The Accidentals(16)

He puts his car in gear and turns right out of the laundromat parking lot, toward our neighborhood.

I have not been down these side streets in ten days. I watch the low roofs and parched lawns slide by; they’re as familiar as breathing. But when he pulls to a stop in front of my house, I can only stare at the thing.

“You have the key, right?”

I pull it out, then look back at the little green vinyl house, which my mother had deemed “a half-step up from a trailer.” Its windows and doors are shut tight, like a tomb. There are discount fliers moldering on the porch, and the mailbox has a piece of yellow tape on it.

My throat begins to burn. The remnants of my life are waiting inside. On two hooks in the kitchen, our favorite coffee mugs still hang. I can cross the street and walk inside. But I’d be waiting for a familiar voice to call out from the kitchen. Hi, honey.

And it won’t come.

“Let’s not go swimming,” I whisper, turning away from the window. “I don’t think I want to.”

Haze’s eyes get soft. He reaches over and puts a hand on my shoulder. “Come here.”

I allow myself to be pulled in. I push my face into his hot neck, and he massages my back. I lean into him, his solid frame holding me up, steeling me against all the things that are wrong.

Haze kisses me on the temple. “How about if I go inside and get your suit for you?”

“Okay. I don’t think I can do it.”

He takes the keys out of my hand. “Where is it?”

I sit up. “Top drawer of my dresser.”

“Be right back.”





The pool at the Sheraton is enormous, and I slip into one of the many bathrooms to change. Haze brought me a tiny bikini. Of course he did.

“Room 305.” Haze flashes his key card at a bored guy who hands over two towels.

“Now this is better,” Haze says, chucking the towels and his car keys onto a lounge chair. I stash my clothes under the adjacent chair and follow him to the pool’s edge. We both jump in, dunking quickly under water to emerge smiling at each other.

“Okay,” I agree. “This was a good idea.” A Nerf football floats nearby. I pick it up, then look around for its owner. Nobody seems to miss it. “Haze, go deep.”

For a solid hour, I forget about everything except playing in the water. The pool narrows in the center, where four concrete lions spit streams of water into the channel. I’ve always wondered about this design. Lions aren’t famous for spitting. When Haze gets near enough to one of them, I give his shoulder a shove at just the right moment. He gets an earful.

“You!” He laughs, splashing me.

“It’s just lion spit.” His response is to dive under the water and grab my feet out from under me.

He comes up, cradling me in both arms. He shakes the water from his hair like a dog until I laugh. “Now who’s going under the lion spit? Hmm?”

“No!” I shriek while he douses me under first one and then another lion.

Then he kisses me on the mouth, and it’s a kiss that means business. He pulls me against his chest, and his hands dig into my backside. I feel caught, and I don’t like it.

Overwhelmed, I pull away as gently as I can. “I don’t want to make a scene,” I say by way of an explanation.

He exhales. “I wouldn’t mind.”

We’re sitting on lounge chairs, drying off, when Haze clears his throat. “There’s something I need to ask you.”

“Hmm?” My attention is still on my math book.

Haze puts a hand on my knee. “Rachel, look at me.”

I look up into his brooding eyes. “What?”

He gives my knee a meaningful squeeze. “When you turn eighteen, I want you to come and stay with me.”

I blink. “Stay…where?”

“With me. Until it’s time for you to go off to school.”

I try to picture this. Haze lives in a tiny house with his drunk mother. Where would they even put me? On the couch where his mom sits all day long?

Haze’s gaze is penetrating, and his thumb strokes my knee.

No—sleeping on the couch isn’t his plan at all. “Haze, I’m not sure I can do that.”

“You can do anything you want,” he whispers.

Now there’s a terrifying idea.

“It would only be for a couple of weeks, until you go to New Hampshire.” He moves from his chair onto the edge of mine. “Please.” He takes my hand and holds it in both of his.

For a second, we just stare at each other. Nothing in my life is ever going to be the same. But he’s still here, holding my hand. “I’ll think about it,” I whisper. And you can bet I will.

And for a few beats of my heart, I get a little stuck in the bright beam of attention he’s focused on me. His eyes crinkle at the edges, as if he’s on the verge of smiling.

But instead, he leans forward and kisses me again.





When I climb into my saggy bed at the Parson’s Home Sunday night, it’s hard to sleep. My thoughts are like the Astro Orbiter ride at the Magic Kingdom—turning too fast for comfort. My mom, Frederick, Haze, and my little green house all whirled by, daring me to dwell on them.

And tomorrow is my math exam.