16 Things I Thought were True Part 32

He laughs. The sun comes out from behind the cloud. "Come on, cheeky," he says. I tug the bottom of my shorts and join him to walk down the sidewalk to his old truck. He opens the pa.s.senger door. It feels like a date. He stands, holding it and waiting for me to climb in.

"Uh. I can get in on my own," I tell him, worried stepping up in front of him will expose way too much of my rear end. He already thinks I'm an a.s.s- I don't have to show it to him. I make a quick decision. "Wait," I say.

He stares down at me, still holding the door.

"Are you in a rush? Can you wait while I go and change?"

He shakes his head. "Uh. No. Not if you want to. But you don't have to. You look fine to me."

"I want to."

He steps back and holds out his hand. I pull down my shorts again and run back toward my house. "I'll just be a minute," I call.

I run into the house, past my mom and brothers sitting in the living room. Mom is sipping from a wine gla.s.s. I stop and glare at her. She puts the gla.s.s down on the table beside her.

"You sure you should be drinking that?" I can't help asking.

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J a n e t G u r t l e r "Don't judge," Josh says. He's got a bottle of beer in his hand.

"She's allowed one gla.s.s a day."

I shake my head and start walking down the hallway.

"What're you doing?" Jake calls.

"Changing," I yell and open the door to my room and go inside.

"Into a nicer person?" I hear Josh say, but I ignore him and close my door behind me.

I hurry to my closet and stand in front of it, staring at a sundress hanging in the middle. It's never been worn. It's so pretty, with greens and blues. I bought it with Lexi last year. On sale. We were going to wear the sundresses to a dance. And then the video went viral, she stopped talking to me, and I stayed home from the dance.

I've been saving it for a new special occasion. I take a deep breath.

This is it.

I pull off my dirty shorts and T- s.h.i.+rt and chuck them on the floor beside my bed. I carefully remove the dress from the hanger and pull it over my head. Then I slide on a pair of sandals that are on the floor of my closet, go to my dresser, and take two seconds to finger comb my messy hair. There's permanent frizz in it from the damp air, so I fluff with my fingers, decide I don't have time for makeup, and sigh.

I run back in the hallway, past the living room.

"Hey," Jake calls. "Where you going in a dress?" He stands up and follows me to the front door. I bend down to dig through the backpack I left there, grab my purse, and shove my phone inside.

"Was that a boy out there?" my mom asks from where she's sit- ting in the living room. I hear hope in her voice and frown.

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1 6 t h i n g s i t h o u g h t w e r e t r u e "Seriously?" I force myself to look at her.

"You look pretty," she says softly.

I press my lips together, say nothing, and turn away.

"We're going to take Mom to a movie," Jake says, "if you come back later and we're not home."

Do they think I'm over this? That all is forgiven?

I reach for the door. "Fine," I tell him. "I think I can handle it."

"You going out with a boy?" Jake asks.

"Yes." Without saying bye, I run out the door, trotting up the driveway and up the sidewalk to Adam's truck. He's sitting inside, so I climb in and put on my seat belt.

Adam turns the volume b.u.t.ton down on the radio. "Wow," he says. "You look like a real girl."

"As opposed to a fake girl?" I say.

"No. A real girl. Real pretty."

I make an embarra.s.sing scoffing sound and realize how transpar- ent I am, trying to impress him with a dress.

"I like it," he says.

I dip my head to hide my smile and force myself to say what I'm thinking. "You look nice too."

He revs up the truck and pulls out on the street.

"So, you want to go somewhere in particular?" he asks.

My tongue's suddenly thick and I shake my head.

"How about I drive for a while?"

"Sure."

"So," he asks after we pull out of my neighborhood and onto the main road, "how'd it go with your mom?"

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J a n e t G u r t l e r "Probably about how you think." I glance out the window as we pa.s.s by a row of lavender trees. I press the b.u.t.ton to unroll my window and inhale the scent. "I love that smell. Lavender."

Adam doesn't respond.

I press the window closed and sigh. "There was screaming. And tears. But that was from my mom."

"Hmm."

"I'm mad. So mad. So mad I don't know what to do with all the anger. I don't want it to take over or control me. But how do I forgive her?"

"I don't know," he says honestly. "Time?"

