Jamie’s eyes cut to me again, wide and horrified, but his lips twitched. “Say that again?”
“Thunder snow! Is it?”
“One more time.”
“Is. This. Thunder. Snow?”
“That Boston accent is wicked cool, Pahkah. ‘Is that thunnnndah snow?’” He snorted.
“I donotsound like that.”
Jamie made a noise of disagreement.
“Whatever. Idon’t.”
“Whatevah.”
I took a deep breath and let it out slowly through my nose. “As they say in Boston, ‘Shut the fuck up, you giant, gaping asshole.’” I sat back in my seat and folded my arms on top of the box in my lap. “I hope your truck stays wet until September. I hope black mold grows on the seat right where my damp ass was.”
Jamie rubbed a hand over his mouth, and I could almost swear he was wiping away his smile, which didnotmake me want to smile in response. That would have been ridiculous.
“Anyone ever tell you that you remind them of Everett Maior?” Jamie demanded.
“Uh.No. Why? Does he make threats against your person and your truck?”
“Actually… yes.”
“Huh. I always knew I liked that guy.”
Silence fell again, but different this time. Less awkward. More charged. Like laughing together had made it even harder to ignore each other. I cast around for something to say, but my brain remained stubbornly blank.
“So, the box,” Jamie said after a couple of nearly-silent minutes. “What’s so important in there that you were willing to get dropped into a snowbank over it?”
I narrowed my eyes. “Who saidIwould be the one getting dropped into the snow?”
Jamie raised one red-brown eyebrow.
“I’ve filled out,” I informed him. “I’ve got moves now.”
Jamie didn’t dignify this with a response.
I sighed. “I told you. My plants. A couple DVDs.” I shrugged uncomfortably. “Mementos.”
“All your baseball trophies in there? Felt a little light.”
“My junior varsity participation trophies, you mean?” I snorted. “No, slugger. Unlike some people, my high school baseball career was nothing I care to remember. It’d be pretty sad if I’d kept them all this time.”
Jamie huffed in amusement, but I was serious.Jamiehad been the baseball champion of the two of us—All-State centerfielder, hottest jock in school—at least until he’d hurt his arm.
“My mom went through everything I left behind when I went off to school,” I continued. “I only saved the good shit. I let her dispose of the rest.”
“Dispose? Please. Bet your mom still has those trophies down in Arizona,” he teased. “Bet she’s got a whole shrine to her littleParkie-kins.”
“Shut up.” But I honestly didn’t know what she’d done with the trophies, and that only made me pissier. “Can we turn on the radio?”
“What, and miss this final opportunity to talk before you leave O’Leary?” Jamie clasped a hand to his chest. “Miss your shot forclosure?”
“Why, God?” I demanded, casting my eyes to the roof of the cab. “Why me?”
