“You’re not residents, are you?” Mike and I both shook our heads. “Then you need to move. Security is increased when the governor is at his Stanwich residence, and we’re limiting all non-resident traffic.”
I looked toward the entrance of Stanwich Woods and saw that in addition to a black SUV, there were two white-and-black Stanwich Police cars on either side of the gatehouse. Alexander Walker, a Stanwich resident and our former congressman, had won the governorship in November, but I’d had no idea he lived here.
“We were just turning around,” I said. “We’ll leave now.”
“Drive safe,” Officer Ramirez said, tapping the top of the car once before walking away, already speaking into the walkie-talkie clipped to his shoulder.
I pulled back out to the road and made sure to carefully come to a complete stop and to signal before merging into traffic, just in case the Stanwich Police were still watching me.
I turned onto Juniper Hill and followed the rest of the directions Mike gave me, barely paying attention to where I was going. It was like I could still feel the unfinished fight lingering around both of us in the car, making the silence somehow even more strained than it had been before.
“It’s better I’m not staying at home,” Mike finally said after telling me to just keep driving straight. He set his phone down in the cup holder and turned to look at me. “Seriously. I don’t want to make a whole scene, or upset Linnie. I just wanted to come for her wedding.” I took a breath to answer, but Mike pointed ahead. “It’s just up here on the right.”
I turned down the driveway, heart pounding as I suddenly realized, much too late, exactly where we were. The last time I’d been here it had been dark and rainy, but I still should have recognized it, so that I could have prepared myself.
Because we were at Jesse Foster’s house.
And Jesse Foster was standing in the driveway, right in front of me.
CHAPTER 6
Or, Heart Eyes for Days
* * *
IN GRANT CENTRAL STATION, WHENEVER Cassie Grant had a crush on someone—always more reciprocated than in my real life—she would float several inches off the ground, her toes trailing on the carpet or pavement, and cartoon hearts would appear in her eyes and hover around her head.
But as I stood there looking at Jesse, I felt the opposite, like I was being tethered to the earth, pulled down into it, so that the thought of moving—of doing something as simple as walking toward him—felt like an utterly impossible task.
I’d gotten out of the car when Mike had, but when he’d walked around the back to get his bags, I’d just stood there by the driver’s side door, frozen, my heart hammering so hard that I was certain Jesse, twenty feet away from me, could hear it.
The last time I’d seen him, it had been nearly in this same spot on the driveway, me in my car, Jesse outside it. Jesse standing in the rain, leaning in to kiss me through my open window, both of us laughing in between kisses, as he cupped his hand under my chin, pulling me close to him, and closer still.
“Okay, bye,” he’d said, even as he’d leaned in to kiss me again—a kiss we didn’t break away from for quite some time.
“You’re getting all wet,” I’d said as I’d reached up to brush some of the droplets from his hair.
“It’s just drizzling,” he’d said with a smile, as the sheets of rain poured down on my car and thunder rumbled somewhere in the distance. “I’ll let you go.” But he stroked my cheek with his thumb and pulled me nearer.
“Okay.” I’d stretched up to kiss him, still somehow amazed that I got to do this, that I got to kiss Jesse Foster in the rain.
“Okay,” he’d said a few minutes later.
“Bye.” I’d smiled against his mouth as we kept kissing, with a new intensity now.
“Bye.” He’d kissed me back.
“Bye.”
“Hi there.” I blinked, startled out of these memories, and forced myself to focus on Jesse—this Jesse, present-tense Jesse, the one who was smiling and walking over to me.
I reminded myself to breathe, that I knew how to do it, that I’d been doing it all my life. “Hi,” I finally managed, smoothing my hair back from my forehead, wishing I knew what to do with my hands.
I’d had a million conversations in my head with Jesse since that night over Christmas break. But now that he was here, it was like my entire brain had been wiped clean as I tried to think of something to say.
