Grandma notices the extra time I spend in the bathroom the next day. The one and only bathroom has a small mirror so I chose to flat iron my hair in front of a big mirror in the den.
“Why are you wasting so much time on your hair, child?” She's shopping for clothes from a catalogue designed for old women. I shrug, taking a seat next to her. There's really no need to lie to Grandma like I would to Mom since Grandma doesn't think I have an ulterior motive to everything I do. She asks if I am interested in any of the blouses on page seven. I am definitely not.
My hair is completely flat. My side bangs perfectly swoop across my forehead. But I keep sliding the flat iron over the locks, as therapy. The Ian thing is bugging me, though the Jace thing is an icing on top of the problem cake. I wish I had my phone and my computer. My ears start to burn as the flat iron gets too close to them.
“There are some brownies in the kitchen for you. I made a double batch since I know you teenagers can eat a lot.”
“Grandma, there's just one of me,” I say, wondering if she's noticed the five pounds I put on last year. Regardless, I unplug my flat iron, find them on the counter and start eating one.
“Eddie and I can't eat much sugar, so you make sure to eat them all before they go bad.”
Eat them all? There's like two dozen of them and they are roughly the size of my palm. I stuff the rest of my brownie into my mouth, wrap another one in a paper towel and bring it back to the living room.
Carefully, I think of a way to word it so she doesn't realize who I am talking about. “Grandma, could I take some to my friend next door?”
She doesn't look up from her catalog. “Sure honey, that would be fine.”
I dive into the kitchen and wrap up most of the brownies. Then I take out a few, because who am I kidding, I will definitely eat them. I had spent most of the night in bed trying to think of a good excuse to go back over to Jace's, and food is the best possible excuse. Boys can't say no to food.
Back in my room, I get dressed and assess myself in the mirror. My hair and makeup are great. My outfit is iffy, but I still can't wear shorts because my legs haven't faded from the burnt orange they turned when Becca talked me into getting a spray tan with her last week. I check out the window for Jace and am delighted to see him on his back porch working on his dirt bike. It's a little past noon, the perfect time for brownies.
It takes a lot to stop myself from skipping across the yard to his house, but I manage to walk as coolly as possible. When I am only a few feet away, he still hasn't looked up yet and I feel like he should have heard me coming by now. I clear my throat. “Hey, you.”
“Morning,” he says, leaning in close to the bike's motor. His eyes squint as he tightens or loosens something with a tool. I get closer and am only a foot away now and he still doesn't look up. Holding out my arms, I say, “I brought you some brownies.”
Now he looks up. He pops off the Tupperware lid with dirty hands and stuffs a brownie in his mouth. “Mmm…” The huge brownie is gone in twenty seconds flat.
“Wow, fatass, you want another one?” I ask. Being cocky is how I first got Ian's attention. He drops his tool; it looks like a T-shaped wrench. He's smiling so I know he isn't offended.
“Watch it, girl,” he says. But he takes another brownie and I laugh. I sit beside him on the porch, grab a handful of screws and play with them.
“Don't lose those,” he warns, eyeing me like I'm a child in a museum.
“So what are your plans for the day?” I ask. I throw in a sigh so it sounds casual and not at all like I'm hinting to hang out with him. But I am totally hinting to hang out with him so I hope he offers.
“No one ever has plans in this damn town. There's nothing you could possibly do here that doesn't involve having a plane ticket to somewhere else.” He takes a screw from my hand and fastens it back onto the bike. One by one, they leave my hand and go back where they belong.
“I don't have plans either.” Standing up, I dust off my hands on my jeans. “I brought a stack of DVDs from home, so I'll probably just watch movies all afternoon.” I lace my fingers and stretch out my arms in front of me, and then I do the same behind my back. I take a step back, faking like I'm about to leave. He shoves his toolkit away and stands up beside me.
“What kind of movies?” A smile crawls onto his face. He wipes away the sweat from his forehead and my heart beats faster, knowing that I won.
“About a hundred of them actually,” I say. His smile is contagious. I tell him about the case of DVDs I've been working on for years and how I toss out the plastic cases because there wasn't enough room for so many movies on my shelves.
