Bright Before Sunrise (14 page)

She stands there, hands on hips, eyebrows arched, waiting for my nod of agreement. I’m not going to give her the satisfaction. She doesn’t get to waltz home and tell me what a failure I am at dating and life in general.

She tilts her head toward me and clears her throat. Over her shoulder, I can see Jonah approaching from the foyer. If I don’t concede now, she’ll make me regret it.

“Fine,” I say, and she smiles triumphantly.

Jonah hands me my cell. “It’s going to be at least an hour. They gave me some crappy excuse about how since I’m not in any immediate danger or stranded, I’m not considered a priority.”

“I’m sorry. That stinks.” An hour? I want him to go sit on his car, or pace the driveway, or do anything but be in my sight. I want away from how anxious he makes me and how much he makes me second-guess myself.

Evy sits down at the kitchen table and uses her toe to push the chair next to hers toward him.

“Of course you’re welcome to stay,” I add, but my own invitation is a weak, awkward echo of hers.

“Thanks.” Jonah sits and scans the kitchen. Ours isn’t as immaculate as his. There are fingerprints on the stainless-steel surface of the fridge. Evy’s left a plate by the sink and a soda can on the counter next to a stack of mail she’s gone through and an open catalog she’s doodled on. All of this will have to be cleaned up before the memorial tomorrow.

I look stupid and out of place standing, but don’t feel
invited to join them. Which is ridiculous. Evy is
my
sister, Jonah is
my
babysitting charge’s older brother.

Who hates me.

But I can fix this—I’ll use this hour to
make
him like me. Once he does, I’ll get him to come volunteer on Sunday. Then I’ll never have to think about him again.

Decision made. So, by Dad’s logic, I’m 80 percent closer to him liking me than I was a second ago. Funny how I still feel totally unwelcome in my own kitchen.

I keep standing, trying to make it look like I want to by leaning against the marble countertop.
Everything looks better when you’re wearing a smile
. I flash some teeth, trying to find a balance between the Miss America of Evy’s accusation and the grimace I’d like to wear. “Can I get you anything, Jonah? A drink?”

“No,” he says, then adds, “Sorry if I ruined your plans.” This is addressed to Evy. Apparently my plans don’t matter.

“No worries. I’m in for the night. I was going to make tea and wait for my boyfriend to call. Brighton’s about to walk the dog. You can go with her.”

“Never? No.” If I had been sitting, I’d have bolted to my feet in protest.

“Um, I’ll wait by my car if walking the dog is a private task for you.” Jonah gives me a look of curious disdain.

“No, that’s not what I meant.”

But my words are overpowered by Evy’s opening the French doors to our back porch. She whistles and shouts, “C’mere, boy! Where’s my baby?”

Nearly two hundred pounds of drool lumbers into the kitchen. Jonah’s chair is forced back when Evy’s “baby”
pushes his way over to inspect him. Jonah tolerates the sniffing and even scratches behind the demon dog’s ears.
Saint
Bernard? I don’t think so.

“Who loves me? Never loves me. Good boy, Never. Such a good boy,” Evy coos, and the dog turns his attention to her. Jonah stands up to avoid being beaten by the dog’s tail, which immediately overturns his chair.

“Never?” Jonah asks. “That’s some dog.”

“See, I wasn’t saying you couldn’t come—”

“Never: Not Eve’s Replacement. My mom got this big, beautiful boy right before I left for college. Didn’t she, buddy?” Evy scratches his chin, and he rewards her with a lick that leaves visible slobber across her cheek. Gross.

“And he never listens to anyone but her, so it’s appropriate.” I scowl—not that either of them notices. They’re too busy lavishing affection on the beast, who has a habit of chewing up my shoes and jumping on me when I sit on the couch so I can’t get up until he decides to move or someone bribes him with a cookie. “I’m not walking him. I can’t. He was just in the backyard, I’m sure he’s fine.”

As soon as the word “walk” leaves my lips, Never bounds over, jumps up, and knocks me down. Then he proceeds to lick my face.

“Get him off me,” I beg, but Jonah and Evy are too busy laughing.

When I’m near tears, Jonah does, by holding up a leash Evy must’ve given him. He manages to get Never to sit while he fastens it. I hate the dog and she knows it. The thing weighs nearly as much as the two of us combined, but he listens to
her
.

“I can’t walk him,” I repeat. I put my headband on the counter and pull my hair into a ponytail so I can splash my face with water from the kitchen sink and remove the drool. All my makeup comes off along with it. My first instinct is to run upstairs and fix it, but Jonah will hate me with or without mascara and sandstone eye shadow.

“Don’t be a baby. He needs a walk—” Her cell rings. “And look, there’s Topher, so I can’t do it. Have fun. I’ll listen for the AAA guys.” Evy zips out of the room, cell phone to her ear, cooing to her boyfriend in a tone similar to the one she used with the dog.

“I can’t,” I say to Jonah.

“He’s just a dog. You’re the owner. Tell him what to do and he’ll do it.”

Like it’s that easy.

Never hasn’t listened to a command from me since he was actually lap sized. The woman at obedience school kept correcting Mom and Evy, telling
them
to speak softer—that
my
normal-volume instructions wouldn’t be effective if Never got used to obeying commands at a yell. But they didn’t listen and she was right. By the time he was knee height, all the cookies, cheese, and peanut butter in the world couldn’t convince him to sit or stay for me.

Jonah holds the leash out, but I just shake my head.

“Fine. I’ll walk him then. What’s a good loop so I don’t get lost? Everything in this town looks the same.”

