Bright Before Sunrise(43)

I miss the days when we were new. When it was the two of us working the same shifts at Dairy Queen and she’d dare me to eat whatever ice cream–candy combinations she mixed up. Those nights I’d go home and stare at the ceiling of my old house too buzzed on kisses and candy to sleep.

I haven’t felt like that in a while. And I think there’s a lot more missing than a massive quantity of sugar.

We’re at the front steps—I know I should tell Bright about the breakup, that she, named after crystal and just as delicate, could be shattered by the reception waiting on the other side of this door. I almost turn around and head back to my car. Almost.

But Brighton is old enough to take care of herself; confident that the world is full of good intentions and sweetness. It isn’t my job to protect her. She’s the one who insisted. She led the charge down the driveway.

Sink or swim time, Bright. Let’s hope the world really is as nice as you claim. I hold the door and follow her into the Digginses’ house.

The front hall’s empty, but the lights and noise from the kitchen spill our way. Heads turn toward the open door, and people tumble out to meet me.

“Prentiss! How are you, man?” booms Sean. I still think of my former teammates by position; he’d been my second baseman. He’s a good guy. Dependable. Laid-back.

Eliza hugs me tightly. “I heard from Sasha. How are you doing? I mean, with the whole thing?” The hug’s a little too tight—her eyes and body giving not-so-subtle hints that she wouldn’t mind being the one to cheer me up.

I say thanks and pry her off me, slapping palms with Felix and nodding to the crew behind him. Maybe this won’t be so bad.

And then they notice I’m not alone.

“You’re not Carly!” is Felix’s brilliant reaction. Followed by a smirk and an equally brilliant, “But I’d like to get to know you.”

She holds out a soft-skinned, green-nailed hand to my former first baseman. “Hi. I’m Brighton.” And smiles at the group, utterly unaware that all hell’s about to break loose.

“Bright-ton?” repeats someone, while Eliza crosses her arms and scoffs, “What kind of name is that?”

“A rich snob name, of course,” answers a female voice. The speaker is out of sight but earns plenty of chuckles.

Bright lowers her unshaken hand. Felix isn’t being rude—yet—he’s just too busy gawking to notice.

“You’re from Cross Pointe?” asks Sean.

She nods. “It’s nice to meet you all. Jonah speaks highly of you and Hamilton.”

Her speech is so formal and her posture’s tin-soldier straight. Her hands are clasped in front of her around the handle of her bag—making her look like a kid playing tea party and reinforcing Cross Pointe’s snotty reputation.

There are scoffs and laughter. More people join the crowd. It’s about to be a massacre—she hasn’t even taken ten steps and they’re practically pushing one another out of the way so they can see her social takedown. Ready to hate her because of her zip code when all she’s done is smile. I need to say something, anything, to defuse this, but before I can, she turns to Eliza and delivers the fatal words.

“Are you Carly? I’m dying to meet her!”

The room breaks into fifteen competing conversations. “Cross Pointe snob!” and “Look at her!” are distinct above the roar.

Brighton turns to me in confusion.

Eliza grabs her arm. “Are you kidding me? Jonah, is she kidding?”

Bright steps closer to me, not even realizing that she’s reinforcing the conclusions they’re all jumping to. I’m tempted to step away, to physically demonstrate I’m not paired with her. Instead, I stay frozen and watch it unfold. This isn’t what I planned.

“Priceless! Totally what Carly deserves.” A catty voice slices through the room, but I’m too distracted to figure out who spoke.

“What’s going on? What’d I say?” Brighton’s eyes swim in hurt and reproach as she whispers her questions to me.

“Jonah, we should talk,” says Jeff. He’d been my catcher and best friend. Yeah, we should talk, except there’s too much to say. Months of stuff to say. Nothing will make any sense—but despite this, we should talk.

I follow Jeff through the kitchen, and Brighton follows me. Eliza shoots her predatory glances, someone whistles, and someone else offers a shout of encouragement. Really? There are people who are glad Carly and I broke up?

“Where is she?” I ask. Carly should be front and center, leading the attack or at least reaping a victim’s share of sympathy.

“She’s upset. She stayed home.” Jeff’s answer is sharp, an accusation.

The party crowd thins on the other side of the kitchen—away from the food and the game of flip cup taking place on the table. We hover by the door to his mom’s home office, where Jeff used to be stuck reading for thirty minutes before he was allowed to join the rest of us playing catch in the park. He looks from Brighton to the room. I open the door.

“Bright. Sit here a minute, okay? I need to talk to Jeff. I’ll go get you a drink. Water?”

“No. I want to know what’s going on. Now.” She plants a fist on each hip and stares up at me expectantly.

“I just need a minute. Then I’ll introduce you to everyone.” I try again to herd her into the office.