“Unbelievable,” he said quietly.
Owen glanced up. “What?”
Knox looked at me instead of his brother, and I could see the disappointment in his expression. “Nothing. Just good to know you’ll forgive him for anything, Thorne.” He walked over to his bag, and slung it over his shoulder. “He’s lucky you have no backbone.”
My face was on fire and I immediately looked away. They both went quiet. Even Owen, who usually laughed everything off.
“Bro,” Owen said, but Knox was already headed down the hallway toward the stairs.
I stared at the place where he was standing, feeling the sting of his words work their way through me.
“Ignore him,” Owen said, turning back to my laptop. “He’s in a mood.”
“Is he wrong, though?”
Owen looked at me. “What?”
“I forgave you in like, thirty seconds.”
“Because I said sorry and I meant it.” He bumped his knee into mine. “That’s not a bad thing, Sunny. That’s just you being you.”
I reread the words on my screen while Knox’s insult played in my head. Was I that pathetic? And why did I even care what Knox thought of me, anyway?
“Come on.” Owen tapped my laptop screen. “American Revolution. George Washington and shit, right? Let’s get it done.”
He started to sing Hamilton lyrics obnoxiously, something he loved to do since our families saw the show together last month. I tried my best not to give in and smile, but as soon as he messed up the words, I was right there correcting him with a shove.
I finally got him to focus, and passed him the textbook. But it was me who couldn’t focus. Knox’s words hurt. Worse than any of the shit currently making its way around the entire eighth grade.
But I knew the sting would fade. The drama with Rachel would die down. And Knox, he could go screw himself.
A noise wakesme and I blink, my eyes focusing in the dark. I hear it again. It’s my phone going off.
What the hell? It’s 2:04 AM.
I reach for my phone.
Knox: hey
Knox: come outside
I stare at it wondering if I’m still in the past, but the way my heart is going tells me pretty quickly that I’m awake. That this is real.
I get up and pull on Owen’s sweatshirt before opening the bedroom door.
Mom’s asleep on the couch, the TV still on. I move quietly through the cottage, carefully avoiding the creaky floor board in the kitchen, and ease the front door open just enough to slip through.
Knox is sitting on the hood of his Jeep.
He’s in sweats and a dark Henley, his elbows on his knees as he stares out at the driveway. He doesn’t turn around when I come out but I know he hears me. He always hears me.
I cross the small patch of dried grass between the front door and the driveway and stop a few feet away. The night air is cool and damp, the kind that feels so much colder after a day of summer heat. Crickets chirp and a dog barks in the distance.
“Hey,” I say.
“Hey.”
He finally looks at me, his eyes raking over my body, taking in Owen’s sweatshirt. I climb up onto the hood beside him, leaving a few inches of space between us. The metal is still warm from his drive over. We sit there, looking at nothing in particular—the dark tree line, the empty road, a moth circling the porch light behind us.
