When We Collided(8)

Vivi claps happily, and Leah smiles. You didn’t have a shot anyway, I tell myself. So nothing lost. Leah handed me a ticking time bomb of an idea, and I signed for the delivery. Now I’ll have to let it blow up in my face.

“What are we having tonight?” Leah asks.

“I haven’t decided yet. What do you want?”

“Pizza. But not the store kind. The kind you make.” She glances at Vivi. “It’s the best. You’ll love it.”

It’s not a cheap meal to make, but I’ll do it. Leah gets up to choose an additional paint color. When she’s far enough away from us, I stoop my head down. “You don’t have to do this if you don’t want. Honestly, she’ll understand.”

“Of course I want to.” Vivi narrows her eyes like I’m talking crazy. As if accepting a dinner invitation from a five-year-old is the most normal thing in the world. “Like I said, I’m new to town, and also, my mom doesn’t cook, so I’ve eaten cereal for dinner for a week. Delicious cereal, actually, but I could use some hot food. Some sustenance, you know? So, what time should I come over?”

“Um . . .” I trail off. I’m calculating how long it will take me to get ingredients, walk home from work, and make the dough. And how long it will take me to clean up the house, persuade my siblings to be normal in front of Vivi, and figure out what, if anything, to tell this girl about my parents. Or lack thereof. I need two weeks, minimum.

“Here.” Vivi grasps my wrist, pulling my whole left arm toward her. I feel wetness against my skin, the cool stroke of a damp paintbrush. When she’s done, my arm displays ten digits in blue paint. Her phone number runs from my bicep, where my T-shirt sleeve begins, to the base of my palm. “Just text me when you know.”

By the time we step outside, we’ve been at the shop for less than an hour. In that time, Leah made a new friend, and I got a girl’s phone number painted on my arm. I look down at Leah. “That was weird.”

She nods. “Good weird.”

Now I have less than half a day to make my life seem normal—or at least normal enough that a pretty girl can come over and not run away screaming. I need a plan. And a haircut. And possibly tranq darts for my siblings.

Leah is walking on the curb like it’s a balance beam. I watch her for a moment before asking, “How weird do you think our family is, on a scale of one to ten?”

“One hundred,” she says simply. “But good weird.”

Most days, I feel like I’m barely holding it all together. But if my littlest sister can believe that her life is good despite having no dad and a ghost of a mom, then it’s worth it. Good weird. I know it doesn’t sound like much. But it’s enough.





CHAPTER THREE

Vivi

“Morning, Vivi!”

I look up to see Whitney bustling toward the front counter. Her hair frames her face with tiny tendrils, deep chestnut with a hint of red in the broad daylight. I’m immediately envious of the maroon skirt that wraps around her waist and falls all the way to the floor. “Good morning!”

“How’s business today?” She sets down a small box of new paints.

“Pretty darn good. Fifteen customers in—what has it been, six hours? One person painted two things. Plus I made a new friend. Aaaaand”—I turn to her, making my eyebrows dance with intrigue—“I met a boy.”

Whitney spins toward me, already grinning. “Oh, really.”

I think back on Jonah, his messy hair, his dark eyes the color of a filled-up coffee mug when you stare into it—deep and brown and fading into black. Delicious, warm. “Mmhmm.”

“Would I know him? Is he a vacationer or townie?” Whitney rubs her hands together like she’s waiting for me to bundle up my juicy details and hand them over.

“Townie. Jonah.” His name is easy to overpronounce for bravado. Jo-nahhh. I love the oh and ah, and the n sound that requires tapping my tongue on the roof of my mouth. My name only needs lower lip and front teeth to say out loud.

Whitney’s eyebrow ring moves up at least an inch, catching the overhead light. “Jonah Daniels?”

“I have no idea. Medium height, dark hair, has a darling little sister named Leah. Sort of has this distracted, overwrought vibe.”

“Yeah, that’s Jonah.” Whitney has gone from excited about my hot gossip to perplexed by something. I can’t tell which detail has thrown her off. Oh, heavens, if he has a girlfriend, that will be a terribly annoying hiccup—one I’ll overcome, of course, but annoying nonetheless. It’ll take a while to deal with, and I’m not made of time. I have plans, you know. Good ones. Whitney crosses her arms more tightly. “So he asked you out?”

“Well, not technically. Leah asked me to come over for dinner, and Jonah agreed to it. But I think he liked the idea—well, maybe I’m projecting that, but he’ll like the idea by the time I leave the dinner table.” I flash my winningest smile, but she still looks unsure. “Gosh, you’re acting like he has leprosy or something. What is it? If he’s an ax murderer, just tell me quick so I can decide whether to risk it for dinner tonight.”

“No, it’s just . . .” Whitney trails off. “His family has been through a lot in the past year. Everyone has been worried that—”