Shuffle, Repeat(32)

As always, I’m amused—and, oddly, flattered—by the way Oliver talks when he’s with me. I know he doesn’t use those words with Theo. And maybe not Ainsley, either.

“The bottle is for me,” he continues. “But the peace of mind is for you.”

“It’s a symbol.”

He bats his eyelashes at me. “A symbol of my desire both to A: contribute to environmental salvation, and B: lessen the number of times that you give me the stink-eye in the mornings.”

Naturally, I give him the stink-eye.

But then I smile.

? ? ?

It’s way too cold and snowy for the bleachers, so Itch and I are at a corner table in the cafeteria. We’ve slung our jackets over two chairs for Darbs and Lily and piled backpacks on a third just in case Shaun joins us today.

Itch picks at his lasagna. “Gross.”

I hold up my cloth sack. “If you packed your own lunch, you wouldn’t be subjected to the vile whims of the cafeteria demons.”

“If I packed my own lunch, I’d lose approximately fifteen minutes of sleep.” He starts chopping at the lasagna with his spork. “Since I’m leaving on Saturday, do you want to hang on—”

“Wait, what?” I freeze in the act of unwrapping my sandwich. “Where are you going?”

“Florida. Remember, my grandparents? Christmas and Serbian New Year?” he says with exaggerated patience, like he’s explaining to a toddler. “I told you this.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“No he didn’t what?” asks Lily, plopping into the chair beside mine.

“Tell me he’s going to be gone for winter break.”

“I told her,” Itch says, and goes back to the sporking.

Lily makes a face at his lasagna. “PMGO.”

“What does that even mean?” I ask her.

“Puke my guts out,” she says. “Darbs wants it to take off.”

“Where is she?”

“In prayer.”

“Oh, right.” I always forget the God Squad kids have lunchtime prayer circle on Tuesdays.

“So are you a rainbow now or what?” Lily asks me. When I give her a blank stare, she elaborates. “It’s like you have dual citizenship these days.”

I still don’t understand until Itch nudges me. “Because sometimes we eat lunch elsewhere, June.”

Oh.

I have an urge to defend myself to Lily, even though what she said wasn’t at all an attack. “Is that weird?” I ask her.

“For sure,” she says. “I mean, it’s fine. But it’s weird.” She shakes her head. “And now you go to football games.”

“Some football games,” I say, correcting her.

“Yeah, my girlfriend has school spirit now,” Itch says. I know he’s trying to be funny, but it irritates me.

“There are worse things,” I inform him.

“Nope,” says Lily. “That’s the worst.” Itch clinks his soda can against hers. I roll my eyes at both of them.

Itch turns to me. “Do you want to hang tonight? I can come to your house.”

“I think Cash is going to be over, too.”

I see Itch search his memory. “Cash the contractor guy?”

“Yeah.” Another flash of irritation. Itch has met Cash half a dozen times, at least.

“What, is he dating your mom or something?”

“I think so.”

“Ooh, juicy!” says Lily. “Is he hot?”

“Gross!” I swat at her. “He’s with my mom.”

“I’m just wondering,” Lily says. “It would be nice to have adult eye candy in the house.” I swat her again.

Itch—of course—doesn’t say anything about Cash. “Cool. I’ll come over after dinner. Maybe we can go for a drive.”

Lily and I make eye contact. “Ah, euphemisms,” she says.

? ? ?

I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but I am finding every excuse in the world not to be alone with my boyfriend. Mom and Cash have taken over the family room to watch a documentary about organic farming, so Itch and I are sipping hot apple cider in the kitchen. “How about the basement?” he suggests.

“It just got painted. There are fumes. Besides, the drop cloths are still all over. Nowhere to sit.”

“We could drive to the park.”

“I don’t think Mom will let me go out late—”

“It’s eight-thirty, June.”

“—when it’s this cold. She’s worried about ice on the roads. In fact, do you think you should head home before it freezes even more?”

Itch shakes his head. “I’m fine. I just thought we would do something before I left.”

“We’re doing something right now. We’re talking.” Neither of us mentions that it’s not exactly our strong suit as a couple.

We sip our ciders.

Later, after Mom and Cash finish the documentary, they go downstairs to look at the basement walls. “They don’t mind the fumes,” Itch says, getting up to stand behind the stool I’m sitting on. He places his hands on my shoulders and moves his thumbs in circles against the base of my neck. I know—I know—it’s supposed to feel good. It has felt good a hundred times before, but tonight…it doesn’t. Tonight, I hate it.