Bright Before Sunrise(68)

He laughs against my collarbone, and I forget what cold even feels like. Can’t imagine ever being cold again. “I’m getting you a thesaurus.”

I open my mouth to add another adjective to the list, but he cuts off my teasing with his lips and the only word that lingers in my head is “more.”

“There it is: parking space F23. All mine.”

I’m not sure which I recognize first, the guy’s voice or the girlish giggle he gets in response. But the words slide over us an instant before headlights do, illuminating the moment when Jonah stiffens and I pull back in surprise.

“Brighton? Brighton! What are you doing here? Oh my God! Who are you kissing?”

Somewhere amid Silvia’s questions and exclamation points, Jonah’s fingers drop from mine. I miss them immediately and don’t understand why he’s putting so much space between us. Or why he’s turning away from me. I ignore Silvia and Adrian for a moment and look where Jonah’s looking: back up the hill.

The grass on the field is bled of its color in the dim light. The boundary between the concrete and slope distinguishable by a sense of lushness, not a difference in color—both look drab gray.

Jonah takes another step back and pulls his keys out of his pocket.

I feel deflated.

I want to grab his hand and run. Or yell at them to leave.

“Brighton? Adrian, that is Brighton, right? Maybe it’s her sister? Evy?” They’ve parked in Adrian’s space and she’s leaning over the side of his convertible and peering into the darkness. “Can you see who she’s with?”

“It’s me, Silvia,” I answer. “Hi.”

“Hey! I’m here with Adrian.” She manages to keep some of the excitement out of that statement, but enough leaks through to make me glad I stopped him in the hallway and sent him to find her.

“Hi, Adrian.”

“Hey, Brighton … and hey.” He gives a wave, which Jonah returns with a short jerk of two fingers.

“Brighton, is this some secret rendezvous? Scandalous! I want to know everything!”

I want to tell her to back off. To take her excitement level down from an eleven to a six and her nosiness to a three. These might be questions she wants me to ask her about how she and Adrian ended up here together, but I haven’t even managed introductions yet and Jonah’s posture is already coiled and defensive.

I don’t want a rehashing of the computer lab scene though—where one sharp word meant a million apologies.

She leans even farther over the side of the car, to the point where Adrian’s grabbing the belt loop on her jean skirt. “I thought you were single?”

“I …” I don’t have an answer to that. It’s not something I can ask Jonah in front of an audience. It’s not something I’m ready to ask him. Or think about. And he’s tossing his keys impatiently between his hands. Looking everywhere but at me.

Which is probably a good thing, because I’m sure my expression is raw hope and desperate longing.

“Is that … the new kid?” Adrian asks. I’m not sure if it’s a question for Silvia or me, but it makes me cringe. The new kid? They should know his name—or ask. All my earlier arguments about the merits of the town crowd back up my throat and choke me.

He tacks on a “with her?” in a voice that’s neither quiet nor polite. The screen of a cell phone glows brightly in his fingers, illuminating his skeptical expression. He’s turning this moment into a text, a status update, or a tweet.

“Jonah,” I correct in a voice like flint, and I feel his eyes on me. “His name is Jonah.”

“We should go,” he says quietly. He gazes coolly at Adrian as he reaches around me to open the passenger door.

“Oh, you don’t have to! Sorry. We didn’t mean to interrupt! Adrian was just …” Silvia’s apologies dissolve into giggles.

“Showing her my parking space,” he finishes. “But we can go. You guys stay.”

“No, it’s fine.” But my voice is hollow, and if they weren’t so busy with each other, they’d hear I don’t mean it. Jonah has already shut his door and is shoving his key in the ignition. “Jonah and I will see you guys Sunday.”

I shut the door on good-byes and giggles, and he puts the car in drive.

Neither of us says a word, and this silence is thick and ominous, like whatever is said next will have permanent consequences.

As I’m fastening my seat belt, I get it—what Amelia wants from Peter and what he gives her. I finally, really understand a moment from earlier in the day in this parking lot at dismissal.

Amelia with her head on Peter’s shoulder.

His hand on her hair.

Peter’s other hand on the key to her car.

Her car.

The car Amelia has never let me drive. The car her parents started planning a year before her sixteenth birthday so she’d have time to change her mind about make, model, and color.

And the way she’d said, “I’m tired, baby. Take me home, please.” It was completely comfortable, completely confident.

And Peter’s response: tracing the line of her forehead. “If you didn’t keep such rock star hours, Lia …” And he’d smiled as she pulled his hand to her lips and murmured shhhh.