My parents are at work, August is job hunting with his mom, and it’s raining buckets. So I sit on my couch, flipping through magazines and periodically glancing at the water-streaked window, waiting for one of those three things to change.
My phone dings.
Bentley
Me
Bentley
I hesitate.
Me
Bentley
I laugh.
Me
Bentley
I chew on my lavender fingernail, no longer caught up in the moment like I was yesterday, and slightly regretting offering lunch in the first place. But bailing now would be super crappy, and besides, this is actually decent timing. We don’t have any parties or Ella events scheduled, and August isn’t around to give me a hard time. He’s never liked Bentley, which isn’t shocking considering they’re polar opposites. But I think the moment that solidified August’s dislike was when he saw him talking to Kyle at Des’s funeral. August hasn’t so much as said hi to Bentley since.
Me
Bentley
Me
Bentley
I shake my head, smiling.
Bentley
My cheeks redden, as I realize there’s a legitimate reason for him to want to stay home.
Me
Bentley
Me
I make my way to the back door and look down at my white shorts and pink tank top, surveying my options against the pounding rain. I could take an umbrella, but they always feel difficult for short distances. So I step onto the porch without one.
The air smells earthy and humid, a mixture of wet grass and brine from the dock, and the rain thuds loudly against the porch roof. I inhale deeply and make a run for it, my feet sliding in my flip-flops and my arm up to protect my eyes.
I knock three times on Bentley’s screen door, pressing myself against his small faded blue house to stay under the overhang.
“Hey,” he says, opening it and moving aside so I can rush in.
“Hey,” I reply, rubbing my wet face with the backs of my wrists and kicking off my sopping-wet flip-flops.
His smile is so big that I give him the side-eye and ask, “You cool?”
“Always,” he replies, but he’s still grinning like an idiot.