Wyatt looked a little more solid than he had last year. Like his neck was thicker. (Could your neck get thicker?) And his skin looked like it had cleared up. It had never lookedthatbad—only someone who watched him as much as Julia did would notice the difference.
“We weren’t exactly fighting,” he said. “You know how it is ...” He glanced over at her. “I mean, maybe you don’t. You probably don’t have irritating friends.”
Julia’s hand was in her hair, twisting a curl between her fingers. She froze. Did he mean that she probably didn’t have that many friends,period? Because that was true. Did heknowthat was true? Did he knowher?
She started twisting her hair again. “If they’re irritating,” she said, “why are you friends?”
“That’s the million-dollar question,” Wyatt said, stopping his swing. “They’re not usually this irritating—at least, I don’t think they are. This is the first time we’ve hung out all summer. Everything feels a little off.”
Julia would have guessed that the popular kids did fun, popular-kid things together all summer. Pool parties and road trips. “Were you avoiding them?”
“Nah, I was in Michigan.”
“Michigan?”
“Staying with my uncle. He was teaching me how to build stone fireplaces.”
She planted her foot so her swing would turn her toward him. The chains crossed in front of her face. “Is that what you want to do? Build stone fireplaces?”
Wyatt was already turned toward her. He laughed. “No.”
She laughed, too, making a confused face.
“It was my mom’s idea,” he said. “I think she wanted some space.”
“Wow. I can’t even imagine that—my mom can’t tolerate space. I’m surprised she lets me go to school.”
Wyatt was smiling still. “No wonder I’ve never seen you here before.”
Did he meanJulia?Here?Or did he mean ...
He tilted his head toward the cars. “Are your parents here?”
“No. I came with a friend.”
“So youdohave irritating friends ...”
“She’s not irritating,” Julia said. It came out defensive.
“She must be,” he said, “or you wouldn’t be sitting back here by yourself.”
Julia shook her head. She refused to throw Chloe under the bus, even anonymously. “It’s not that. It’s— She’s with her boyfriend. I’m tagging along. I was in the back seat.”
“Ahhh,” Wyatt said meaningfully.
Julia hoped he couldn’t see her blushing.
He smiled at her. “You know,” he said, “when we all started coming out here, my mom didn’t want me to go because she said it was a ‘passion pit.’ But I come with, like, twelve people, and we all sit in the back of Coty’s—my friend Coty’s—truck.”
Julia knew Coty.
“There’s no passion,” Wyatt said. “Nobody ever even shuts up.”
Julia shook her head. “Doesnobodycome here to watch the movie?”
“Iwatch the movie.”
“Is this you watching the movie?”
