Bright Before Sunrise(63)

There was almost a moment out there where—I swallow and clench my fists—where I let my imagination get away from me.

He turns the key in the ignition and eases the car away from the curb. This time as we wind through the streets of Hamilton, I don’t look for the mismatch between buildings; instead, I wonder if they have any connection to him. Was that his orthodontist? Does he have friends who live in those condos? Did he date anyone who grew up on this street? Or wipe out on his bike on these sidewalks?

“Did you have braces?” I ask.

“Where’d that come from?” He turns and flashes his teeth at me—perfect, straight. “Three years. I hated them.”

“Me too.” Though, really, I didn’t. I felt so grown-up when I got them on. Evy had braces already, like most of her friends and a lot of mine too. It was like joining a club. I loved color coordinating the bands to the holidays. I loved the routine of it, the lists of rules about what to eat, what not to eat. I basked in the monthly praise from my orthodontist about how I was his favorite patient because I kept my braces so clean.

I’d lied to Jonah. And it had come out as easy as breathing. Why? Was he going to think less of me if he knew I proudly brushed my teeth every day after lunch in middle school? He might tease me, but he wouldn’t care. And it’s not like he’s now feeling all chummy because of our shared loathing for orthodontics.

“That’s not true.”

“What isn’t?” He gives me a confused look as he puts on his blinker to turn on to the highway.

“About hating my braces. And you know what else? I’m not nice.”

“Oh-kay?”

I’m already blushing, and I want to let this go. Or say “just kidding” and push things back toward normal, but I can’t. “I just realized—I’m not nice. I may act nice, but that doesn’t make me nice. I only behave like that because I want the reaction—I want people to like me.” I press both fists to my forehead, shut my eyes, and try to explain. “I’m so messed up—I don’t know how to begin thinking about who I am versus how I act.”

Jonah takes a hand off the wheel and rubs at his temples. “Brighton, I don’t want to sound like a jerk, but honestly, I’m too tired to talk about this. I don’t have any answers. Remember, my mom was the one with the library of my-teen’s-a-screwup books—including the one your dad wrote. I can’t fix you. But I don’t really think you’re messed up.”

I’d leaned forward on my seat, expecting another dose of his harsh honesty, but now I slump back, defeated. “You’re right—if I don’t understand me, why would you?”

“I will say this—I do think you’re nice.”

“Just not always sincere.”

“You said it, not me.”

I fold my arms across my chest and nod. That’s another truth to add to tonight’s unmasking. But there’s a bigger question that I’m wrestling with now. The why of it all. Why do I care so much what Jonah thinks? Why do I want to hear his opinion? Why do I need his approval?

I settle back against the seat, pulling my curls out of the way and resting my cheek on the faux leather so I can watch his profile. It’s a comfortable silence in the car, not one to be filled with babble or pointless questions. Jonah has some sort of instrumental electronic music playing at a low volume. I try to find patterns in the musical loops, and my eyelids start to grow heavy. Sleep wouldn’t be the worst thing ever. It’s calm here, safe, and comfortable. I yawn and let my eyes close. Jonah will wake me. I want Jonah to wake me, want his face to hover over mine as he gives my shoulder a soft shake. Says my name.

I sit up so suddenly that he startles and the car gives a small jerk to the right before he corrects it. “What? You okay?”

But I can’t tell him what. So I nod and stare out the window at blurring highway signs with eyes that are now wideawake. The “what,” the latest and hopefully last revelation I’ll have tonight is simple: I like him.

Like him, like him. And not only do I not know how he feels, I don’t even know if he’s available.

“Jonah? Can I ask you a question?”

He rolls his shoulders back. It seems an incredibly long time before he answers. “That never comes before a question I want to answer. And we’ve been doing this all night—this twisted version of Truth or Dare. Can we stop now?”

I watch the highway markers count down the distance. Cross Pointe is the next exit. Less than four miles. It’s probably for the best. I should get home and check on Mom and Evy. I shouldn’t keep pushing this issue or asking for answers that Jonah clearly doesn’t want to give. I mean, even if he’s single, what am I going to do, throw myself at him?

“Fine. What’s your question?”

“It’s none of my business, but how did things go with Carly? Did she listen? Did you guys patch things up? I mean, the windshield thing doesn’t really look that great … but she called you.” I speak the words in a tumble and then hold my breath while waiting for his answer. Is it wrong to wish they’re still broken up? Talk about not being nice—who wants the person they like to be in pain?

Apparently, me.

He brakes a little too suddenly for the Cross Pointe exit and waits until we reach Main Street to answer: “We’re done. Carly and me.”