The Queen of Bright and Shiny Things(72)

“For you.” He hands it over with a flourish.

“Thanks.” I glance over at Shane, who’s watching me with a faint smile.

The sun’s shining through the window, brightening the classroom. Everything seems more vivid. All around me, girls are smiling like goofballs because they got a red rose. A few of them have no idea who it’s from and they’re whispering with their friends, trying to figure it out. Mine has a card attached. I smile as I fold it open and read: You’re the one who makes me whole. I recognize that as a line from the song he’s been working on.

Mackiewicz puts us back to work as soon as the roses are handed out, so I don’t have a chance to talk to Shane until after class. “Thanks. But you didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to.”

At lunch, I learn that Lila got a rose from a secret admirer, and Kenny sent one to Tara, who apparently isn’t sitting with us anymore. I guess she finally realized how much he likes her and took steps to make her disinterest clear. It sucks to have your dreams crushed on Valentine’s Day; even his Mario hat looks sad.

In the afternoon, teachers have a hard time getting us to focus, so we mostly watch videos. Then they show they have souls by choosing not to give us homework. I cheer along with everyone else, then go meet Shane, who’s already at our locker, waiting.

“I’m cooking for you. I switched my shift so we could be together tonight. Are you up to a ride out to my place?”

“Really?”

He nods. “I hope so. Everything’s set up.”

“Absolutely. Let me text my aunt.” I’m sure she’s going out with Joe anyway.

They’ve been seeing a lot of each other, like her trip to see Aunt Helen made him realize how much he missed her. That could have been part of her strategy, actually. My aunt is smart. Gabby replies quickly that it’s fine; she’s going to Rudolfo’s with Joe.

“Called it,” I say, climbing on my bike.

The trip to his house doesn’t let us talk much, and Shane rides faster than I do. I’m a little out of breath when we turn down the weed-choked drive. I’m surprised all over again. I haven’t been out here since I brought him soup and his homework assignments, thinking he was sick. He prefers for us to spend time at my place or somewhere else in town. Honestly, I don’t blame him. This trailer’s a reminder of how poorly his dad’s doing at taking care of him. Shane would argue that his father was relieved of that responsibility when he walked out on them years ago.

I disagree.

It feels good to get out of the wind when we head into the trailer. He’s fixed it up quite a bit—oh. Shane flips a switch, so that the whole room glows with white twinkle lights, and he’s woven white silk flowers along the wiring, turning this into a magical bower. It looks like springtime and love in here. Just … wow.

“This is great,” I whisper.

“Yeah?”

“I love it.”

“There’s more.” He indicates the slow cooker with a flourish. From the warm, inviting smell, I can tell he’s made the veggie soup he promised me. “I know it’s not romantic, but I can’t do champagne and chocolate-dipped strawberries.”

“It’s perfect.”

“The soup won’t be done for a while. But I made some other stuff.”

Wow, what time did he get up this morning? The other stuff turns out to be a cheese and fruit plate, simple but I can see how much time he devoted to this. We sit down on his old couch and dig in. Shane’s telling me about a music college that he heard about, and I can hardly keep from asking how far it is from Maine. I hate that this won’t last forever.

But nothing does, right? I should just be happy now.

Shane breaks off what he’s saying with a faint frown. “You okay?”

“Of course. Why?”

“You looked really sad there for a minute.” He glances around the trailer, hardly recognizable the way he’s decorated it, like the setting is the reason I’m unhappy. “I’m sorry I couldn’t do more, but—”

“No,” I cut in. “This is perfect. I was just thinking about college … and how we might not end up at the same one. So if I’m sad, it’s at the thought of saying good-bye to you.”

“Oh.” His expression softens and he cups my cheek in his palm, feathering long fingers down my jaw. “I can’t promise we’ll always be together like this, and long-distance relationships suck. But I’ll always want you in my life. So … if it doesn’t work out at university, I’ll be texting you and sending stupid e-mails. I’m sure I’ll have a laptop by then, and we can Skype.”

“That helps.”

“Hey, let’s not talk about breaking up on Valentine’s Day. That’s a long way off. Who knows what will happen between now and then?”

“You make a good point.” Making an effort not to be too dark today, of all days, I say, “So I’ve been wondering … you don’t have much stuff. What happened to it?”

Most people have a few toys, but when we met he didn’t have an iPod or a phone, no laptop, and he only has the iPad because of school. But he has no Wi-Fi out here to check his e-mail on.

He shrugs, like it’s not a big deal. “Everything I had before my mom got sick, we pawned to pay off her medical bills. Dying is expensive.”