Bright Before Sunrise(51)

“Me either,” I say.

She reaches up and places a thumb on each of my temples, rubbing gently at tension I hadn’t paid attention to until then. It makes me smile, thinking of all the other times she’s massaged away stress: before my baseball games, after the SATs, all those nights when my parents yelled and yelled and I escaped to the cheerful chaos of her house.

Then she’s pulling my head down. Kissing me. My mouth responds. Immediately. Instinctively. But it no longer feels right.

I turn my head to break the kiss and end up with a mouthful of braided hair. “What are you doing?”

She tries to smile; it looks forced and wobbly. Her voice when she tries to tease sounds fake. “Jo-nah! You really need a definition?”

“You broke up with me.”

“Yeah, but I get it now that you explained.” She tries to slide her hands up my chest. “Don’t you think we could … I mean, shouldn’t we try?”

“No.” I take a step back and cross my arms, too surprised by her actions and my answer to elaborate.

“Is this because of Brighton?”

I swallow and look around the driveway, like her name could make her appear. God, I hope she’s okay. “It has nothing to do with Cross Pointe. It’s about me … us. I don’t think our breakup was a mistake.”

“Since when?” She’s giving me a don’t-be-an-idiot look.

“Since …” Since I realized that the most appealing part of dating you is your zip code. I can’t stay with her for her access to my old life or because then I can pretend my whole world hasn’t changed. “We had two great years … but it hasn’t been good lately.”

“You get that I believe you now, right?” she says, but she’s taking a step backward too. “I know you never cheated.”

“Yeah, but it was never just about that flyer. If we were still solid you would’ve laughed at that. Or asked me. We don’t work anymore—you just noticed sooner than I did.”

Carly looks embarrassed, but when she stops shaking her head, her expression has hardened. “You’re making a mistake.”

“Well, it’s not the first one I’ve made tonight.” I reach out to touch her hair. A farewell gesture that can’t be interpreted as an invitation for more. “I’m sorry.”

She jerks away, hands going up to smooth her braids. It’s an excuse to lower her head, not because she cares about her hairstyle. She whispers, “I guess that means good-bye, Jonah,” before running across the driveway and yanking open the door to the basement and the heart of the party.





28

Brighton

11:42 P.M.


13 HOURS, 18 MINUTES LEFT


The door from the driveway slams shut behind a girl.

A short girl. A pretty girl with a crown of braids and a pissed-off expression.

It’s her.

The girl whose picture was in the frame I dropped and destroyed.

Carly.

She’s scanning the room. I pull my shoulders in, slide down on the couch cushion. While trying to become invisible I unintentionally lean closer to Digg. He responds by putting an arm on the back of the couch, his thumb touching the bare skin inside the collar of my dress. I want to jerk away, but I want to remain unseen more.

Carly calls to someone at the Ping-Pong table. She crosses the room to join the group of players. I don’t exhale until she’s passed the couch. Only then do I pull away from the finger that Digg’s started tracing along the back of my neck and open my mouth to tell him a hasty I’ve-got-to-go-now.

I’m not fast enough.

“Oh. My. God. You’re her!” The words make my skin prickle. For a millisecond I think Digg’s touching me again, but no, his hand is hovering near my shoulder. I see it when I turn to look. Carly’s stopped just beyond the couch. She’s shoulder to shoulder with the girl who hugged Jonah when we arrived, and the girl’s expression is pure vindictive victory. Her finger is still pointed at me.

Carly back steps until she’s directly in front of me. “You’re the girl from Cross Pointe. He said you left—what the hell are you still doing here?”

I flinch from her words. Her anger. Flinch right back into Digg, whose hand clamps down on my shoulder and pulls me toward him. The movement throws me off-balance and I almost fall into his lap. The hand I throw out to stop myself braces against the bare skin of his knee.

Carly’s eyes narrow. She smirks and shakes her head. “And now you’re hanging out with him?”

Digg laughs. “Nice to see you too. Want to catch up on our old times later?” He ends his statement with a wink.

She curls her lip in disgust. “Go to hell, Daniel. And take her with you.”

“Cute, as always,” Digg—Daniel?—answers. “I forgot how feisty you are.”

I’m so aware of the fact that I haven’t said anything yet. But this makes it even harder to form words. I don’t know what to deny first or how to stand up to her accusations.

“Actually, this is perfect.” She laughs, but it’s not friendly. “No. Seriously, you two are just perfect together. Don’t let me interrupt.”

She reaches out, and I think she’s going to hit me. I squeeze my eyes shut and tense for the blow. I’m caught off guard when she shoves my shoulder instead, sending me careening back into Digg’s lap. His arms tighten around me, and when I open my eyes, his are looming close. His whole face is too close, his beer breath sticky on my cheeks.