Bright Before Sunrise (19 page)

He pulls over, parking along the grass between two other cars. A long driveway leads back to a small, white two-story house. “We’re here.”

His words trigger my anxiety. I don’t want to unbuckle my seat belt or leave the car, or for him to remove the key from the ignition. “You could go to Cross Pointe parties instead. It’d be a whole lot closer and good for you.”

Jonah’s smile looks suspiciously sneerish, but he’s facing the windshield so I can only see half his face. “Good for me? How do you figure?”

Darn. Now I need an explanation. “Well, it’d be good for you because …” What would my father say? I search for a line from his book. “‘Adapting to change is an important life skill.’ You should embrace the fact that you live in Cross Pointe now and get involved.”

That sounds sufficiently sane and is actually pretty true. Jonah apparently isn’t a loner in Hamilton: the boys at the pizza place were cute and friendly; he has friends who throw parties and a girlfriend. For him to choose isolation now isn’t normal or healthy.

His jaw shifts like he’s grinding his teeth. “I leave for college in a few months, and I’m not coming back. Why bother?”

“Because you’re missing out on things. Aren’t you lonely? Everyone’s really nice.”

He continues staring out the window, the portion of his face I can see folded into disapproval. “They’re nice to
you
because you’re Brighton Waterford.”

He gets out of the car and I scramble to follow, protesting as I shut my door. “No. They’re just nice people! Do you know that
everyone
else in the school volunteered at least once this year? Wait, what does that mean? Because I’m
me
?” This has the flavor of an insult, but I’m not sure why.

He leans back against his car—the blue of his shirt blending with the blue frame in the semidarkness of the road. “Kindness is your social weapon of choice, but it only works because you’ve grown up within the system and it’s what people
expect
of you. You get to be the ‘nice one’ only because you’ve got everyone trained to think you’re so sweet and innocent.”

“Trained?” I sputter. I can’t even train Never. “That’s not true.”

“Oh yeah? I’ll prove it. Give me your cell phone.”

I hand it to him immediately … then realize I should ask: “Why do you want it?”

“Who’s your best friend?”

“Amelia.”

“Okay, I’m calling her.” He presses the speakerphone button, and the rings echo off the empty street.

“Hey, B! Finally! Where’ve you been? I called you hours ago! Are we still going to Jeremy’s, or do you want to rest up for tomorrow? I thought you’d be home early? How late does this couple stay out? I can’t remember the last time my parents were awake past nine thirty. Not that I’m complaining.”

“True or false,” says Jonah when Amelia’s excessive cheer dies off. “Being mean to Brighton’s like kicking a puppy.”

“Who is this? Jeremy? Did she go to the party without us? True. Though, not
her
puppy; Never’d slobber you to death. Who
is
this? Is she okay?”

“I’m fine, Amelia,” I call.

“There you are! What’s going on? Is someone being mean to you? Hold on—speakerphone—Peter, someone’s being mean to Brighton.”

“What? Our Brighton? Who?” He sounds baffled and angry. “You okay?”

“I’m fine. No one’s being mean.”

“Where are you?” Peter asks while Amelia adds, “Are you sure?”

“Hamilton,” answers Jonah.

“Need us to come get you?” I can already hear Peter’s keys jingling in the background.

“Why
Hamilton
?” I wince at the insult in Amelia’s tone.

“I’m going to a party here.”

“Party? Whose?”

“A friend of a friend’s. It’s fine. Promise.”

“Which friend? We have the same friends! Who are you with? I feel like I should ask in case the cops are looking for you in the morning.” Amelia’s voice is one part concern and one part melodrama.

“Jonah Prentiss,” he answers.

“Jonah? The new guy, Jonah?” In the pause before she continues I count in my head:
1-2-3-4
. “Brighton …”

“I’m fine.”

“I know who that is. He used to be a hell of a baseball player,” adds Peter.

“We don’t know him. We don’t know you, Jonah,” states Amelia. “So you’re definitely a no-go on Jeremy? I really thought you’d like him. Wait, I thought you were babysitting. How’d you end up in Hamilton?”

“I was babysitting Jonah’s sister. It’s fine and I’m fine. I’ll call you tomorrow.” I ignore her Jeremy remarks. I’d told her I wasn’t interested
before
she set us up on the surprise movie date, after the movie date, and at least five times a day all week. Jeremy’s a great guy, just not right for me.

“No. Wait. Speakerphone
off
, B.”

I roll my eyes, but take the phone from Jonah, hit the button, and hold it to my ear. “Yes?”

“Do we like him?” she asks in her most serious voice.

“We don’t know him, remember?”

“But
could
we like him? Please tell me this is not just about the volunteer thing. It’s totally unfair for Mr. Donnelly
to put so much pressure on you because he wants his name hanging in the hall.
Please
don’t do anything stupid over that. Jonah’s cute. Tell me this is because he’s cute.”

“It’s not like that.” Or it isn’t
just
about the volunteer thing. I wish I could explain what it is like—but then I’d have to understand it myself.

“I don’t believe you. But you’re okay? Safe and stuff? Promise?”

“Yes. I’ll call you tomorrow. ’Night, Ames.” I hang up and start handing Jonah the phone before remembering it’s mine and tucking it into my purse.

“I proved my point. Both of them jumped to your defense.” He’s a few steps farther away than I remember, kicking the curb.

“Of course they did, and not because they think I’m helpless—they’re my friends.” I hope crossing the distance between us emphasizes my next point. “I can’t wait to meet yours.”

