Open Road Summer(43)

“You can’t get to know me by asking my brothers’ names or whether I’m a dog or cat person? You have to ask me if I love a girl I wrote a song for?”

“Yes, I do.” Besides, I know his brothers’ names, and he’s clearly a dog person.

“Fine.” He plays louder, as if trying to cover his answer. “She’s my closest friend—of course I love her. But not like that, not anymore. She’s happy, and that’s what I want.”

“Does she know you’re not really dating Dee?”

“Of course. At first she thought it was a bad idea, but she likes Dee.”

“Who doesn’t.” For a moment, I feel another rush of gratitude for Matt, whose presence changed our entire summer. “It’s a good thing you’re doing for her.”

“For Dee?”

“Yeah.” My eyes find his, and I hope he knows how much it means to me. He pulled my best friend out of media quicksand, and he did it with grace and a sense of humor. “It was pretty bad before you got here.”


Matt smiles at me, with no trace of his patented mischievousness. “It’s not hard. I mean . . . travel, play music, hang out with two cool girls all summer. It’s not exactly a sacrifice.”

Dee finally emerges from the back, picking up her whiteboard before she settles herself into the corner of the couch. She holds up what she’s scribbled to Matt: Pretty sure you mean cool AND beautiful.

Dee’s hair is piled into a sloppy mound on top of her head. She’s wearing a ratty sweatshirt, and her nose is chapped and red from continual tissue use.

Still, there’s not a trace of sarcasm as Matt agrees with her. “That’s exactly what I mean.”

For the next few hours to Jackson, Matt keeps coaxing Dee out of her foul mood with music and laughter. The exploration of guitar chords, Matt’s low voice, and Dee’s hoarse giggling make a summer soundtrack I’ll replay even when the tour is over—in the moments when I feel like being truly happy is an impossible puzzle, one I’m not meant to figure out. If you have a best friend you can laugh with and a few good songs, you’re more than halfway there.





Chapter Twelve

Jackson


By the next day, Dee is on the mend. She’s still on vocal rest, downing cup after cup of hot tea with honey, but her eyes are less bleary. So far today, we’ve been primarily watching trashy television from the comfort of our hotel sofas. Dee’s tucked under a blanket on one couch, perusing the comments on her website. I’m propped up on a pile of pillows on the other couch, reading a thick guide to college-application guidelines and standards.

The Fourth of July is a scheduled free day for the whole crew—a provision Dee made sure of when her label planned the tour. Everyone over age twenty-one on tour, including Peach, took off early for a restaurant on the river. I overheard that there would be a patio and lots of day drinking, and I’m more than a little jealous.

“Helloooo,” a voice called at our door, followed by Matt’s signature, rhythmic knock.

“I’ll get him,” I tell Dee, who settles further under her blanket.

Pulling the door open, I open my mouth to say hello, but Matt cuts me off.

“I’m so bored,” he announces loudly, walking into the room. I release the handle, and the door heaves itself shut. “So bored. You guys have to entertain me.”

“Then I hope you like reality television.”

He settles down next to Dee, and she smiles over at him.

“How ya feeling, little lady?” he asks. Picking up my college guide, I stretch back out on the other couch.

“Better,” she whispers. “Probably still contagious, though.”

Taking the hint, he moves from the couch, and I expect him to sit down in the overstuffed armchair. Instead, he plops down at the end of my couch, lifting up my legs so there’s space for him to sit. Before I can react, my legs are resting on his lap. This is totally not okay. This is how I might sit with Dee, not with a guy I am trying not to think about when I close my eyes at night. Pulling my knees up, I prop my book up against my lap.

Beside us, Dee grabs a handful of tissues and stands up.

“Going somewhere?” I ask, eyeing her.

Her cheeks flush, and it’s not the fever. “Into the bathroom to blow my nose.”

I struggle to keep from laughing. “Um. Why . . . ?”

“I’m not going to blow my nose in front of Matt! It’s so disgusting!” Her voice is nasal, and she sounds completely congested. I’ve been sitting by her all morning and, I have to admit, her productive nose-blowing is not the cutest sound in the world.

Matt laughs uproariously as Dee shuffles to the bathroom. “Are you kidding me, Montgomery?”

She shuts the bathroom door and yells hoarsely, “Don’t listen!”

Now Matt and I are both laughing. Shaking my head, I say, “Such a lady.”

“She’s cute,” he says. It’s an offhand comment and, moreover, it’s a universally accepted fact: my best friend, Lilah Montgomery, is cute. But still, hearing him say it makes me flinch. He looks over at me and asks, “Whatcha reading?”

I peer at him over the book. Slowly, I slide it up so he can read the title: Mastering the College Application: A Guide to Top Colleges, Strategies, and Requirements.