Regardless, dinner with his family might be … good. I used to love Sunday dinners at Lucky’s house. I looked forward to it all week, like a big nerd.
Me: Not sure how to respond to “my mom made me ask you.”
Lucky: Didn’t say she MADE me. Give me a little credit. I’m exercising free will.
Lucky: But if it’s too weird, I’ll tell her you’re busy.
Me: I’m not opposed to weird. Did you tell your mom I nearly upchucked in your boat?
Lucky: Again, not MY boat. And yes. *steeples fingers*
Me: Oh God.
Lucky: You work at the Nook tomorrow?
Me: Until 7.
Lucky: Meet me in the boatyard side alley at 7:15.
Me: I didn’t say yes yet.
Lucky: I hate begging.
Me: Knowing that is its own reward. See you at 7:15.
Okay, then. Sunday dinner. At the Karrases. I just agreed to that. Not intimating at all. I’m not feeling like my insides are melting. No sirree, Bob! Not me. Guess I’m gonna need to find another excuse to give Mom for tomorrow night, since I’mtechnicallynot supposed to be seeing Lucky, as Mom put her foot down—forbidden territory, stay away from that boy.He’s a vandal, Josie.Him. Not me. At this point, I’ll need a garbage truck to haul away all the lies I’ve been accumulating.
I also need to remind myself that I don’t want to get too attached, so I leave Evie, retreating to my room, where I pull out my father’s fashion photo book. And I lay on the rug, turning the slick, glossy pages, re-memorizing the details of each photograph, reminding myself that there are other things out there in the world. Brighter, shinier things. And if I want them badly enough, I can have them. I just have to stick to my plan.
Lucky 2.0 might be a mirage.
I should be careful with him.
I should be careful with my heart.
It’s easier than I expected to come up with a suitable lie for Sunday dinner. I just tell Mom that I ran into Bunny Perera at the doughnut shop—true—and that I’m meeting her at the Quarterdeck for coffee … not true.
See? Only a half lie. Half the guilt.
The Nook is having computer issues, and Mom is so consumed with trying to get the end-of-the-day totals to process that I could’ve told her I was going to have one of Evie’s taxidermy bat wings surgically attached to my back, and she would’ve said,Okay, babe. Be careful.
Leaving her and Evie to close the store, I take the long way past the Freedom Art Gallery and weave my way through tourists to make sure I’m not spotted. When I sneak into the boatyard side alley, I’m a minute late. And I find Lucky pacing around his bike, a black-and-white striped shirt under his leather jacket. The moment he looks up and sees me, I forget all about guilt and my garbage truck of lies. I forget about everything.
His eyes light up as if I’m a winning lottery ticket, and we smile at each other like we’re splitting the jackpot fifty-fifty.
“Sorry I’m late,” I finally say.
“One minute, but I’m not counting.”
I laugh.
The corners of his mouth curl. “Got a surprise for you.”
“O-oh. Hope it’s a vomit bag for my seasick stomach.”
“Even better. It’s an air freshener that smells like old fish andsealant. Here,” he says, handing me a small, rainbow-striped helmet with a flying white horse on the side. “Safety first. Didn’t want to risk my head twice. Now we’ll both be covered.”
“Uh, wow,” I say. “It’s … sparkly?”