The Jesse in front of me looked pretty much the same—his hair was just a little longer now. He was wearing a dark-blue sweater with his jeans, and when he raised his hand to run his fingers through his hair, it rode up for just a moment, giving me a flash of his hip and stomach before it fell back down again.
“Charlie,” Jesse said, taking a step toward me. His words were light and friendly, but he was looking right at me and not letting his gaze drop. As I met his eyes, I could feel my pulse beating places I usually wasn’t aware of it—at the base of my throat, in my fingertips, thudding in my ears. “I didn’t know I’d be seeing you. It’s my lucky day.”
“I know,” I said, my voice coming out high and strangled. I cleared my throat and tried again. “I know.” I gave a one-shouldered shrug, trying to appear casual and breezy, like this was the way I’d talk to anyone and not just someone who had seen me naked. At the thought of that—and of all I’d seen of Jesse—my palms started to sweat, and I wiped them quickly on my jeans before sticking them in my back pockets. I glanced back at the car but couldn’t see Mike—he was presumably still getting his bags. Now that I was here, it was hitting me, a little too late, that I had no idea how to act in front of Jesse. Was I supposed to pretend that nothing had happened with us and things were the same as they’d always been?
“It’s good to see you,” Jesse said, taking another step closer. His tone was still easy and friendly—like if you read the transcript of our conversation, it would all seem aboveboard—but his eyes weren’t leaving mine, and there was an undercurrent to everything he was saying. He glanced down at what I was wearing and smiled wider. “Nice sweater.”
“Oh,” I said, tugging at the hem. “Right. I probably should have given it back.”
“Keep it,” he said, taking a step closer to me still. “It looks way better on you.”
I was getting flushed all over, like the sun had just started shining directly on me alone. “Thanks,” I said. “When did—”
“There he is!” Jesse smiled wide as Mike came around the side of the car, carrying his suitcase and garment bag and shooting me an irritated look.
“Thanks for the help,” he said as he and Jesse clasped hands and bumped shoulders.
“Sorry,” I said, even though I wasn’t, not even a little bit.
“When did you get in?” Mike asked, already taking a step toward the Fosters’ house, clearly indicating that he was done with me being part of this conversation.
“Drove down last night,” Jesse said, not moving, his eyes still finding mine every few seconds. “I decided I really didn’t need to go to any of my Friday classes.” He raised an eyebrow at me. “I guess you thought the same thing?”
“Pretty much,” I said with what I hoped was a casual shrug.
Mike stopped, patted his pockets, then turned and headed back to the car. “I left my phone,” he said, shaking his head.
The second Mike turned his back on us, Jesse closed the distance between us, so that he was near enough to touch, and my knees went wobbly. “Hi,” he said again, this time just for me, his voice low and velvety.
“Hi,” I repeated back, my voice barely above a whisper.
“I’ve been thinking about you.”
“Oh?” I was trying to hold it back, but I could feel my smile starting to break through.
“Uh-huh.” He reached out and brushed my hip with trailing fingers, setting off an explosion of sparks in my brain, then slipped his hand under the hem of my—technically his—sweater, his thumbs tracing a pattern on my bar
e skin as my heart started beating triple time.
“That’s good,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady, all too aware that Mike was going to be back any second now and might have some very big questions about what, exactly, his sister and best friend were doing.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him coming around the side of the car. “Mike,” I said to Jesse, who immediately took a step away, his hands dropping down to his sides.
“Found it?” Jesse’s tone had immediately shifted, becoming more jovial—more public, unlike the voice he’d just been using, which had been meant only for me.
Mike nodded. “I’ll see you at the rehearsal dinner,” he said to me as he walked toward the house.
“You know about the thing at the Pearce?”
Mike stopped and turned to look at me, his expression inscrutable. “I know,” he said, then turned his back on me and continued on.
“Bye, Charlie,” Jesse said. His tone was easy and vague, the way he would have talked to me if we hadn’t had that night together in his guesthouse—like I was just the little sister of his best friend, nothing more. “I’ll see you soon.”
