Opposite of Always(60)

“What,” I say. “No, I don’t mean like that.”

Jillian laughs. “Duh, I’m joking with you, Jack. Relax.”

“What do you mean, duh? You’re saying I can’t get laid?”

She stops laughing. “You’re extremely lay-able. You just don’t know it yet. But when you finally figure it out, look out, world.”

“Now you’re just being cruel.”

She shakes her head. “Jack, I love you. But for someone so smart, you’re really stupid sometimes.”

Before I can ask her what she means she blares the radio and sings like it’s the end of the movie and Ursula just gave her her voice back.

I turn the radio back down. “Hey, J?”

“Yeah?”

“How are you?”

“What do you mean, how am I?”

“Like with your dad leaving? How are you doing with that?”

She shrugs. “I mean, he’ll probably be back. He’s just going through . . . I don’t know, like a midlife thing.”

“Yeah.”

“I think it’s just something about getting older and feeling like you haven’t done all the things you dreamed of when you were young. Like, you had all these goals, and all these mile markers, and then you realize the only thing that’s happening is time is slipping by and you’ve barely cracked your list.”

“But how are you doing?”

She smiles at me, a forced grin. “I’m doing, man. I’m doing.”

“If you ever wanna talk,” I say.

“I know where to find you, Jack.”

“Good.”

“I worry more about my mom than me. She’s so sad.”

“I can imagine.”

“But at least she’s painting again, so there’s that.”

“You’re always worried about everyone but yourself. And I love that about you, how giving you are. But you need to take for yourself, too. Whatever you need, I’m here for you.”

“I know,” she says, guiding the car off the highway. “Thanks,” she says, turning the music back up.

And then we’re in my driveway. I hop out and Jillian waves, angles the car back toward the street. But I flag her down.

She pops the car back into park. “What’d you forget?”

“Hey, uh, so my parents had this weird thing happen with their electric bill, where Ely Power was trying to say they hadn’t paid and were threatening to turn our lights off.”

“What?”

Yeah, what, Jack? Is this the best you can do? “So, yeah, just, uh, when you go home, make sure your bill is okay, ’cause I wouldn’t want that to happen to you and your mom, okay?”

She laughs.

“I’m serious, J. Don’t forget.”

She laughs again. “Uh, okay, Jack. Thanks for the hot tip.”

And then she’s zooming down the street and I’m dropping my bags inside the foyer, my parents swarming me with questions. I’m up in my bedroom when I get Franny’s text.

FRANNY: I heard you got some ass.

ME: Yes . . . if ass is code for a phone number.

FRANNY: Hey, you gotta start somewhere, bro.

It’s definitely a start. A fresh one.

FRANNY: So, I have the craziest news ever . . .

And I have a pretty decent guess what it is, but I text: ME: They found a cure for your back hair?!

FRANNY: You’re stupid af

ME: I know

ME: So you going to tell me or keep me in suspect ME: *Suspense

FRANNY: *drumrolls*

FRANNY: THE COUPON GETS OUT END OF THE WEEK!

My birthday is in the first week of September, two weeks after school usually starts, which meant I didn’t get to go to kindergarten until I was nearly seven. Mom tried to stem the disappointment of waiting another entire year to start school by telling me that I’d have the distinct advantage of experiencing everything so much earlier than my fellow classmates. Just think, Jack, she’d reasoned, you’ll get your license first, you’ll get to vote first, and one day you’ll get to drink first—legally of course.

Understandably, she failed to mention another distinct advantage. It probably never even crossed her mind. I get to gamble first, too.

News flash: the internet is awesome.

I post pics of my collectibles and within an hour I make $200. By the end of the day I’m up to $345. And by the weekend I’ve hit $800. But a quick sweep of the attic confirms my worst fear: I’ve run out of things to sell.

Or have I?

The girl who answers my ad is a sophomore at State.

“So, what are you going to do with her?” I email her back.

She replies, mainly to get her around campus and the occasional weekend visit back home.

“So, why are you selling her?” she asks, when she comes to pick her up.

“Oh,” I say, feeling the slightest trepidation in telling her the truth. “For my girlfriend.”

“That’s cool.”

“Well,” I confess, “she’s not quite my girlfriend yet.”

She smiles as I hand over the keys. “Well, she sounds lucky, Jack.”

I wave goodbye as she backs the car out, and I keep waving until the blue sedan turns right into its next life. How I’ll explain my latest sale to my parents is a worry for another time.