I could tell him the truth.
I dismiss that thought immediately. I have no idea how George would react. He might be a decent guy, sayDamn that sucks, and agree that despite living in a multimillion-dollar mansion, my dad is a total deadbeat.
But I think it’s much more likely that he’ll tell Shawn the truth, and my brother not only will learn that I lied to him, but he’ll also learn that I lied to him from someone else, before I get the guts to come clean on my own.
And these last few months I have with my brother and me being normal will be gone.
No, George doesn’t need the truth.
Still, I decide to give him a little something because for somereason I don’t like the idea of him thinking I’m giving up on my dream for a half-assed excuse.
“I know you think—because through a technicality—I’m a Newton and, therefore, flush with cash,” I say. “But I’m not. And I’m not going to be anytime soon. Because that Newton money…is getting used elsewhere.”
Let George think whatever he wants about that. That the cash is coming my way but I’m donating it or I’ve got some massive debts to pay or an investment I’ve agreed to make.
No need for the truth. That the money that was never promised to me is probably getting used to pay for some perk like Karl Newton’s Hamptons house. The one I saw in Instagram pics Tiffany shot last summer when she was still engaged to my brother.
She follows me on socials, which is weird because she didn’t when she and Shawn were together. I’ve been meaning to block her, but I don’t really go on socials other than Instagram, and that’s usually just to post a picture of Grumps passed out in a ridiculous position in his dog bed or perched on the back of the couch like he thinks he’s a cat.
“Okay.” George stands in front of me, his hands tucked in his jean pockets, the sun backlighting him, so his edges seem to glow. “No charge.”
“Excuse me?”
“I’ll be your instructor. And I won’t charge.” He crosses his arms, then uncrosses them. “Not for lessons. Not for the use of my planes. Nothing.”
Chapter
7
Working in thediner on sunny days is a certain kind of torture. To know that the beautiful weather isright there, but I have to stay inside pouring coffee and making small talk, when all I want is to sit at a picnic table outside and read a book.
Or study for my pilot’s license.
Or be in a plane, soaring through the blue skies, shoulder to shoulder with—
“What are the chances you can get that hot pilot to come by the diner again?” Riann asks when I pause at her table to refill her iced tea, her question tugging me out of my wayward imagination. She blinks up at me from behind a set of thick glasses, and I swear the fourteen-year-old can see into my skull and follow the exact direction my mind was headed.
“Hot pilot…hmm…hot pilot…not ringing a bell.”
Liar. His chiseled face is already plastered in my mind.
Riann props her chin on her fist. “You know, Shawn’s friend. Theguy who saved your life. The one who looks at you like you’re on the menu.”
I sputter, having lost my composure in the face of the teenager’s sass.
“Where are you getting this from?” She was at school when Shawn and George came by last.
“Sally, duh.” Riann rolls her eyes like I should’ve known. Which, yeah, good point. “She said he was ‘dreamy,’ which is old people talk for ‘hot.’ Then she said the menu thing.”
“George does not look at me like that.” Like I’m on the menu? What does that even mean?
Maybe he wants to see me dunked in the fryer.
“Ha! You do know who I’m talking about. The hot pilot.” Riann holds up a spiral notebook. “Do you know if he’s coming back soon? I want to ask if he’ll let me interview him.”
“For your school paper?”
“Yeah. Do you think he’ll do it? I’m so tired of writing about prom. We get it, it’s coming up, don’t spike the punch or vape in the bathrooms.” Riann sighs heavily and lets her notebook drop. “Freshmen aren’t even allowed to go to prom. And I want to write aboutactualnews.”
