpse of Gage before I have to go to work with Joey.

Here he comes. Jogging down the sidewalk, his face creased with concentration and sweat. He’s been out on a run for forty-five minutes, which is about how long I’ve been on the porch.

He slows at the end of his driveway and stretches. He stands up and catches my eye.

    Then his eyes drift to Max.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hey?” Max says. He says it hesitantly, because of course, why would Gage Galt be talking to him?

“DeVos, right?”

Max blinks. “Yeah.”

Gage jogs in place for a minute and regards us. Then he smiles and jogs up his drive, up his steps, and into his house.

I’m not quick enough tearing my eyes away from him, because Max says, “Really? What is that? What’s up with you girls? You can’t have it both ways.”

“What are you talking about?” I frown.

“You. That. Big baseball god. You were practically drooling over him, but if I did that to a hot chick, like, kept staring at her, you’d call me a pig.”

I don’t know what to say, really, because…he’s not wrong?

“And why do you guys always have to go for, like, the most godly-looking dudes? You’re always telling us to, like, check out your insides and not concentrate on your boobs and stuff, but you aren’t any different. I mean, I’m standing right here.” He kicks the tail of his skateboard. “Man, this day sucks hard.”

As he rolls down the sidewalk, he calls back, “And tell your mom she’s wrong. Everybody needs friends. You can’t have a decent life without friends!”



* * *



—

I’m reading The Portrait of a Lady in Hank’s Hoagies, even though I should be reading Beloved for Watson’s class. It’s not that I don’t like Beloved, I do, but it definitely did not feel like hoagie shop reading. I have one eye trained on Joey, who is following Hank around obediently, when Gage texts.


That your boyfriend

Excuse me?

Guy you were talking to earlier. You going out



My fingers hover over my phone, shaking slightly. Why is he asking me this, exactly? I want to type, Are you jealous? But I don’t.


He was there for Joey

Oh

…



I wait. There’s that feeling writers describe in books, when they say characters can feel their heart in their throats. I feel that now: this knot of something, of anticipation. Fear, maybe. Or…pleasure. That he might actually be jealous.


I miss watching you swim

What?

Swim. In the pool. I could see you sometimes,

from my bathroom window. Faces your yard.

It’s too bad it’s too cold now.

…

You were watching me?

Sometimes. Not in a bad way! I have to brush my teeth. The window is right there



…

So, you want to meet up later? I have a thing, we could meet after

A thing?

Party.



    Invite me.

But I don’t type that.


Can’t stay out long. Have a workout tomorrow. But maybe we could hang out in the pool house.

…

Your mom has a meeting with the city council. My dad’s on it, that’s how I know. They always go for drinks after at Jasper’s. You don’t have to worry about that.



My fingers are definitely shaking.


Are you there?

Yes

So can I come over?



Scrumptious. That’s what PristTine commented on his pitching camp post way back in the summer. A girl with confidence. A girl who wasn’t afraid. A girl who said, not in so many words, Take me. Pick me.

Okay, I type.


Cool. Around ten. Ok?



Something crashes and I look up. Joey is swearing under his breath, trying to scoop ice off the counter. He spilled a drink container. Hank is standing next to him, apologizing to the customer.


Ok. Gotta go.



    I put my phone down. Joey looks over at me, shakes his head, his mouth in a tight line.



* * *



—

Driving home, Joey says, “Well, that wasn’t the worst four hours of my life, but it’s in the top ten.”

“You seemed like you were doing well. Except maybe for when you spilled that drink. And then the ketchup incident.”