He’s wrong—of course—not only do things
not
look the same, but all the streets in Cross Pointe are laid out in a grid. I don’t understand how it would be possible to get lost. I open my mouth to give him a route, then change my mind.

“You know what, I’ll come with you.”

If he were any of my guy friends, I’d link my arm through his, but Jonah would flinch or say something scathing. For now anyway.

Seeing him with Evy has given me hope; he’s
not
a 100 percent miserable all the time. He
will
like me. I just need to figure out how to get him to take the chip off his shoulder and give me a chance.

“You’re great with Never. Maybe you can teach me how to walk this beast without getting trampled.” I offer the flattery in a “my hero” voice and pair it with a smile. He stares for a second, then turns and walks out the front door, dog by his side.

We head down the driveway, the automatic lights flickering on one by one as we trigger their motion sensors. He casts a forlorn look at his car as we pass.

I can’t think of anything to say except things that would sound lame or like I’m sucking up:
You’re so good at walking the dog. Don’t feel bad about the car; anyone could make that mistake. Did you know your shoulders are really broad?

My cheeks blaze, but at least it’s dark and he can’t see them or read my thoughts. He’s staring again though.

“You don’t look anything like your sister.”

“Really? You think?” I smile. He’s initiating conversation; we’re already doing better than earlier. “Evy and I used to be mistaken for twins when we were younger. My mother took total advantage of this by dressing and styling us alike for holiday photos until Evy rebelled.”

“Twins? She’s all curls and curves and flash. You’re …”

The smile freezes on my lips. “I straighten my hair.” Also, she wears push-up bras and too much makeup.

“Your hair’s curly like that?” Jonah sounds astounded. “God, you won’t even allow your hair to have personality. I’ve never met anyone as repressed as you.” His expression of disapproval is illuminated by a streetlight as he stops to let Never sniff.

My hair? He’s even critical of my hair? “You know, most people like me. Or, if they don’t, they’re not rude enough to tell me.”

“Rude, or honest?” Jonah asks.

“Rude,” I insist.

Jonah snorts. It’s the most infuriating sound I’ve ever heard.

“What’s that supposed to mean? You think people
lie
about liking me?”

“You said it, not me.”

“No,
you
said it first. You said
rude, or honest
. So tell me your version of the truth—I dare you.”

“You
dare
me?” He laughs and shifts the leash to his other hand while considering this. “All right. If you really want to know, people like you because there’s nothing there to dislike—that’s not a compliment. You’re vanilla ice cream. People like to build their sundaes on top of you because you go with everything. But vanilla on its own is boring.”

“I’m boring?” Now isn’t a good time for my Teflon coating to fail, but I can’t make this insult not hurt.

“Look at you.”

I do. Khaki capris, a navy pin-tuck tank. I’d worn light gold sandals to school, but traded them for white flip-flops for the walk. It’s an outfit I bought straight off a mannequin in Cross Pointe’s most popular boutique—I’m sure their stylists know fashion a little bit better than Jonah.

Never’s pulling at the leash, so he and the dog continue down the sidewalk.

“I am
not
boring!” I call after their shadowy shapes. I make my hands into fists. One of my nails hits a tender spot from earlier, but I keep forcing them tighter. “And I like vanilla!”

Jonah’s laughter drifts back. “Are you coming?”

“I’ll prove I’m not boring!” I stomp to catch up. “Turn left here, there’s somewhere I want to go.”

We turn out of Ashby and we’re back on Main Street. How could Jonah possibly think this town is confusing?

“Wait here, I’ll be right back,” I say once we pass the awnings for the art gallery, stationery store, and a clothing boutique to reach Yates Pharmacy. “Please,” I add.

The bells hanging above the door chime as I open it, and Mrs. Yates looks up from her place behind the counter. “Honey, we close in five minutes,” she calls at me.

“I only need one,” I answer and storm the aisles, searching for what I want. While it isn’t exactly the same, it will do. I hurry back to the register, and Mrs. Yates is waiting with a smile.

“You came out at nine p.m. just for this?” she asks.

“It was an emergency.” I smile at the bottle I’m rolling between both hands; it stings each time it coasts over the marks left by my nails. “But how about I add this too?” I hand her a Snickers bar.

“I remember being a teen—fashion and chocolate are always emergencies. Have fun.”

17
 
 
Jonah
 
 
9:01 P.M.

A Brighton rebellion. I’m curious what she’ll buy in the pharmacy. Or maybe she won’t
buy
anything—maybe she’s proving she’s not boring by shoplifting. Jeff once stole a Matchbox car after his older brother called him a chicken. But Jeff was eight, and I really can’t see Brighton pocketing anything without paying.

Bells signal her reappearance. Never barks once and strains to go sniff her. I tug on his leash and he sits, but his tail beats impatiently against the ground. I know how he feels. Is she walking slowly on purpose? If she’s waiting for me to ask, I won’t.

“This is for you.” She tosses me a candy bar—a very bad throw, but I stretch up and catch it automatically. “And
this
is for me.” She holds up a glittery-green bottle like it’s a trophy.

“That’s it?” My voice sounds harsh, even to me, but seriously, nail polish?

She frowns at me and continues to turn the bottle so the
glitter reflects in the streetlight. “What were you expecting? It’s a pharmacy, not a tattoo parlor.”

“I don’t know, something more impressive like hair dye or condoms or something.”

“This
is
impressive! I’ve been wearing Pointe-Shoe Pink since I was twelve.” She curls the bottle into her palm and tightens her other hand into a fist. “Wait! Condoms? Why would I need—”