Our Little Secret(16)

“I think she knows what we want.” HP pulled me towards him.

“You two should just get married and get it over with.” Ezra stubbed out his cigarette near my thigh. “Do us all a favor.”

“I’m totally in if you are.” HP grinned at me, kissing the side of my neck. I nodded but my shoulders were tight, and HP sensed it. “What’s up with you, John?”

“These parties are all the same. The music’s the same, the drinks are the same and nobody has anything interesting to talk about.” I scratched at a bump of moss on the rock. “Summer’s curling at the edges. Everyone should just get the hell out of here.”

Both boys looked sideways at each other.

“Okay . . . I’m down with leaving. Say the word.” HP stood up and dusted off his jeans. “Or . . . is that not what you mean? What’s the deal with you tonight? You’re . . . spiky.”

“I’m bored.”

Ezra took a lazy drag of a fresh cigarette. “Bullshit. You’re mad about something. I know girls.”

“Let’s get out of here,” HP said quietly. “Unless it’s me you’re mad at.”

“It’s not.” I rolled the dead moss off the rock and looked up. “Can you drive me home?”

We parked in my parents’ driveway. As HP switched off the stereo, he asked, “Is it something I did?”

I stared at my hands. “HP, I don’t know what to say.”

There was a tapping at my passenger window and I glanced up to see my mother standing beside my door in her dress coat. She’d recently brushed her hair. As she gestured for me to wind down the window, I turned towards HP.

“Just start the engine!” I hissed. “Reverse!”

“Why?” he asked. “What’s going on?”

“I can’t . . .”

She rapped on the window again, this time using her knuckles.

“Just roll down the window,” said HP. “She’ll put her fist through my glass if you don’t.”

I looked into my mom’s face. She was a tidal wave, waiting to pour into the truck and fill up the space until we drowned. I held my breath and rolled down the window.

“Honey! I heard you two pull up and I just thought I’d come out and wish HP good luck.”

“Good luck with what, Mrs. P?” His demeanor was so calm. He hunched forwards over the steering wheel, resting his chin on it.

“We’ll be seeing a lot less of you for a while, I guess, because Angela won’t be here. And about that—I just wanted to say that even if she’s not around, you can still come over anytime and visit with me.”

HP’s face was a blank white sheet of paper, cut by moonlight.

“I’ll keep that in mind, Mrs. P.” He turned to me. “Roll that back up.” He twisted the key in the ignition and threw the truck into reverse, leaving my mom standing in the driveway in her pom-pom slippers.

I should have told him earlier, maybe before the party, but I just hadn’t found the right moment. He drove up the block to his house, which I wasn’t expecting. He banged the door when he got out, and in two strides he was over by the old birch tree. I watched from the passenger seat as he pulled up the hood of his sweatshirt and slid his back down the bark of the trunk. After a minute I joined him. His house was dark except for one light still on in his parents’ bedroom. Mrs. Parker always stayed up reading while her husband slept. HP and I sat in silence until he trod his flip-flop on top of mine.

“So, you’re going somewhere?” he said.

My heart thumped. “I got into college. I leave next week. I was going to tell you. That’s why I wasn’t into the party. I was . . .”

He looked at me hard and then shook his head, laughing. “How far a drive, LJ? Or is it the community college in town?”

“England. Oxford University.”

He put one hand flat on the top of his hood and pulled it forwards a few inches. Then he rubbed his face like he was washing it with soap. “When did you find out?”

“After grad weekend.”

“Are you serious? Why didn’t you tell me?” His voice sounded small. I felt desperate to hug him, to go lie down in his truck.

“I’m sorry. It’s my parents. I don’t want to go.”

“Don’t then. Don’t go.”

I put my hand on his arm, but he wouldn’t look at me. “Can you come with me?”

The sound he made was sharp. “I don’t think I’m Oxford material.”

I looked down at my toes, curled them into my shoes.

“And you know I’ve got my own things going on. I’ve got the apprenticeship and I’m coaching the senior swim team.” He pulled his hood farther down his face. “I just can’t believe you wouldn’t tell me.”

We were quiet for a few minutes. The light in his parents’ bedroom went out. When HP finally spoke again, his voice was softer.

“Look, it’s good for you to go. You deserve it and . . . and you’ll do well, I’m sure.” He stood up and touched me on the top of the head.

I was fighting back tears, like a kid on the first day of kindergarten.

“So you’ll have a blast. And it’s only eight months. Jolly old England. Next time, tell me the truth, though, hey. And give me a bit of warning.”