My parents would kill me if they knew what I’m doing right now.
They think I’m studying after school with my best friend Chelsea. They think Chelsea is giving me a ride home, then I’m going to pick up a change of clothes and have a sleepover at her house.
If they knew I was sitting in a car a block away from my house with Shane Nelson, it would be bad. And if they knew it will actually be Shane’s house where I’ll be spending the night tonight… well, I don’t even want to know what they would do. For starters, I would be grounded. And not the kind of grounded where I don’t get to play video games or get deprived of an extra serving of dessert. I would be yanked out of high school, probably homeschooled, and never allowed to leave my bedroom ever again. That kind of grounded.
So that’s why when Shane drives me home, he always parks a block or two away. Even that is a risk, but when it comes to Shane, I’m all about taking stupid risks. I’ve always been a good girl—straight A’s, honor society, debate club. I’ve never met a guy who has made me want to break all my rules before. And when Shane looks at me from the driver’s seat of his Chevy, I realize there’s not much I wouldn’t do for him.
“I’m really looking forward to tonight,” I tell him, in a voice that I hope sounds mature and sexy, but more likely sounds squeaky and nervous. I can’t help it—I’ve never spent the night at a boy’s house before.
“Me too.” He traces the curve of the gold snowflake necklace I always wear around my throat. “So much.”
Shane’s vivid brown eyes meet mine. I’ve known Shane since middle school, and I swear he gets better looking every year. Shaggy dark hair, a dangerous grin, and now all those damn muscles. Back when we were twelve, he was just a punk who couldn’t quit getting in trouble at school. Then in high school, he joined the football team and became the star
quarterback. I watch him every day as Chelsea and I cheer from the stands, and he is really talented. Still not good enough for my parents though.
“You know,” Shane says, “it could just be us at my house tonight. You say the word…”
When Chelsea found out that Shane’s mother was going to be out of town visiting his grandmother for the weekend, it was her brilliant idea to have a little party at his house tonight. She quickly invited herself and her own football star boyfriend, Brandon. Brandon is particularly skilled at always having a bottle of something alcoholic at every party.
“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” I say. “If Chelsea doesn’t get to come, she’ll rat me out to my parents.”
Shane makes a face. “She’s your best friend. You really think she would do that?”
Oh, she absolutely would. Chelsea might be my best friend, but she is always looking out for number one. But for once, I’m sort of glad. Shane and I have been together for three months, and I’m nervous about being all alone with him. I don’t think he even knows I’m still a virgin. He isn’t one
—he hasn’t said so, but I’m sure of it. It’s not possible.
“It’s fine,” I say. “It’ll be fun to hang out with Chelsea and Brandon.”
Shane doesn’t protest because Brandon is one of his good friends. But he’s not nervous about being alone with me. He seems excited about any time he gets to spend with me. It’s flattering how much he seems to like me. I dated a few guys before, but Shane is my first real boyfriend. He doesn’t even seem to mind that we have to sneak around because my parents don’t approve of him.
I glance at my watch—I told my mother I would be home by five. “I better go.”
“Just another five minutes?” “Better not.”
I don’t want to give my parents any excuse to tell me I can’t go out tonight. It’s only recently that they have eased up on the restrictions from this summer, when a teenage girl named Tracy Gifford from a neighboring town was found murdered in the woods. For a good month after that, everyone was absolutely terrified. But now it’s four months later, and it’s almost like it never happened. Tracy Gifford was such a big deal, and now it’s like she never existed.
“Okay, fine.” He grabs my shoulder and pulls me close to him. I kiss him, deep and hungry, like we’re in a competition to see who will swallow the other one first. We can’t seem to get enough of each other. “I’ll see you tonight.”
“Seeya.”
I start to open the car door, and then I feel his hand on my shoulder. “Brooke?”
I turn to look back at him. “Yes?” “Brooke, I lope you.”
I can’t help but grin at him. That’s a private joke between the two of us. I was texting him once that I love ice cream, but I mistyped it and I wrote “I lope ice cream.” You would think my phone would auto correct that, but it didn’t. And then it became a joke. I lope french fries. I lope foot rubs. And then a couple of weeks ago, he blurted out:
I lope you, Brooke.
He doesn’t love me. Obviously not. I mean, we’re only seventeen and we’ve only been dating three months. But he lopes me. And that’s almost better than love.
“I lope you too,” I say.
Shane laughs, and he releases my shoulder to let me leave the car. As I slam the door to the Chevy, the whole car shakes. Shane’s car is a piece of junk. He literally got it at the junkyard and used his skills from auto mechanics class to rebuild the engine and get the damn thing running. He painted it, and it looks halfway decent now, but I’m always a little worried it’s just going to die in the middle of the road and I’ll have to walk back to civilization in what will almost certainly be incredibly uncomfortable shoes because that’s just my luck.
But Shane can’t afford a new car. Or even a used car. Even though he works every weekend at the pizza parlor, the only car he can afford is one that he bought from the junkyard.
