Two hours come and go, but Rebecca doesn’t show.
I text her after three hours.
Me:
Still coming over?
Rebecca:
Can’t. My mom came home early.
Me:
She won’t let you go next door?
Rebecca:
I didn’t ask.
Me:
So ask.
Rebecca:
I’ll just catch you tomorrow.
Tomorrow? I glance out my window and can see the light still on in her room. I keep looking until I see a shadow shift behind the curtains. She’s right there, sitting on her window seat.
Me:
I’m coming over.
Rebecca:
Have fun with that. My mom doesn’t open the front door after nine.
Me:
Who said anything about the front door?
I don’t wait for her response before shoving open my window and crawling out, careful not to get sliced up by the rose bush this time. I grin when my phone buzzes in my pocket several times in quick succession as I cross the space between our houses and then I’m tapping ever so lightly on Rebecca’s window.
She throws back the curtain almost immediately, and then, with a skill honed to perfection over her childhood, silently opens her window. “Go home,” she hisses.
I grin in response and match her volume. “How come you were the only one sneaking out to my window when we were kids?”
“’Cause you were afraid your mom would come looking for you and leave if you weren’t tucked safely in your bed.”
My grin falters. I’d never thought of it exactly that way before but she’s right. I had this thing in my mind about needing to stay right where she left me. My grandparents couldn’t even get me to go to school at first until my grandmother came up with the idea of me leaving a note with the school’s address on my bedroom door just in case my mom showed up.
Not really a concern anymore though. I didn’t even think about it this time.
“Guess I’m the rebel now.” I brace my hands on the sill, ready to climb in until Rebecca flattens her hands on my shoulders.
“What are you doing?”
“Coming in.”
She locks her elbows, preventing me from moving even an inch forward. “Um, no you’re not.”
I frown at her. “You used to come in through my window all the time.”
She frowns back. “Yeah, used to. You don’t see a difference now?”
I stare down at her, taking in the curls she has piled on her head and the oversized Aerosmith T-shirt she’s wearing—one of her dad’s—and the long stretch of bare legs folded on the window seat beside her.
I lift my hands from the sill, the exact opposite of what I want to do. “Guess we’re not exactly playing Pokémon anymore.”
She widens her eyes as if to say, You’re just now getting that? “And if my mom heard anything and found you in my bedroom? Not good, Ethan. Majorly not good.”
Just then Old Man jumps up on the sill from outside and quickly claims a spot on Rebecca’s bed. She doesn’t even bat an eye.
“He gets to come in?”
“He comes in all the time. He knows how to be quiet.”
My cat stares at me and swishes his tail, gloating. “What if I promise to be quiet?”
“Ethan.” She gives me a look that’s equal parts frustrated and pleading.
“And stay outside,” I add. “Plus if we hear anything, I can dive into these sky-flowers and she’ll never see me. You can even give me a helpful shove.”
She sighs. “You have to promise to be so quiet.”
My grin bounces back and I move to sit on the sill. “It was the chance to push me out the window that won you over, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, but I better not need to.”
“You won’t.” I shift, ducking my head a little so it’s more technically inside than out, causing the wood to creak.
Rebecca’s curls whip around as she turns to face her closed bedroom door. She stays frozen like that for several seconds, straining to hear anything before relaxing and turning back to me. She holds two fingers up in front of my face. “I’ve already had a not-so-pleasant encounter with my mom over being out late with you and I’m not looking to have another.”
I reach for her hand and gently force a finger down. “One, you’re technically not the one who’s out. And two—” I slide my hand until the next finger lowers “—it’s not even ten o’clock. On the weekend.”
Her gaze lowers to where I’m basically holding her hand and color tints her cheeks in a way that I could so easily become addicted to. When I show zero interest in letting her go, she frees her hand.
“It’s a thing, okay? My mom freaks if she finds out I went out without telling her.” She hunches in on herself. “I don’t need to do that to her again.”
“So the last time you officially snuck out...?”
Rebecca draws her lower lip between her teeth and tugs at the hem of her T-shirt. “Was two years ago. To go to that stupid party with people I don’t even talk to anymore.” A warm breeze, heavy with the promise of rain, wraps around me and she watches my hair brush against my cheek before I can tuck it back. “It’s funny.” She half smiles as her eyes fill with unshed tears. “But it was only the second time I’d ever been drunk. Both times were pretty horrible.”
“When was the first time? It wasn’t when I was still here, was it?” I feel like I would have known even if she hadn’t told me and I can’t imagine why she wouldn’t.
She shakes her head, rubbing her palms back and forth on her thighs. “Sorry, but you only get one story tonight.”
I don’t prompt her, just wait and eventually I’m rewarded when she opens her mouth.
“At the party, one of my former friends got worried when I lost my balance and cut my head the tiniest bit.” She pushes her hair back to reveal a thin white scar disappearing into her temple. I don’t halt the impulse to reach forward and trace it and she doesn’t draw back from the contact. If anything, she leans into my touch. Her eyes bounce between mine as she keeps talking, watching for flickers of reaction, but I don’t give her any.
“I guess it bled a lot and she wanted to leave with me but her boyfriend wanted her to stay so—” her eyes stop bouncing and lock on mine as my hand stills, still touching her but no longer moving “—he took my phone, called my house, and scared the hell out of my parents with a story about me drunk and bleeding on the floor of some stranger’s house. I don’t know what happened here but my dad showed up alone and drove me home.” And here is when she reaches up to draw my hand away, not wanting to accept any kind of comfort when she adds, “We didn’t make it, obviously.”
Rebecca’s dad ran a red light. According to my grandparents, he’d never gotten so much as a parking ticket before then, but for some reason, he tore right through the intersection that night. No one else was seriously injured but Rebecca was thrown from the car and her dad died instantly.
I tell her I’m sorry, twisting my hand in hers to twine our fingers together.
Holding her now when I failed to then.