“Good.” Her voice smooths even more as she confirms the details. “How about six?”
“I’ll be there.”
“Great. See you then.” She ends the call, and I stare at her name blinking on my phone, and my fingers tingle.
I don’t have a clue in the world what just happened.
I’m also not a fan of meatloaf, but I’m too curious to skip it.
My heart flops ungracefully like a hippo doing a belly flop, and I feel the aftershocks wave out through my extremities.
I’m going on a date with my fake date tonight.
I hope this doesn’t mess things up.
fifteen
Sophie
Taking a deep breath, I straighten the hem of my wool sweater and stare at my reflection in my bedroom mirror. I still look like the same girl who left this small town five years earlier with all those hopes and dreams. Even though so much has changed, I still feel like the same old me that used to sleep in this room every night.
The room hasn’t changed much at all, either. My mom kept the matching white-wicker furniture, complete with a papasan chair. That was all the rage when I was in school, and I couldn’t believe I got one, making all my friends jealous. I spent hours curled up on that thing, writing song lyrics—most have never been sung out loud. For good reason of course. Most were horrible. But I kept at it, dreaming my dream so hard I’d get stomach aches that kept me up all night, and eventually things paid off.
It’s funny how coming back home for a few days has me thinking about all the things, but one thought is new: Axl.
I’d only known him for a couple of weeks, but I’m no longer surprised when I find myself thinking about him. I’m looking forward to seeing him tonight—not because I told Bill I’d try to kiss him—but because I’m a little bored hanging out around the house. I used to spend so much time with Rocco. Now there’s this void of time I’m not sure what to do with. Axl fills it nicely, and I certainly haven’t shed even one tear over Rocco since I met Axl.
“Hey, Twinkie!” The voice of my brother, Sam, is followed by disorganized pounding on my door. Hearing my childhood nickname slams me back to simpler days when my life’s purpose was to score an extra dessert in my lunch box. I’ve always had a sweet tooth.
Flinging my door open, I point a harsh finger at Sam. “Don’t call me that in front of Axl.”
“Whatever you say, Twinks. Oh, and he just pulled up in a truck.” In a flash, he whisks his hand to his back pocket and springs a water gun on me. Knowing exactly what he’s up to—because we had this duel out every day for years—I drop to the floor, roll across the hall into the bathroom, and slam the door, only getting sprayed in the leg a little. An amused grin laces my lips as I tiptoe to the closet and dig in the back of the towel stack—way up under the big ugly towels Mama used to dye her hair— to find the gun I’d hidden back when I was in high school.
“Did you hear me?” Sam calls from the other side of the door. “I said your guest is here.”
“I’m not falling for that.” I fill my gun under the faucet, and my gaze slides to the tiny bathroom window. It’s tempting but I doubt I can crawl out of it. It’s awfully high off the ground and not that big. With my luck, I’ll get stuck and my parents would do something insanely embarrassing like calling the fire department.
I don’t need that headline.
“He’s walking up the porch,” Sam calls out, his voice sounding so close, I bet his face is smeared up against the door.
“I said I’m not falling for that.” I secure the plug in my canister and pump the double barrels full of water. He knows not to test me. I’ve held out in this bathroom for over two hours before. It won’t take long, and he’ll give up, walking away. The creaky wood floors will tip me off when that happens. I’ll wait until he’s all the way down the hall and then I’ll bust out, barrels blazing. My shoulders bounce as I suppress a giggle.
Who does he think he is?
I invented this game.
I crouch near the door and hold my breath as I press my ear closer. It only takes a moment, and the whole thing plays out like clockwork, like I knew it would. First, there’s the creak of the floorboard directly across from this door, and then two more seconds and he pads over the creaky board in front of the laundry room. In only four more steps, he’s all the way down the hall, so I only wait two seconds before I spring up with full force, whip open the door, and open fire.
I got him!
Just where I knew he’d be.
At the end of the hall standing in front of the foyer. I pump more water into my gun as I run toward him, hollering like I’m on an ambush squad. “Surrender!”
The oddest thing happens.
He doesn’t pull his gun back up to shoot, and he doesn’t run. He turns his face to me . . . and I die. So much blood rushes to my face that I get dizzy.
