Love & Luck(18)

Sometimes I hated my life.

“No run. I’m just, um . . .” I bit my lip nervously, desperate to get out of there but also desperate to stay. “What are you doing here, Cubby?”

“No one calls me Cubby anymore, Addison,” he said, tilting his head slightly.

“Well, no one calls me Addison. And the question stands.” I edged toward the hallway, the tile cold under my bare feet. Cubby’s stare ignited too many feelings in my stomach—and they tangled into a knot. Why did I have to look so gross? Upstairs, the bathroom door slammed shut.

“I’m picking up your brother. Coach called for an extra practice this morning, and Ian said you had the car today.”

“We have joint custody,” I said. “This weekend it’s mine.”

Cubby nodded knowingly. “But you made sure to explain to the car that it isn’t his fault, right? And that you both love him very much?”

A laugh burst out of me just as Ian appeared in the doorway. His hair was wet from the shower, and the strings from the two sweatshirts he wore tangled together. He was the only person I knew who ever wore two hoodies at once. How he managed to put them on was an unsolved mystery that I had been attempting to put to rest for several years now.

Cubby lifted his chin. “Hey, Bennett.”

Ian nodded at him sleepily, then squinted his eyes at me. “Addie, why are you up so early?”

“I was on the phone with Lina.” The time difference meant I sometimes had to get up really early if I wanted to talk to her.

He looked at my pajamas and wrinkled his face. I didn’t have to be a mind reader to know what he was thinking.

“Bye, Addison.” Cubby smiled disarmingly, then jumped off the counter, giving me a long look as he followed Ian out.

“Bye, Cubby,” I called back, my heart hummingbird-fast. The second he was out of sight I fell against the counter. Why did I always have to act like a lovestruck third grader? I might as well walk around with a T-shirt that reads I CUBBY ?JONES.

Suddenly, Cubby’s face appeared around the corner. “Hey, Addie, you want to hang out sometime?”

I shot back up to standing. “Um . . . yes?” You’d think that living with so many brothers would mean I’d know how to talk to guys, but I didn’t. It just meant I knew how to defend myself. And the way Cubby was looking at me—really looking at me—I had no defense for. It set my capillaries on fire.



Back in the hotel room I set a world record by getting dressed, packing my suitcase, and locating my phone, all in less than six minutes. Once my sneakers were laced, I stuck my head into the bathroom to check for Ian’s alleged note. Sure enough, there was a folded-up square of paper wedged into the corner of the mirror, my name spelled out in Ian’s miniscule handwriting.

“Ian, come on,” I groaned. Chances were I wouldn’t even have seen it there.

I jammed the note in my pocket, then wheeled my suitcase to the doorway, pausing when I caught sight of the guidebook peeking out from under my cot. I hurried over and scooped it up. I didn’t like the idea of stealing from the gnomes’ library, but something about the guidebook’s crinkled pages made me feel better. Less alone. And besides, what if Guidebook Lady was telling the truth? What if she was an expert on heartbreak? I needed all the help I could get. Maybe I’d figure out how to mail the guidebook back to the gnomes from Italy.

Outside, the car was right where I’d left it and Rowan stood rummaging through the trunk. Now that I wasn’t engaged in actively fighting off my brother, I could actually take Rowan in. He was taller than I’d expected and really skinny—like half the size of Archie or Walter. But even so, he definitely had what my mom called “presence.” Like he could walk into any lunchroom anywhere and ten girls would look up from their ham sandwiches and whisper, Who’s that? in identical breathy voices.

Good thing my breathy voice had been scared into permanent hibernation.

“Welcome back.” Rowan took my suitcase, tossing it into the trunk.

I pointed to the bumper stickers plastering the back of the car. “Did you pick all of those, or were they a preexisting condition?”

“Definitely preexisting. I’ve only owned the car for three weeks.”





IMAGINE WHIRLED PEAS


THIS CAR IS POWERED BY PURE IRISH LUCK





TEAM OXFORD COMMA


CUPCAKES ARE MUFFINS


THAT DIDN’T GIVE UP ON THEIR DREAMS

“The muffin one is pretty funny,” I said, hugging the guidebook to my side.

“I think so too. It may be the whole reason I bought this car. There wasn’t a whole lot to love otherwise.”

I shook my head. “Not true. This car is equipped with a rare sagging tailpipe. I’m sure people go crazy over those at car shows.”

“Wait. Is that a joke, or is the tailpipe actually sagging?” He looked anxiously at the roof of his car, his gaze a solid six feet above where the tailpipe actually resided. Yikes. I think it was safe to say Rowan was not a car person.

“Uh . . . that pipe thing?” I said, pointing under the back bumper. “It lets exhaust out of your car. If it starts dragging on the ground, it’ll make a loud, horrible noise.”

“Oh . . .” He exhaled, a blush spreading across his cheeks. “Actually, I think it was making that noise. On the way here. Especially when the road got bumpy. But Clover makes a lot of horrible noises, so I thought it was just business as usual.” He patted the car affectionately.