Sweet Water(32)

Marty nods. “I think I know the one.”

“Really?” I ask, doubtful that’s possible. Even if he did know the back roads of Sewickley, that house is pretty well hidden. There’s no way Marty knows where Joshua’s house is; that would be too ridiculously coincidental. And awful. No part of this life should ever touch any part of that one. I’m a different person here. I need to leave that Sarah behind.

“Yeah, I went to the Academy,” he says.

I look down at my hands. “Oh . . .” Marty Ellsworth may drive an old Saab, but he’s not semiwealthy; he’s filthy rich. Especially if he’s familiar with the houses in the Heights. Certainly he’s not familiar with Joshua or he’d say so. There’s no way for me to ask Marty if he knows Joshua without revealing how I do, so I won’t. “Very impressive.”

“Not really.” He brushes it off. “So you’re a business major. What kind of work do you want to do?” I like that Marty seems genuinely interested in my future plans. The fact that we are both here, at this university, following this natural path together makes me feel closer to him. Joshua was always one to buck the system.

“Work for a nonprofit, I think. Preferably an organization that benefits children. I did a lot of community work with my father before I came here, and I really enjoyed it.”

“Nice. That’s admirable.”

“Thanks. How about you?”

“I’m in the robotics program, engineering. But I help out on the community front too. My uncle’s a state legislator. I’ve worked on his campaign.”

“Oh, really? Who’s your uncle?” I ask.

“Edward Ellsworth,” he says, and I try not to crinkle my nose. Now I know where I’ve heard Marty’s last name before.

“I lean right but tread somewhere closer to the middle,” he says, as if sensing my judgment.

I nod, because most boys I know don’t even watch the news. Having someone up on current events is more important than someone who has the same exact political views as I do, although I sure wish he “leaned” the other way.

“Is it a deal breaker?” he asks, making a pained face that’s so cute, I’m almost convinced to change my affiliation. Almost.

“No, who can trust any politicians anyway?” I ask, then immediately regret it. “I mean, except your uncle, of course.”

“Of course.” He shoots me a wry smile, and I’m relieved when our drinks are delivered.

We both order sandwiches and fries, and he could’ve let it rest. Even I know politics and religion are taboo on first dates, but Marty isn’t like other guys.

“I mean, your president can’t even appropriate campaign funds correctly. Hello, Whitewater. Or admit to smoking a joint, but if you like that sort of guy, I can work with that,” he says.

My cheeks color. “He’s disappointing, but a man’s personal actions don’t always bleed into their professional ones. I mean, who hasn’t smoked a joint?”

“Right. So just admit it, then,” he says.

“He didn’t say he never tried it, just that he didn’t inhale.” And even as I say the words, I feel like a hypocrite.

“Right.” We both laugh, and Marty makes a gesture with his straw like he’s smoking a cigarette. “That doesn’t speak very highly of his character, though, does it? He should own it.”

I bite my straw because I agree with him, but I don’t want to admit it. Couples have survived opposing political viewpoints before, haven’t they? Maybe it would make for good debate. Since Marty is a leaner—a doorway leaner, a political leaner—maybe I could get him to lean my way.

“Anyway . . . ,” I say. We look at each other and laugh. We sure haven’t run out of things to talk about like I feared.

Our food is delivered, and it’s a great time to dig in.

“How’s rush recruitment going?” I ask.

“I’m glad you brought it up. I wouldn’t have normally jumped the gun so quickly in asking you out, but I’m going to be tied up for the next couple of weeks. We give out eight bids, and it’s a trying process, and then I’m responsible for those boys.”

“Right.” I think it’s cute that he’s making excuses for asking me out so soon. “It’s hard enough to babysit Hanna; I can’t imagine adding seven more girls. I had to wash vomit out of her hair Tuesday night. She’s a good girl, though,” I conclude, because I don’t want to talk badly of her.

Marty laughs. “She’s not afraid. She went right up to Meat and asked him if he got his name honestly.”

I nearly spit out the bacon from my club sandwich. “No, she didn’t.”

“She did. It’s funny. Meat is a big guy, but he doesn’t know how to accept female flirtation. He’s not confident unless he’s in the driver’s seat. I don’t think he gave her much of a response. Your girl should chill a bit.”

I shrug. “Her dad’s in procurement. She’s led a dull life.”

Marty cracks up. “Right. So anyway. Don’t think I’m going MIA on you the next couple of weeks.”

My heart flutters that he cares so much about what I think already. This hottie from the Heights. “I’m okay with it as long as Tush gets a bid.”