"I need a lot of that," I say and glance at his profile. His slightly turned-up nose. The strong cheekbones. "Thank you."

"For what?" Adam asks.

"For coming."

"How could I not?"

I look into his eyes, and my anger begins to fade until it's more of a low- grade headache dulled by medication- I'm aware it's there, but it doesn't need my attention anymore.

We're quiet as we drive through the familiar streets of Tadita, until my phone beeps in my purse to tell me I have a new text. I think about ignoring it but then I reach for it. "It's probably Amy,"

I tell Adam.

When I see the message, my heart speeds up.

Adam glances over before returning his attention to the road.

"What? You okay? Amy okay?"

"It's not Amy."

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1 6 t h i n g s i t h o u g h t w e r e t r u e Hey. What's up? I miss you, the text says.

"Who's it from?"

"Lexi."

"Lexi the video girl?" Adam asks.

My lips turn up in the corner. "Technically I think I'm the video girl."

He makes a raspberry sound. "She's the one who posted it. I'd like to put up a video of her dancing on YouTube."

I glance at his profile. He's pressing his lips tight, scowling. It makes me smile. "She's a terrible dancer." It's true, but I never said that about her before. I never would have. But she is a terrible dancer. And she ended things. And never told me she was sorry. I can't blame her completely for the video going viral. Maybe I could have stopped it. But she started it in the first place.

"Figures," Adam says. He glances at the phone. "So what'd she say?"

"She said she misses me," I say softly, staring at the message. I think of how many times I'd hoped to see a message from Lexi, how much I'd wanted her friends.h.i.+p back- how I wanted us to be friends again. But no matter what, she didn't ask my permission to send out that video. And then I think of Amy, driving all the way to Canada for me, furious with my dad on my behalf, crying on my behalf. In the short time I've known Amy, I know that she would never ever do what Lexi did. And maybe, just maybe, that's what I deserve. Amy.

I stare down at my phone and then press delete.

Adam pulls his truck into the parking lot of the high school.

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J a n e t G u r t l e r "Getting in line early?" I say. "Beating the rush, Dr. Adam?"

He rolls his eyes at me. "Let's go for a walk," he says, turning the ignition off.

We hop out of the truck at the same time, but Adam walks to my side and reaches for my hand. "This okay?" he asks. I bite my lip and nod, and his bigger hand closes over mine. It feels like heaven.

We walk to the playground without saying anything, but when I spot the swings, I drop his hand and run and jump on one. Adam gets on the one beside me and we start pumping our legs. We laugh, racing to get higher faster. For a while, we are in sync, and I remember swinging like this with Lexi. "We're double dating," I yell, like I did when our swinging matched. It's more fun with Adam.

I drop my head back, and my hair blows in the wind while I pump my legs, going higher and higher.

"You're beautiful," Adam shouts.

A cackle rings from my throat. "You're only saying that because you can see up my dress on the swing." My insides like being told I'm pretty.

"Not from where I'm sitting," he calls. "But I could move."

I laugh, feeling free and light. Adam jumps off his swing, and I scream and jump off too, afraid he really will see up my dress.

We both laugh, and he grabs my hand and pulls me toward the gra.s.s, and we sit.

I flop onto my stomach and pick up a white wildflower. A beau- tiful flower among weeds on the schoolyard. I study the flower, watching the petals fall and blow away. Some of my anger floats away with them. Adam's eyes watch me.

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1 6 t h i n g s i t h o u g h t w e r e t r u e "I don't know how I'm going to forgive my mom," I say without looking up. The gra.s.s underneath me is damp, but not enough to soak my clothes. It feels cool and smells fresh.

"I bet," he says. "But she's still your mom. That doesn't change."

"How I look at her has." The sadness drags my body closer to the ground, and I flip over onto my back so it doesn't crush my lungs.

It erodes some of the layers of anger that have been protecting me from hurt. So much hurt.

"What about Bob?" Adam asks.

I breathe in deeply and close my eyes, splaying my hands out on the gra.s.s like I'm going to make an angel. A gra.s.s angel. "I don't know. I haven't heard from him since we had tea. I think I'm get- ting ticked off."

"What a mess," he says. "You're handling it amazingly well."