“You—will?” I asked, but Jesse just smiled at me, reached out, and brushed my arm quickly, giving my hand a squeeze, before he turned and jogged to catch up with Mike.
I got into my car, my head spinning. I wanted to take out my phone and call Siobhan, but I didn’t want Jesse or Mike to see me doing it, especially since I had a feeling I wasn’t going to be able to have that conversation calmly or without outsized facial expressions.
So, trying to appear blasé and unfazed, like this was no big deal, I backed my car out of the driveway and turned down the street, concentrating on stopping at the lights and pausing at stop signs, trying to sort through the steady, pounding drumbeat of my thoughts.
It wasn’t until I was nearly to the Hartfield border that I realized I’d been driving the whole time in the wrong direction.
CHAPTER 7
Or, 98% of All Statistics Are Made Up on the Spot
* * *
HALF AN HOUR LATER, I pulled into our driveway and cut the engine. I didn’t get out of the car, though, just sat there for a moment as I relived every moment of the interaction with Jesse. The way he’d looked at me, the way he’d smiled at me. That he’d been thinking about me. And that he would see me soon. I wished we’d had more time, and that Mike hadn’t come by when he did, before we could make a plan.
Because all those feelings from Christmas break had come roaring back, and I couldn’t help thinking ahead. Like maybe after this weekend, things didn’t have to end. I could drive to Rutgers, it wasn’t that far from Stanwich, and next year, since I’d still be here, it would be easy to see him. . . .
I’d called Siobhan and left three rambling messages explaining the Jesse situation, but hadn’t heard back yet, and I checked my phone as I got out of the car. I’d just slammed the door when someone behind me yelled, “Hey!”
I jumped and turned, heart hammering, to see Sarah Stephens standing at the edge of our driveway, the paper in her hand and a glower on her face. “What now?” I muttered, taking a step toward her. It was odd to see her without her pink bike helmet—it was like she was missing a crucial part of her head.
“I assume you’ve seen this?” Sarah said, brandishing the newspaper at me, turned to the comics page.
“No,” I said shortly, slinging my bag over my shoulder. “You haven’t been delivering the paper to us.”
“Look,” she said, thrusting it under my nose, and I immediately glanced at the upper-left corner—the prime real estate of the comics section, which my mother had occupied for more than two decades now. It was a comic I’d seen her drawing six weeks ago—all the fictional Grants were coming together for a family dinner, which was interrupted by the papergirl, Sophie Silver, throwing the paper through the living room window. “Are you telling me that’s not based on me?”
I looked away from the drawing. Usually my mother didn’t make people resemble their cartoon alter egos, exactly—she just somehow captured their essence, so even if someone looked nothing like how they were depicted in her comic, you could tell who they were. But she really had abandoned that approach with her send-up of Sarah. The cartoon version looked identical to the real-life subject, down to the oversize bobbles on the ends of her braids. “It’s not based on you,” I said automatically.
“You’re not going to get away with this,” she said darkly, shaking her head at me. “I will not stand for it.” I just stared at her, wondering if all the people trying to build up self-esteem in middle schoolers had actually gone too far.
“Good-bye, Sarah,” I said as I started to walk toward the house, lifting my phone to my ear. “Hi,” I said, pretending there was someone on the other end. “How’s it going?”
“I know you’re not talking to anyone,” Sarah called after me, sounding disgusted. “You could at least do a better job of faking it.”
“Uh-huh,” I said, keeping up my fake conversation. “Interesting . . .” I pushed open the kitchen door and stepped inside.
“You’re back.” My dad was sitting at the kitchen table, and he jumped up as I came in. “Charlie’s back,” he called toward the family room. “Everyone, Charlie’s back!”
“Well, that’s a nice welcome,” I said, smiling at my dad as I crossed to the fridge. I pulled open the door, but then just stared—clearly, while I was gone, someone had gone to the store. It was like staring at a solid wall of food.
“You’re back,” my mother said, and I closed the door to see her hurrying into the kitchen, looking anxious. She glanced around the kitchen. “Where’s your brother?”
