“Yeah, I bet,” Patel muttered, and Delilah whacked him in the arm.
Mason led me down a short hall to a sleek-looking bedroom, all taupes and browns, with a king-sized bed and suede headboard. He closed the door behind us and slid the closet open, knelt down, and punched a number into a small safe. When he stood, he was holding a little turquoise box.
“What’s this?” I asked. “It’s not my birthday.”
“I know,” he said, moving closer. “I was going to save it for your sixteenth, but I couldn’t wait. Open it.” His eyes moved expectantly over my face. I lifted off the lid to find a turquoise velvet pouch. Inside was a silver bracelet with a chunky, modern clasp.
“I was thinking you might want to be my girlfriend,” he said and smiled, “and that maybe you needed something a little more special than this.” He held up the arm that wore my friendship bracelet. I had not seen this coming.
“It’s gorgeous . . . um . . . wow! I’m not sure what to say!” I stammered. Mason fastened the bracelet around my wrist.
“You can think about it, but I want you to know that I really like you.” He put his hands on my hips and pulled me toward him, then brought his lips down onto mine. They were soft as he moved them gently over my mouth. He pulled back enough to look into my eyes and said, “You’re so smart and funny and so beautiful and you don’t even know it.” He kissed me again, harder this time, and I closed my eyes. Images of Sam flashed through my mind, and when Mason ran his tongue over the seam of my lips, my knees felt as though they might buckle, and I grasped his biceps. He placed a string of light kisses on the corner of my mouth, then my nose, and then back on my mouth, and ran his tongue over my lips again. This time I opened to him, and I imagined it was Sam’s tongue swirling with my own. Mason groaned and moved his hands down to my backside, pressing himself against my hip. I pulled away.
“I should go; we’ll be late back to Delilah’s.”
Mason didn’t protest, just ran his hands up my back and gave me another quick kiss, then took my hand in his.
Next to my embroidered bracelet, the silver one looked garish, and I took it off before Mom picked me up the next morning so she wouldn’t ask questions. Delilah was surprised by the gift, which she called “excessive,” but she didn’t think it meant that Mason wanted to make things more official.
“Of course he likes you, Percy. You’re a catch. And your tits have really come in this year,” she said in a stage whisper. “Keep things light with Mason. I can tell you don’t like him the way you like your Summer Boy, but maybe you can just think of it as practice if Sam ever comes around.”
I emailed Sam as soon I got home.
Hi Sam,
I’ve been thinking about my new story more. What do you think about a lake that’s haunted by a young girl who fell through the ice in the winter, leaving her twin sister behind? When the sister is a teenager, she comes back to the lake on a camping trip and she sees a strange figure in the woods, which will turn out to be her dead twin who’s trying to kill her so she won’t be alone. It could be scary and maybe a little sad. Thoughts?
Also: Delilah and I went to Mason’s birthday party last night, and he asked me to be his girlfriend. I know you won’t be surprised since you guessed that at New Year’s, but I was. What do you think I should do?
Percy
Percy,
I still think a lake full of zombie fish is the way to go. Just kidding. Creepy dead girl is definitely the best idea yet. Are you going to give the sisters obnoxious twin names, like Lilah and Layla, or Jessica and Bessica?
I asked you this before, but I think it’s time to ask again: Do you like Buckley?
Sam
Sam,
Why hadn’t I thought of Jessica and Bessica before? Genius!!!
Mason’s actually a nice guy, but I like someone else more.
Percy
Percy,
I think you have your answer.
Sam
9
Now
We sit in the truck staring at THE Floreks’ house. Or at least I stare at the house. Sam is watching me.
“It looks amazing,” I say. And it does. The lawns are green and mowed, the flower beds are blooming and tidy, and the siding and trim on the house are freshly painted. The basketball net still hangs on the garage. There are terra-cotta pots of happy red geraniums on the porch—Sam probably planted them himself. The thought makes me squishy.
“Thanks,” Sam says. “I’ve been trying to keep it up. Mom would hate to see her gardens taken over by weeds.” He pauses, then adds, “But it’s also been a good distraction from everything.”