It's Not Summer without You (27 page)

Jeremiah hung up the phone and asked Conrad, “Is Dan on his way to come get you?”

“Yeah. I’m just gonna hang out here and wait for him.”

Jeremiah looked at me then. “What do you want to do?”

“I want to go with you,” I said. I picked up my bag and Taylor’s shoes.

He stood up and took my bag off my shoulder. “Then let’s go.” To Conrad, he said, “See you at home.”

I wondered which home he meant, the summer house or their house-house. But I guessed it didn’t really matter.

“Bye, Conrad,” I said. I walked out the door with Taylor’s shoes in my hand and I didn’t bother to put them on either. I didn’t look back. And right there, I felt it, the glow, the satisfaction of being the one who left first.

As we walked through the parking lot, Jeremiah said, “Maybe you should put your shoes on. You might cut your feet on something.”

I shrugged. “They’re Taylor’s shoes,” I said, as if that made sense. I added, “They’re too small.”

He asked, “Do you want to drive?”

I thought it over and then I said, “No, that’s okay. You drive.”

“But you love to drive my car,” he said, coming around to the passenger side and opening my door first.

“I know. But today I just feel like riding shotgun.”

“Do you want to get breakfast first?”

“No,” I said. “I just want to go home.”

Soon we were on the road. I opened my window all the way down. I stuck my head out and let my hair fly everywhere, just because. Steven once told me that bugs and things get caught up in girls’ hair when they ride with it hanging out the window. But I didn’t care. I liked the way it felt. It felt free.

Jeremiah looked over at me and said, “You remind me of our old dog, Boogie. He used to love riding around with his head out the window.”

He was still using his polite voice. Distant.

I said, “You haven’t said anything. About before.” I glanced over at him. I could hear my heart thudding in my ears.

“What’s left to say?”

“I don’t know. A lot,” I said.

“Belly—,” he started. Then he stopped and let out a breath, shaking his head.

“What? What were you going to say?”

“Nothing,” he said.

Then I reached across, and I took his hand and laced my fingers around his. It felt like the most right thing I’d done in a long time.

I worried he’d let go, but he didn’t. We held hands like that the whole rest of the way home.

JENNY HAN has her master’s degree in creative writing for children from the New School. Her previous books include
Shug
and
The Summer I Turned Pretty
. She lives in Brooklyn, New York. Visit Jenny at
dearjennyhan.com
.