“I think you should go get that shit immediately,” he says. “I'll order us a pizza and we can veg all night.”
I practically skip home, full of excitement and win and awesomeness. I grab my DVD case, my favorite pillow and some lip-gloss and run downstairs. Grandma is walking through the kitchen when I get there. She hasn't asked me to keep her updated about what I do, but I feel like it's probably best if I tell her anyway.
“Grandma, I'm going to go watch movies at my friend's house next door, okay?” I'm almost out of breath from taking the stairs two at a time.
She nods. “That's fine, honey.” Behind me, Grandpa clears his throat. Turning on my heel, I see him standing in the doorway, a solemn look on his face. I probably look like a deer in the headlights when my eyes meet his. He doesn't say anything though, he just stares at me, waiting for me to turn around and disappoint him by hanging out with the enemy.
I force a smile, tell him bye and slip out the back door, doing exactly what he fears.
Jace answers the door with the phone to his ear. “Pepperoni cool with you?” he asks, letting me in. I nod and he finishes ordering the pizza. “We've got twenty-five minutes till they're here.” He pours two sodas and hands one to me. “I also ordered cheese bread but I'm in a pretty horrible mood so I might eat it all.”
We sit on opposite ends of the couch and watch a movie from my giant selection. When the pizza arrives, I'm starving but only grab one piece so as not to look like a cow. I keep waiting for him to scoot closer to me, put an arm around me, anything. This is what guys are supposed to do when alone with a girl. So far, nothing but small talk. Pointless, stupid small talk. We talk about the movie, how the lead actor just had his second illegitimate child with another mistress in real life. He tells me about California and how pretty it is. I get so sick of small talk. I can't look at his gorgeous lips while they tell me anything else tonight. I want them on mine.
“Do you have a girlfriend back at home?” I ask, freeing myself from the shackles of small talk.
“Nah.” He examines his fingernails. “Not anymore at least.”
I resist the urge to ask why. It doesn't matter why – he's single and so am I. “Girlfriends are overrated anyhow,” I say. He downs the last bit of his drink and crunches on an ice cube. “So you don't have a girlfriend either, eh?”
“Oh shut up.” I take a second slice of pizza from the box on the coffee table. It started with eight slices and is now down to two. “So did you come here by yourself? Why didn't you bring friends or something?”
He thinks about my question for a while before he answers. “I don’t have any friends I could spend a summer with…they would drive me insane after a week.” He looks over at me but doesn't really see me. His eyes are troubled. “Plus I deserve to spend a summer alone.”
“Why would anyone deserve isolation? That's harsh,” I say. He shakes his head.
“I'm gonna need a drink if I'm going to tell you this story,” he says, getting up and taking his glass into the kitchen. I follow him. He pours another coke and drops two shots of Jack Daniels in it. I slide my glass across the counter, next to his.
“Me too,” I say. He glares at me. “You're too young to drink.”
“So are you.”
“So.”
“One shot?”
He sighs. I win. He measures out one shot in a shot glass and then pours it into my drink. We go back to the living room, leaving the bottle of Jack on the counter. I take a few sips and when he's fully immersed in the movie, I excuse myself to go get a paper towel. Once in the kitchen, I guzzle half of my drink and fill the rest with Jack. I've never drank before, so this should be fun. I join him back on the couch, only this time I sit closer.
“So tell me the story,” I say, rubbing shoulders with him. “Why do you deserve a summer of isolation?”
He laughs. “I lied. I'm not telling you.”
I lift an eyebrow. “You're not like a murderer or anything…?”
“If I was, you wouldn't still be alive right now.” His answer doesn't comfort me, but as I take another sip and feel the liquor warming my throat down to my stomach, I stop caring.
A few sips more and I'm rocking side to side in my skull. I'm pretty sure I'm not moving outwardly, but it's getting harder and harder to keep my body still. Jace is slouched in the couch, relaxed and all I want to do is get up and move around. I snuggle closer to him, resting my head on his shoulder.
Images of Ian fade into the background of my mind. “This night is exactly what I needed,” I murmur between quiet parts of the film.
His hand grabs my knee and squeezes. “Me too.”