Kat sighs, then steps in front of me and puts her hands firmly on both my shoulders. “Then make something up. Or just do it anyway. At some point, you’re gonna have to stand up to her and just do what you want. I can’t think of a better reason to than this.”
I take a deep breath, then let it out slow. She’s right. And in theory this should all work, but I know my mom well enough to guess that it probably won’t. Not only is my mom aware of where I am at all times, she also seems to possess the ability to predict when I’m even thinking of doing something I shouldn’t. On the other hand, she has been even more wrapped up in work than normal over the last few weeks, so maybe her guard is down. Or she’s distracted enough, at least. It’s only one night.
“Okay,” I say. And it makes me panic a little inside, so I take another deep breath. “Let’s do it.”
“Really? Goddamn, I’m proud of you, P!” Kat smacks me on the butt. “Now go home and act normal and write your speech.”
“Okay,” I say again, not only because she dove wholeheartedly into this idea with me, but she’s figured out a way to actually do it. To make something happen. And I’m grateful to her for that. Almost grateful enough to quelch the tiny, questioning voice in the back of my mind that keeps trying to figure out how Trevor fits into all of this. Or maybe where I fit in with him. Either way, sharing the small space of his car for a little while might not be the worst thing ever.
Kat hands me Julianna’s journal. “Here, I almost forgot. Since you’re the one who figured this out, you’re going to be the one to give it back when we find her. Keep it safe until then. Now go. Be all studious and obedient this weekend so your mom doesn’t suspect anything.” She steps past me, opening the door wide for me to go. And then she glances from me to Trevor and back. “And give this guy a ride home while you’re at it.”
19.
“Into My Own”
—1915
“So . . . which way are we going?” I say over my shoulder as I back out of Kat’s driveway. Despite all my Facebook research, I don’t actually know where Trevor lives.
His eyes catch mine when I turn back to the steering wheel. “I don’t know,” he says with a smile. “Which way are we going, Frost?”
His tone and the question send a shot of nervousness straight to my stomach, but with everything that just happened, I’m feeling bold. I put the car in park, turn to face him, and shrug, trying to keep from smiling back. “That really depends on where you want to go, Trevor Collins.”
His smile broadens at this, and he unbuckles his seat belt and turns so he’s facing me. And we sit, with my car idling, and the music playing, just looking at each other, and there’s so much there, wanting to be said. And done. All I would have to do at this moment is lean across the electric space between us, and—
And in one smooth motion, Trevor does. I freeze, and then I’m leaning too, eyes closing, to meet him halfway for this thing we’ve been dancing around forever. But I don’t feel his lips on mine. Instead, I feel his mouth next to my ear, and his breath warm on my neck, not one part of us actually touching. “You’re the one driving,” he says, “so really it’s up to you.”
Wounded pride burns in my cheeks. I don’t want it to be all up to me. Why does it have to be? I don’t move, and neither does he, at first. Fine. I can play this game too.
“In that case,” I say, and I shock myself by letting my lips brush his neck when I do, “then I guess I should take you home, since you don’t seem to have anywhere else to go.”
I don’t know who’s more surprised at this, me or him. But when he leans back shaking his head, confident smile in place, and I see the flush in his cheeks too, it makes me feel better. I put the car back in drive and grab the wheel with both hands so he won’t see that they’re still shaky. And then I’m the one who smiles. “So why don’t you tell me how to get there.”
I take the long, long way home after I drop him off, partly because I want to hold on to the nervous, exhilarated feeling that’s still there, and partly because I need to focus on our plan, which hinges on me writing my speech over the weekend, and somehow finding the guts to completely disobey my mom if I need to. That’s the part that makes me the most nervous.
By the time I walk through the front door, I’ve almost got myself convinced that if I find Julianna, it’ll all be worth it. And then I hear it in her voice.
“Parker? I need to talk to you.”
It’s that tone I hate. The one that’s stern and trying to remain calm but is clearly having trouble doing it because she’s pissed about something. I run through the possibilities of what it could be. I haven’t done anything. Yet. I slide my bag off my shoulder and walk over to her as casually as I can.
She’s sitting at the dining room table, fingers clacking away on her laptop.
“What’s up?” I ask, a touch too high-pitched. “How’s the shop going? That order come in on time? I can help process it next week if you want.” Maybe if I just keep talking I can get her off topic and off my back about whatever it is.
“Did you run a red light today?” she asks without looking up.
Would you be asking me if I didn’t? God, I can’t do anything in this town without someone telling on me to her. “Yes,” I admit, because it’s no use lying. I’m probably on camera. Or she has multiple witnesses. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t paying attention and—”