“Oh,” I said, my stomach sinking, suddenly realizing what was happening and why my parents seemed so on edge. Of course Linnie had told them about Mike after I’d texted her. “So here’s the thing. . . .”
“Mike!” Linnie called as she came into the kitchen, her smile fading as she looked around. “Where’s Mike?”
“Does he need help with his bags?” J.J. asked, hurrying in behind her.
“Um, no,” I said, realizing I should have texted Linnie right away to tell her Mike wasn’t going to be coming home with me. Normally, I would have, but it was like just seeing Jesse Foster had wiped all rational thought from my brain. I took a breath. “Mike’s not staying here,” I said, figuring it was best to do it fast, like ripping off a Band-Aid.
“Of course he is,” J.J. said. “Linnie said he’s coming to the wedding.”
“He is. But he’s staying at Jesse Foster’s. He—um—told me to drive him there.” There was silence in the kitchen, so much that I could hear the ticking of the crooked silver wall clock. “But he said he’d be at the rehearsal dinner.” The second I said it, I wondered if I’d just drawn attention to the fact that he wasn’t going to be at the Pearce. I wished Danny were here, helping me navigate this.
“Hey.” I looked over to see Rodney standing in the doorway of the kitchen. “Everything okay?”
“Mike’s not staying here,” Linnie said to him quietly, and behind his glasses, Rodney’s eyebrows flew up.
“Oh,” he said. “Um . . .”
“Did your aunt get settled in okay?” my mother asked, with what seemed like a lot of effort to change her focus.
“She’s great,” Rodney said. “Just resting after her trip.”
“Your aunt?” I asked.
“My aunt Liz,” Rodney explained. “She’s staying in the blue guest room. I picked her up at the train station.”
“Did Michael explain why he didn’t come home, Charlie?” my dad asked, his voice low.
“Um, not really.” I glanced at J.J. and saw he looked the way I felt. We all hated it when our dad got serious and quiet like this—somehow, it was much worse than if he’d just yelled.
“Well, we’ll see about that,” my dad said, taking a step toward me and holding out his hand. “Give me your keys.”
“What?” I ask
ed, even as I took them out of my bag. “Why?”
“Because my car is blocked in and I need to leave.”
“Where are you going?” Linnie asked, exchanging a glance with J.J.
“I’m going to get Michael,” my dad said, his voice clipped. He held out his hand again, and I hesitated, looking at my mom, who shook her head at me.
“I’m not sure that’s going to work, Dad,” J.J. said.
“He can’t—he can’t just drop in for the wedding like he’s an out-of-town guest,” my dad said, his voice rising. “He’s not an acquaintance or a third cousin. He can be a part of this family or not, but he can’t—”
“Jeff,” my mom said, taking a step closer to him. “He came back. I mean . . .” Her voice shook slightly. “He’s here. Maybe we should let that be enough.” My dad hesitated, his hand still outstretched toward me. “Please,” my mom said, more quietly, and after a moment, my dad lowered his hand.
“Nobody actually thought he was going to come to the wedding,” I pointed out.
“I did,” Linnie said quietly, but I kept talking over her.
“So is it really that big a deal he’s not staying at the house? We shouldn’t let this affect the weekend. It’s still going to be great. We have the event at the Pearce today, and Danny’s coming soon. . . .” Nobody looked particularly convinced, and I tried to think fast. I was not about to let Mike ruin this weekend—especially if he wasn’t even here to do it. “I mean, it’s not like we even have room for him here.”
“What about my room?” J.J. asked.
“Your room is also Danny’s room. And I think Danny might want to stay there.”
“I just meant he could put a sleeping bag on the floor or something. Who’s in Mike’s room?”
“Bridesmaids,” Linnie and I said together. It was admittedly going to be a tight fit with three of them, but Linnie had decided that it was much better than having them wandering around the Inn. When all Linnie’s friends were together, noise complaints and property destruction inevitably followed.