We both turn to look at the house. The front door, which had been sealing in the music and conversations, opens to reveal a couple attached at the lips. Their bodies are entangled, and they stumble down the steps without breaking off their kiss.

I look away from them to Jonah. Does he kiss like that, like the only thing preventing him from suffocating is someone else’s lips? Carly’s lips, I mean.

I’m blushing and staring and he notices.

“What exactly were you answering with ‘We don’t know him’? How much of a loser Amelia thinks I am?”

“No! Not at all.” We’re standing far too close, but I’m not
backing off now. If he wants space,
he
can step back. But I can’t answer either. My cheeks are already flaming; if I admit she was asking if I
like
him, I might combust. “Cross Pointe isn’t evil, it’s not unfriendly. You just need to give people a chance to get to know you. Tonight, I’ll come to this party with you, and maybe next week you and Carly can come to one with Amelia and me. At least think about it.”

He snorts. “Oh yes, we’d love that.”

“Come on,” I say taking a step toward the driveway. “Let’s go inside and I’ll invite her myself.”

23
 
 
Jonah
 
 
11:03 P.M.

The closer we get to Jeff’s door, the more conflicted I feel about Carly. It’s like all my anger has iced over. I don’t know what I want to do anymore. Flaunt Brighton to make her jealous. Apologize. Yell. Pretend I don’t care. Actually stop caring.

It’s just that walking down this driveway, I can practically see the ghost of past parties. We’d be the couple kissing on the front steps. Or fighting on the driveway. Or dominating at Ping-Pong on the old, lopsided table in the basement. Or, most often, I’d be the guy stuck holding her beer so she could use both hands to reenact some gossip for her over-eager and easily amused audiences.

I miss the days when we were new. When it was the two of us working the same shifts at Dairy Queen and she’d dare me to eat whatever ice cream–candy combinations she mixed up. Those nights I’d go home and stare at the ceiling of my old house too buzzed on kisses and candy to sleep.

I haven’t felt like that in a while. And I think there’s a lot more missing than a massive quantity of sugar.

We’re at the front steps—I know I should tell Bright about the breakup, that she, named after crystal and just as delicate, could be shattered by the reception waiting on the other side of this door. I almost turn around and head back to my car. Almost.

But Brighton is old enough to take care of herself; confident that the world is full of good intentions and sweetness. It isn’t my job to protect her. She’s the one who insisted. She led the charge down the driveway.

Sink or swim time, Bright. Let’s hope the world really is as nice as you claim. I hold the door and follow her into the Digginses’ house.

The front hall’s empty, but the lights and noise from the kitchen spill our way. Heads turn toward the open door, and people tumble out to meet me.

“Prentiss! How are you, man?” booms Sean. I still think of my former teammates by position; he’d been my second baseman. He’s a good guy. Dependable. Laid-back.

Eliza hugs me tightly. “I heard from Sasha. How are you doing? I mean, with the whole thing?” The hug’s a little too tight—her eyes and body giving not-so-subtle hints that she wouldn’t mind being the one to cheer me up.

I say thanks and pry her off me, slapping palms with Felix and nodding to the crew behind him. Maybe this won’t be so bad.

And then they notice I’m not alone.

“You’re not Carly!” is Felix’s brilliant reaction. Followed by a smirk and an equally brilliant, “But I’d like to get to know you.”

She holds out a soft-skinned, green-nailed hand to my former first baseman. “Hi. I’m Brighton.” And smiles at
the group, utterly unaware that all hell’s about to break loose.

“Bright-ton?” repeats someone, while Eliza crosses her arms and scoffs, “What kind of name is that?”

“A rich snob name, of course,” answers a female voice. The speaker is out of sight but earns plenty of chuckles.

Bright lowers her unshaken hand. Felix isn’t being rude—yet—he’s just too busy gawking to notice.

“You’re from Cross Pointe?” asks Sean.

She nods. “It’s nice to meet you all. Jonah speaks highly of you and Hamilton.”

Her speech is so formal and her posture’s tin-soldier straight. Her hands are clasped in front of her around the handle of her bag—making her look like a kid playing tea party and reinforcing Cross Pointe’s snotty reputation.

There are scoffs and laughter. More people join the crowd. It’s about to be a massacre—she hasn’t even taken ten steps and they’re practically pushing one another out of the way so they can see her social takedown. Ready to hate her because of her zip code when all she’s done is smile. I need to say something, anything, to defuse this, but before I can, she turns to Eliza and delivers the fatal words.

“Are you Carly? I’m dying to meet her!”

The room breaks into fifteen competing conversations. “
Cross Pointe snob!
” and “
Look at her!”
are distinct above the roar.

Brighton turns to me in confusion.

Eliza grabs her arm. “Are you kidding me? Jonah, is she kidding?”

Bright steps closer to me, not even realizing that she’s
reinforcing the conclusions they’re all jumping to. I’m tempted to step away, to physically demonstrate I’m not paired with her. Instead, I stay frozen and watch it unfold. This isn’t what I planned.

“Priceless! Totally what Carly deserves.” A catty voice slices through the room, but I’m too distracted to figure out who spoke.

“What’s going on? What’d I say?” Brighton’s eyes swim in hurt and reproach as she whispers her questions to me.

“Jonah, we should talk,” says Jeff. He’d been my catcher and best friend. Yeah, we should talk, except there’s too much to say. Months of stuff to say. Nothing will make any sense—but despite this, we should talk.

I follow Jeff through the kitchen, and Brighton follows me. Eliza shoots her predatory glances, someone whistles, and someone else offers a shout of encouragement. Really? There are people who are glad Carly and I broke up?