And now you know why my parents will never approve of him.
Because according to them, much like his car, Shane is “trash.”
Shane rolls down the passenger side window of the car. “See you tonight, Brooke! Seven-thirty!”
“Seven-thirty,” I repeat obediently.
After that confirmation, Shane’s car zooms away, making a lot more noise than a car rightfully should because his muffler is also from the junkyard. I watch the Chevy disappear around the corner because I’m just that kind of infatuated with him. The kind where I have to watch him disappear into the distance. It’s sickening, I know.
“So what are you doing at seven-thirty, Brooke?”
I come toppling down from my cloud of love (I mean, lope) at the sound of the voice from behind me. I didn’t notice that Shane had parked dangerously close to the Reese household, which he’s usually careful not to do. Tim Reese is standing on the front lawn, raking up the last of the leaves from the fall.
Tim. Damn.
“Nothing,” I say.
Tim arches an eyebrow at me as I look up at him. I am still not used to looking up at Tim. I’ve known him since we were both in diapers, when he went by Timmy and had a face full of freckles, like a freckle bomb had exploded in his face. He was always a couple of inches shorter than me, then he suddenly shot up about a year ago. I still can’t quite get used to it.
“Are you meeting Shane at seven-thirty?” Tim presses me.
I avert my eyes. Chelsea might be my best friend, but Tim knows me better than anybody in the world. “Maybe…”
Tim’s blue eyes darken. “I can’t believe you’re still dating that jerk.”
My parents hate Shane, but Tim hates him even more. He hates him with a strange passion that I don’t entirely understand. Tim isn’t the kind of guy who would judge somebody because they drive a third-hand car and live in an old farmhouse that’s one loose shingle away from being condemned. There are other reasons he hates Shane.
“Tim,” I mutter, “stop it.”
He rubs his chin. The freckles have mostly faded in the last few years, partially because he’s careful to stay out of the sun. But I miss Tim’s freckles. The freckles were adorable. Without them and now half a head taller than I am, he’s become handsome, but he’s not adorable anymore. Moreover, he seems like a different person. A different kid from the one I spent the summers with, running screaming through the sprinklers in his backyard.
“Shane’s a jerk,” he declares.
“Oh, come on…”
“He is,” Tim snaps. “Him and all his football buddies are a bunch of bullies. I can’t believe you don’t see it, Brooke.”
I shift between my feet in Tim’s yard, which is muddy from the moisture in the air. The air is heavy and damp, and I can feel my hair starting to curl. The forecast called for heavy rain and thunderstorms tonight, and Chelsea and I are intending to reach the farmhouse before it begins. So I should get a move on, but I hate the judgment on Tim’s face, and I’m desperate to prove him wrong. He doesn’t know Shane the way I do. I used to think Shane was a jerk, but he’s not. He’s a good guy, and I really like him. I lope him. Tim just can’t see it. I wish he could.
“If you got to know Shane,” I say, “I bet you’d like him.” Tim snorts and shakes his head.
“Listen,” I say, “you should come tonight.” He narrows his eyes. “Come where?”
The words spill out before I can overthink them. “We’re meeting at Shane’s house tonight. His mom is going to be out of town. It’s going to be me and Shane and Chelsea and Brandon.” I raise an eyebrow hopefully. “And you?”
“Sorry, I’m going to pass.”
“Come on, it’ll be fun! Just tell your parents you went to Jordan’s house—they’ll never check. We’re all going to spend the night.”
Tim tilts his head to the side, considering it. He used to make that same expression when we were little kids. It used to be so easy back then. I would go over to Tim’s house and there was no discussion about boyfriends or bullies or any of that. I would come over and we would play. And back then, I felt like it would always be that way. It felt like Tim and I would always be friends that way.
Tim was the one who bought me the snowflake necklace I always wear. He got it for me for my tenth birthday, because one of our favorite things to do together was play in the snow—sledding, building snowmen, having snowball fights—whenever it snowed, the first thing I would do was tug on my boots and snowsuit and head over to Tim’s house. The necklace was the first genuine piece of jewelry anyone had ever gotten for me. Considering I’ve had it on every day since then and it hasn’t turned my
neck green, I suspect he must have spent a fortune on it. He was probably saving all year to buy it for me.
“Fine,” he says. “Why not?”
Vaguely, I’m aware of the fact that Tim never, ever says no to me. But I try not to think about it. There are certain aspects of my relationship with the boy next door that it’s better not to analyze too deeply.
“That’s great!” I clap my hands together. “Chelsea is picking me up at a quarter after seven. We’ll swing by to get you after.”
Tim could not possibly look less excited about this. “Fine.”
Tim thinks the whole thing is a mistake, but he’s wrong. He’s going to have a great time tonight, and I’ll prove to him that Shane is a good guy. And I’ll tell Chelsea to bring along a girl for him as well. After all, may as well show him a good time.
