Bright Before Sunrise(54)

“I’m sorry. I’ve been a bast—an idiot all night. I shouldn’t have brought you here, at least not without telling you about Carly. And Digg”—he clenches his jaw for a second and takes a deep breath before continuing—“I didn’t—I’m really sorry, Brighton.”

I can still hear crickets and a dog barking. A sprinkler, muffled party noise. Cars passing and a TV blaring from the closest house. But all these things, and even the grass, trees, and houses, seem removed from this moment. It’s just Jonah and me, eyes locked, as things shift in ways that can’t be measured.

“Thank you.”

“Are you okay?”

I nod.

“I can’t believe you dumped a drink on him. That’s priceless. I wish I could’ve seen his face.” He claps a hand on my shoulder as he praises me, and the touch seems to surprise us both. He grins and I find myself smiling back, my cheeks flushing.

There’s a flash in the distance to our right. A sharp bang. My body decides to jump and gasp. It decides that it’s going to breathe in quick, inefficient inhales and exhales that make me feel like oxygen is missing or that none is getting to my lungs. The air is smoky, and Jonah’s hand is still on my shoulder. I’m trembling.

“Hey. Brighton.” His voice is soft, like how you’d speak to a frightened animal. How he probably speaks to Sophia when she’s upset. “It’s all right. It’s just Felix blowing up the mailbox. You’re okay.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s an idiot and he thinks it’s funny. That’s a good enough reason if you’re Felix.” Jonah squeezes the back of my neck. “Brighton, you’re all right. Really.”

I could care less about the mailbox, but suddenly I’m almost crying. My mouth tastes sour, and I can’t stop shaking. It’s too much. What could’ve happened. The stress of tonight. All of it.

“You okay?” He stoops to look into my face, and I know my quivering lip is a dead giveaway.

“I just … I just feel so dirty. Like I need a shower. He was such a perv. And the way everyone in there was looking at me …”

Jonah’s face creases for a second. “You’re probably going to say no to this, but … follow me.”

The way he says “follow me” isn’t an order. It’s more of a question. As if he’s asking, “Will you?” As if he’s asking, “Do you trust me?” He’s waiting for me to take the first step.

I do.

“How’s your foot?” he asks.

I start to say “it’s okay,” then change my mind and go with the more honest, “It hurts less than it did.”

“It’s not far.” He crosses the street and turns down a side road.

“What is it?” I ask. I hate surprises. And after everything that’s happened tonight, I’ve earned the right to be wary.

“Signey Park,” Jonah says, as he steps off the street and onto a sidewalk bordering a grassy field. “More specifically, this. It’s nearly as good as a shower.” He points toward a sprinkler that’s rotating and watering large swatches of the field.

“What?” I half laugh. He can’t be serious.

“C’mon. I dare you.”

“You dare me? I’m hardly dressed for—” My words fade off as Jonah runs across the grass and plunges through the jets of water. Then he swoops back across the lawn to me and shakes off like a dog.

“Any girl who can take down Digg can’t possibly be scared of a little water.” He cups a hand and beckons me closer.

My mind is listing all the reasons this is a bad idea. The consequences if we get caught. The impracticality of what I’m wearing. My hair. My makeup. My sore toes. The general wrongness of it.

I place my purse on the ground and head toward him, gasping as the first drops of water splash against my calves. “It’s cold.”

“Quit being a chicken.” He holds out a hand, and I accept it. My fingers are warm and secure in his—the only warm part of me—as we step through the direct spray of frigid water.

Emerging out the other side, he takes his hand back to wipe his eyes. “See? I knew you could do it. Not so bad, is it?”

For a moment I study him through the spray. He isn’t the boy I saw in Cross Pointe’s halls—someone I thought was lonely and isolated. He might be both of those things, but if so, it’s by choice, not a lack of social skills or opportunities.

Everything about Jonah is different here: his posture, his tone of voice, the way he presents himself to the world, and the way it treats him back.

I’ve never really known him at all—but more than ever, I want to.

I don’t answer him, just plunge back through the curtain of water. Pausing to laugh and catch a few drops in my mouth. Flutter my fingers through the spray. Spin.





31

Jonah

12:08 A.M.


JUST A FEW MORE SECONDS, THEN I’LL STOP WATCHING


If she knew what she looks like dancing and turning in the water, she’d never leave. Or maybe she would. In fact, if she knew what I’m thinking as I watch her spin around in that dress stuck to her like a second skin, she’d probably step out immediately and ask for a robe to cover her head to toe. She stretches her arms up farther, oblivious to the fact that she’s now revealing a sliver of white. What is it about white cotton panties that’s so hot? Carly has a collection of thongs, lace, and things I accidentally tore, but it was when she had on white cotton that I—I groan involuntarily.