I’m just turning into the park after school on Tuesday when POW, here he is, breathless from running. That’s sweet. He was trying to catch up with me.
“Carla, there’s a big party on Friday at Fat Mike’s house. You know the hefty guy that looks like he’ll burst out of his shirt like the Hulk?” I know who he means. “Um, yeah, so you should come.” Finn swings around so he’s in front of me, walking backwards.
“Yeah, I guess, maybe…”
Friday night. Damn it. FRIDAY night. The dance.
“Come!”
I need to stall.
“I’ll have to ask my p—” And then I stop. Am I actually going to say: I’ll have to ask my parents?!
Can’t say no, though, can I? I’ll find a way to be there. I’ll find a way if it means picking up the house, transferring it next door to Mike’s and climbing undetected through the attic space. “I’ll be there,” I say, in my best nonchalant voice.
“I knew you wouldn’t take much convincing, tiger. Got to go, majorly late.”
“Late for what? Off somewhere interesting?”
Finn shrugs, winks, spins around again and bounces off down the road.
What am I going to tell Lauren and Sienna?