Break(9)

“And you’re going on how long?”

“Okay, like twenty hours. Point taken. But it’s not the same.”

“My sister thinks he’s amazing.” Charlotte glides into the left lane.

“You know his middle name’s James,” I say.

“Seriously?”

“Uh-huh. Jesse James McNab.”

“That’s wicked.”

“Yeah. My parents used to like outlaws. Now they’re just middle Americans,” I stretch. “How old’s your sister?”

“Fourteen. Freshman.”

“Jess is sixteen.”


“I know. But he’s . . . relatively innocent, isn’t he?”

Well, sure. He can’t exactly go mouth-to-mouth. At least not with girls who eat. I should set him up with a nice anorexic.

“She’d take care of him,” Charlotte says.

“I know she would. I’m just not sure if what he really needs is another set of hands trying to take care of him. He gets annoyed enough with me sometimes, and he needs me.”

“She likes him, Jonah.”

“All right. I’ll talk to him.”

“So,” she says. “My choral director gave me this huge solo at our next concert.” We’re getting close to work, now. Damn.

I smile at her. “That’s awesome.”

“Right, right, yeah. But it’s the alto solo. He gave me the alto solo. And I’m a soprano.”

“Oh.” Yeah, I’m not following this at all, but God I could watch Charlotte complain for hours.

She says, “So now I’m at this weird impasse. ‘Cause if I remind him, Hey, I’ve been a soprano since I was in diapers, I lose the solo, right?”

“Oh, no, don’t do that.” Possibly the only thing better than listening to Charlotte complain is listening to her sing. And also listening to those little moaning noises she makes when we kiss, like she’s eating chocolate cake. . . .

Oh, she’s still talking. “. . . keep it, I’ll probably sound awful trying to sing in a vocal range I usually don’t touch with a ten-foot pole.”

“I really don’t think you sounding awful is within the realm of possibility.”

“These are ill-timed compliments, Jonah.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yes! You are supposed to be helping me plot my next move, not making me blush. Tsk tsk.”

“You’re not blushing.”

She is smiling, though. “Clearly I stay on task better than you do.” She pulls up to the curb. “What time are you off? We can continue our brainstorming. I’m thinking poisoning my choir director might be the best solution?”

“Don’t get off until seven, sadly.”

“Do you need a ride home?”

“Nah. Jesse’ll pick me up.”

She tilts her head to the side. “So can you kiss me with your jaw like that?”

I do the best I can.

The door jangles as I nudge it open. Max and Antonia are behind the counters, feet on the sensors that make sure no one runs away with the DVDs. Antonia tosses gummi worms into the air and catches them in her mouth three at a time. No one eats gummi worms like Antonia.

“Hey.”

They turn around and freeze. “Holy mackerel,” Max says. “What tree did you fall out of?”

Antonia coughs and scoots her ass off her knee-length blond hair. “Ugly tree, clearly.”

I sign in. “Thanks, Toni.”

“Shit, give him some java, Max. He’s going to need it. Seriously, what happened?”

I catch the bag of coffee beans Max hurls over. “Skateboard accident. I’m fine.”

“What’d you break?”

“Two ribs, wrist, jaw.” I take out two coffee beans and swallow them like pills. The bitterness burns the hardware in my mouth.

Antonia decapitates a gummi worm. “You break more bones than anyone I’ve ever seen.”

“Thank you.”

“That’s not a compliment, Jonah.”

That’s what you think.

“How long are you in the cast?” Max asks.

“Probably, like, three weeks. So, enough. What have you guys been up to?”

Max clears his throat and Antonia straightens her little string vest.

“Oh.” I clear my throat. “Never mind.”

No one comes to the store this early, so Antonia and Max use it as a personal kissing booth when I’m not around. It would be irritating if they both weren’t so damn cute. They’re like Martians.

“Come on.” Antonia dives into the candy display, her pale lower legs flailing about like fish from her denim skirt. “I was just about to dig into the malted milk balls.”

I step behind the counter and plop down beside the cash register. “So you guys remember Charlotte?”

Max and Antonia go to this hippie private school down the street. All they know of real life is what I tell them. They’re my science experiment.

Antonia’s eyes light up. “She’s the one with the puff-paint flowers on her license plate,” she chimes.

“Right.”

Max gestures big boobs with his hands. Antonia throws a malt ball at him.