UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollins Publishers
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Most people don’t know this but all you have to do is drive due east from Lincoln and you get into the area, out in the sticks, where it’s all rolling hills and mud and dirt roads with a farm-house every once in a while. It’s the kind of place where you better not get lost, or lose a tire, because that means a lot of walking for you and maybe getting picked up by a serial killer who will put you in the basement and try to eat your kidneys.
Driving up and down these rolling hills with Jared Kline you could almost get dizzy. It’s just up up up and down down down and up again. It’s like being on a roller coaster made of dirt and starting to freeze over.
Jared stops the Jeep in no particular place. Like, he literally stops the Jeep in the middle of the hill. Now, there’s not a car around for miles, I get it. But still. He doesn’t even pull off the side of the road or anything. So, why are we stopped here? None of this bodes well.
“Um. Maybe we shouldn’t stop in the middle of the road or something.”
I hear my voice and it sounds like it’s made of tin. Not my voice at all. Someone else’s voice. Someone small.
“Oh, c’mon. There’s no one around.”
“But . . . I mean . . . I thought you were gonna show me someplace special?”
Jared nods. He gestures out the window, at the rolling hills and panoramic postcard view.
“You don’t think this is special?”
“I guess.”
“Oh, c’mon, what’s the matter? Is something the matter . . . ?”
There are about a hundred things the matter.
“I dunno. There’s this girl at work. She got fired.”
Why I chose that one is beyond me. It just came flying out and now I guess that’s the topic of conversation here in the middle of nowhere.
“Yeah?”
He feigns interest.
“Yeah, I guess I’m bummed ’cause it wasn’t fair. Like it was really mean, actually.”
Silence.
“You know what I mean? Like I just felt guilty.”
Jared shrugs. “What’s the point of feeling guilty?”
“What?”
“I mean, it doesn’t seem like it’s helping, does it?”
“I dunno.”
“Listen, it’s not your fault, right? So, forget it.”
He shrugs again. God, this guy can really shrug.
But he’s quiet and bored and seems like a stranger all of a sudden. Like, what happened to that grandiose-type gesture he just made in front of everybody at school. This makes no sense. He makes no sense. It’s like he switched gears in like two seconds. Without warning. Like he turned from Prince Charming into a wet noodle.
“You know, I probably should get going home. My mom’ll be worried about me.”
“C’mon. You can stay out a little while . . .”
And now he’s getting closer. He’s giving me this smolder-y look like we’re in some kind of soap opera.
Aha! This is the Jared everybody told me about! The make-out bandit. The scam artist that I knew I shouldn’t trust. Here he is, ladies and gentlemen, in all his scam artist glory.
“Wait—” I start. But Jared Kline practically jumps me and smothers me with his mouth on my mouth. And his hands are someplace, too, and they seem to be trying to go someplace else, fast.
I shove him away. “What the fuck?!”
Now he backs off. Now he’s back in his seat.
“Anika?” He blinks a couple of times. “What is the problem?”
“What is the problem? I’m trying to talk to you and it’s like you don’t care and all you’re trying to do is kiss me!”
“Okay, I do care. But also—yes, sue me, I know it’s horrible—but I also, yes, do wanna kiss you. ’Cause, guess what? You’re fucking hot.”
“Great.”
He leans back and folds his arms. “Oh, I know. What an insult.”
“Look, to be honest. I’m not interested.”
He looks at me like no one in his life has ever talked to him like this before. Ever.
“I’m sorry,” I mutter. “I just. I think maybe I’m an idiot or something.”
He looks at me for about a thousand years and I’m plotting how I’m gonna get home after he kicks me out of the Jeep and the sun is starting to set, early, autumn time, and none of this is exactly how I had planned it. Not at all.
“Wow. You’re really . . . hm. You’re really kind of . . . hard on yourself. You know that?”
“What?”
“And you’re not an idiot, Anika. Not by far.”
I’m pretty sure this means he’s gonna start the car and drive me home and game over, right? But that’s not what happens. Instead, Jared Kline says,
“Are you a virgin?”
“What?! Shut up! Why are you asking me that?!”
Silence.
“I just thought . . . like, by now . . . just wondering I guess.”
“Well, even if I was it’s not like I’m gonna tell you. Jesus.”
“Okay, listen. I’m sorry. Seriously. I’m sorry about that. I’m just kind of thrown off by you or something. Like, I don’t know how to act around you.”
“Well, join the club. I don’t know how to act around anybody.”
He nods. “Clearly.”
“So listen, here’s the deal. There’s a million girls who are in love with you and who if you say jump they’ll say how high. But like, I’m not one of those girls.
“So, if that’s what you’re looking for, I mean . . . go get ’em. Be my guest. Seriously. Have at it.”
Now he’s quiet. Now he looks me right in the eyes. God, it’s like Mick Jagger in the car looking at you or something. Mostly you could just faint from those eyes. Just swoon over and let someone find you in the ditch.
“I know you’re not like all those girls. That’s why I like you.”
He sits there for a second, squinting down at the steering wheel. I have no idea if he’s gonna kick me out, attack me again, or turn into a taco at this point. I mean, this guy seems seriously conflicted.
He smiles over. Not a convincing smile. A fake smile, like when you’re a little kid at Christmas and someone gives you socks.
“Let’s get you home, okay?”
It’s a quiet ride back to Lincoln. Thank God he turns on the radio.
“You like U2?”
“What?”
“Here . . .” He turns up the volume.
All the way home we’re listening to “Sunday Bloody Sunday” and the sun is going down fast and Jared is singing along like he just happens to be a rock star.
Who is this guy? What does he want from me? I wonder.
And why, in the passenger seat of Jared’s car, can I not stop thinking about Logan? Brooding, brilliant Logan, who always tells the truth. And whose heart I have shattered into a million pieces.