Page 70

70

Finny answers his phone after one ring.

“Hello?”

“Hey, I’m home.”

“You still outside?”

“Yeah,” I say.

“Stay there,” he says. “I’ll be down in a minute.”

When he comes out the back door, I am sitting on the hood of his car. It’s almost midnight. The crickets are chirping and the air is still warm.

“So how was it?” he says.

“It was okay,” I say. “I think she was acting as a representative of everyone else.” I just got back from seeing a movie with Brooke. During the half-hour car ride home, she told me that everyone understood that I was mad at Jamie and Sasha, but that everyone still wanted to be my friend, that I was still part of the group.

“She said that nobody wants to take sides,” I say.

“I figured it would be something like that,” Finny says, “You hungry?”

“Yeah.”

On our way to the all-night drive-thru, I take off my sandals and hang my feet out the window. Finny doesn’t mind.

“Do you feel any better?” he asks. I shrug.

“Kinda. I mean, it’s nice that I can still be friends with the rest of them, but—” I shrug again and sigh. “I dunno. How can we still be a group after this? And we’re all going to different schools…” My voice trails off. A minute passes in silence. We pull up to the bright lights of the fast food restaurant.

“Is it that easy for you to drop friends?” Finny says.

“No,” I say. I pull my feet inside and lay my cheek on my knee. “I really did think we would be friends forever,” I say.

“Are you talking about us or them?” Finny says. He is looking out the window.

“Can I take your order?” The box squeals at us.

“Hold on,” Finny says, and then turning to me, “do you know what you want?”

My heart is still beating fast from his other question. We haven’t spoken about being friends again. The Mothers are beside themselves, but they know better than to mention it. Just before Brooke dropped me off, she asked me if I was with Finny now. I said that he was still with Sylvie and got out of the car.

“Just get me a number one. With a Coke,” I say. He orders for us and pays. After he pulls forward and we are waiting on our food, I say, “Them, just then. But I thought that about you too.” He doesn’t answer me. He hands me the bag and pulls the car around. When we’re back on the road, he says, “Sylvie’s in Italy now.”

“Oh?” I say.

“She was in and out of art museums all week.”

“I can’t really imagine Sylvie in an art museum,” I say. Finny glances at me. He frowns at the road.

“You know, you wouldn’t think she was so bad if you gave her a chance.”

“Who said I thought she was ‘so bad’?” I say. “I just don’t see her as an art museum kinda person.”

“From you, that is a bad thing,” he says. “And you don’t really know her,”

“Okay. So I don’t really know her,” I say. “She doesn’t really know me either, and God knows what she thinks about me.”

“Mostly she’s scared of you,” Finny says.

“Scared of me?”

“You intimidate her.”

“Whatever.”

“I’m serious,” he says.

“Okay. You’re serious,” I say. We sit in silence the rest of the drive home. After Finny pulls into the driveway, he turns off the engine and we stare straight ahead.

“Are you mad at me?” I ask.

“No, I’m not,” he says. I can’t think of anything else to say, at least not anything I should say, so I don’t. I take out the food and hand Finny’s to him. “Thanks,” he says. His profile is handsome in the dashboard light. I want so much to lean over and lay my head on his shoulder. When we were kids, I could have.

“I don’t hate Sylvie,” I say finally. “I don’t know her, you’re right. But that means I don’t know if she’d like museums.” Finny shrugs, but it isn’t a dismissive shrug. “I bet if she knew me she’d see what a dork I am and wouldn’t be scared of me,” I offer. “Does she know that I got dumped by Jamie?”

“I told her,” he says. He looks over at me. “I didn’t give her any details though,” he adds quickly.

“Does she know about us?” I ask. Finny shakes his head and looks out the window again. “What are you going to tell her when she comes home?” I ask.

“I don’t know,” he says, and then, “you’re not a dork.” I eat my burger before it gets cold. Finny eats all of his fries first, then starts on the burger. I leave half of mine behind and wrap it in the foil before dropping it back in the bag. Curled up in my seat facing Finny, I watch him eat in the half light. The radio is playing quietly. It would be kinda romantic if we were together.

“So,” Finny says, “what are we doing tomorrow?”