Chapter 23

“So you’re disowned for going to college?” Violet hoists herself into the hammock in her yard while I take a seat on a wrought-iron bench under the shade of a maple.

“For going away to college,” I correct.

“And you’re kicked out of the house?”

“I believe that falls under the terms of disownment.”

“You can stay here,” Violet offers.

Violet’s house never smells like onions. I noticed that right away when I first came over freshman year. Honestly, I don’t think I’ve ever seen Violet or her dad use the stove. Maybe that’s why Violet loves my mom’s cooking so much. There are no tchotchkes, either. And the bare minimum of furniture.

But Violet’s room is the exact opposite of the rest of her house—a beautiful mess of strewn clothes and starry lights and a tangle of chargers under her desk. Often there’s a plate of pizza crusts or a half-eaten carrot sticking out of a bowl of hummus. Basically a germophobe’s nightmare, but somehow cozy and welcoming, too.

“My aunt said I could stay with her. Anyway, don’t you have to ask your dad first?”

“He’ll be cool with it. We have the space, and it’s only a couple months. My dad’s going to be in Switzerland for most of July, and when he’s home, he’s constantly at the lab—he’ll barely notice the difference. I mean you’re here all the time, anyway.”

“Seriously? That would be amazing. Like a summer-long slumber party. Also, it might be easier to see Phil . . .” I give Violet a little grin, the kind she used to give me before this all happened, when she flirted with everyone.

“Super easy, especially since he’s on his way here now.”

“You did not.”

“He texted because he was worried that it was going to be World War Three at your house, and I might have mentioned that you were coming over and that it would be okay if he came by . . .”

I don’t need to tell Violet I’m happy Phil’s coming over. The emoji heart eyes popping out of my head say it all.

“Look at you. A couple months ago, you could barely imagine talking to Phil, and now you’re planning on summering with him after macking, half-naked, in a secret cabin in the woods. I’m so proud.” Violet dabs away fake tears.

“Ha, ha. So glad to meet with your approval.”

I hear a car pulling up in the driveway. I hear a door slam. I hold my breath.

“We’re in the back,” Violet yells. She leaps out of the hammock and whispers, “I feel a sudden compulsion to do homework.” Giving me a hair toss and a wink, she hurries into the house.

My pulse quickens, my hands get clammy, my body hums in anticipation. Phil turns the corner of the house. And he’s his beautiful, dimpled self again. The dark circles are fading away, and his smile, the real one, reaches his eyes once more. And that makes me happy.

“Hi. How’s it going?” Phil asks, his hands pushed down into his jean pockets. He glances around, puzzled, looking for Violet, then smiles at me. I beam back, curling my fingers around the edge of the bench, trying to prevent myself from leaping into his arms.

“Hey.” I’m still smiling, showing off every one of my child-of-dentists well-aligned teeth. I flush a deep red, self-conscious of my joyful lightheadedness. I scoot over to make some room for him on the bench.

“Sorry about your parents.” Phil clasps my hand. I act casual, but cartoon birds tweet around our heads, encircling us with garlands of paper hearts.

“I guess I expected it, but it’s still unreal, you know? My aunt tells me they’ll get over it eventually. But I don’t know—I’ve never seen their faces like that.”

Phil leans over to kiss me. His lips are as pillowy as I’d remembered. He kisses the top of my head. “Your hair smells so . . . so . . . clean.”

I laugh. “I have been known to shower occasionally.”

“I mean . . . you smell good.”

As I straighten my head and shake the hair from my face, I see a curtain in the house swish into place. I point to the window.

“I was wondering where Violet was,” Phil says. “Shall we continue the show?”

I shake my head. “Indian modesty complex.” I ease out of Phil’s lap. “But I have a feeling she’s going to be really engrossed in her physics homework for a while.”

Phil changes the subject. “So listen, prom is next week. And I want to ask you, but there’s that stupid promise I made Lisa.”

“As Amber and Kelsey informed me, remember?”

He nods, and the corners of his mouth turn down. “Look, I want us to go and have a great time. But I’m not sure if it’s worth the drama. I shouldn’t have made that promise, but Lisa was so angry. And I had no idea if you even liked me.”

“It’s okay. Don’t worry about it.”

“No. It’s not okay. I want to take you. It’s the end of senior year. It’s tradition. It’s cheesy, but there’s no one I’d rather be cheesy with.”

The secret cheese-loving part of my heart melts. “Seriously, Phil, it’s fine. I’m not exactly traditional.”

“I know. That’s one of the things I love about you,” Phil continues, apparently oblivious to how a single word makes me come undone. “So will you go to a nontraditional prom with me?”

“What do you mean?”

“You have to answer first. Is it a ‘yes’ or a ‘no’?”

“Yes. Of course. Now what is it?”

“I’m making it up as I go along. It’ll be good, though. Saturday night. Can I pick you up at your house?”

“Definitely not. I’ll be over here helping Violet get ready for the dance.”

Phil squeezes my hand. “I love planning surprises for you.”

All he has to do is ask, and I will go to the ends of the earth with him. Defy my parents’ expectations, even my better judgment for the perfection of Phil’s arms around me. If only we lived in a vacuum.

He leans over, taking my face in both his hands. When we kiss, my body swells with anticipation. Then I’m the observer again—watching a girl being kissed by a boy, spring sun glistening around them, lighting their bodies in halos.

Then I’m myself once more, and the warmth of Phil’s skin seeps into mine. My thoughts and emotions tangle—longing and confusion and uncertainty, but beneath the chaos in my mind, the tender reeds of hope take root and grow inside me. I no longer have to document it all from the perimeter. I am the girl, and this is my story.