When We Collided(61)

Finally, I lean back on the porch swing, picking my legs up just a bit. The swing creaks as we rock back and forth.

When Ellie finally speaks, her voice is quiet. “I think so, too.”

“Thanks.” I mean, I don’t know what else to say. “I’m sorry I came over here and unleashed on you.”

Now that I’ve calmed down, I can’t believe that I raged over here like the Hulk or something, juiced up on anger. She was just going about her chores, and I staggered onto the lawn like a mental patient who flew the coop.

“I’m glad you did. Really, Jonah.” I look over at her, and I can tell that she’s hesitating. “If the situation were reversed—if I lost my dad, I mean—I think I’d lean on you guys a lot. Because our families know each other. And not in the way people at school know us. Like we know each other’s childhoods and quirks and, like . . . embarrassing moments and stuff.”

I’m living one of those embarrassing moments now. No matter how nice Ellie is about it, this situation is not cool.

We stand up, and she hit-pats the side of my arm because I think a hug would seem weird. I say “seeya” like a loser, like this was a totally casual hangout, and I start my walk home.

It comes out in a rush once I get home. I sit Bekah and Isaac down on the couch and say I’m sorry I lost my temper. That I worry about them and about Mom, and I miss Dad all the time. It felt like too much, and I snapped.

“You never talk about missing Dad,” Bekah whispers.

“Bek, of course I miss him. All the time. Every time you see me in the kitchen, with his pots and pans, I’m missing him.”

All this time, I thought talking about how painfully I miss my dad would put more weight on them. But they both look relieved, exchanging glances with each other.

“When you’re sad, you should say it,” Issac tells me. “We all should, okay?”

“Okay,” I say. “Okay.”



My phone wakes me up in the middle of the night, vibrating over and over. Five missed calls and seven texts, all Vivi. Wake up!! Helloooo, Jonah, c’mon. Come downstairs. Back door. I’m down here. Are you ignoring me on purpose? Jonah, seriously!!!!

Hold on, I type back, to buy myself some time. If I go down there, it might be a yelling match. Or she might just want to apologize. If I don’t go down there, she’ll probably either wake up my family or sneak in here anyway. Or both. I move slowly down the stairs, holding my breath and cringing at every tiny creak. I step out into the darkness of our backyard, making sure the door is unlocked.

“Finally,” Vivi says, too loudly. She’s wearing a costume. A fedora and a khaki trench coat, unbuttoned to expose a clingy nightgown. “Honestly, Jonah, I was almost to the point of moving on to someone else—I mean, way to make a girl work for it.”

“I’m still mad at you.” It sounds childish, but I don’t give a shit. She basically ignored me the one time in eight months that I’ve actually asked someone to pay attention.

“Good,” she says. “I mean, not good, but fine, whatever, I don’t care. I’m mad at you, too.”

“For what?”

“For being mad at me.” She moves so close that one of her feet is placed between my legs. Half her body is up against mine. Her hat brushes against my chin. She presses her lips against the base of my throat, warm and full. I know from experience that she left a red lip print behind.

“Viv, don’t. It’s not going to work,” I lie. Her perfume drugs me. It fills my nostrils and my lungs. I feel it enter my bloodstream, rushing through me.

“Okay,” she whispers, near my ear. She slides her hand behind my neck.

I struggle to keep my arms at my sides. “Not working.”

“Jonah . . .”

Her hands find my wrists, pulling them toward her. She slides my palms under her nightgown on either side of her silhouette, then up her bare hips. She’s not wearing anything underneath. Even when my brain is pissed at her, the rest of my body responds. My brain is mush now. She knows she’s got me.

Her mouth is on mine, and I kiss her back almost angrily. I feel her lips form a smile. My thoughts burst in and out, disjointed as she slides her hands across my stomach. Like she can’t get into my head, so she gets into my pants. I don’t want to feel like she’s doing this to keep me from being mad at her.

“Viv, I don’t want to be apologized to. Like this.” The words are hard to get out.

“Ha,” she says. “This is not an apology. Why would I apologize when I’m mad at you? But I don’t feel like fighting right now, Jonah. I’d rather take it out on you. Like. This.”

I move her onto the lawn until we’re behind the shed, hidden. She presses against me, hands in my hair. I try to pull back for half a second. There’s always this moment where we pause and look at each other with quick smiles. But tonight Vivi won’t slow down. And I think that’s why something feels off.

But then I don’t feel anything but Vivi.





CHAPTER NINETEEN

Vivi

On the way home from Jonah’s house last night, I passed a white mailbox with metal numbers attached: sixty-six. No way, I thought, staring down at the numbers I’d written down in my bedroom hours before. I was cutting out various and sundry fashion photos from magazines because I was going to do something with them, I actually don’t remember, but my eyes landed on page sixty-six.