He gets a wounded look on his face, and I sigh. Just because the dude was trying to do something nice for his girlfriend doesn’t mean I have to be a dick. “I’m just kidding,” I say, and pour him a big glass.
“Thanks.” He drinks from it noisily. “I really am going to find that dog a home, Jace. I’m going to work very hard and find him a great home. I’ll put up posters, I’ll post ads on the Internet, I’ll even take him door to door.”
“Great.”
“But I can’t start on any of that right now.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m supposed to be going over to Whitney’s with a present.”
“Yeah, but you just said she’s allergic to her present.” I reach into the breadbox and pull out two slices of whole wheat, then pop them in the toaster.
Evan opens the pantry and pulls out a box of cereal, then begins fixing himself a bowl. “Yeah, but she doesn’t know that. So now I have to bring her something else. And so I need someplace to leave the dog.”
“Leave him at your house.”
“Right,” he says. “Like my parents are going to go for that. Anyway, I was thinking that maybe you could watch him.” He settles back down at the breakfast bar and takes a big, slurpy bite of cereal.
“No.” I shake my head. “My mom would never let me.”
“Your mom would never let you what?” my mom asks, appearing in the kitchen.
“Let Jace have a dog,” Evan says.
“Well, that’s true,” my mom says. “I love dogs but I don’t know if it would be a good idea right now, since Jace is getting ready to go off to college.”
“Oh, I wasn’t talking about him keeping it,” Evan says. “I was talking about him just watching one for me.”
“Like dog-sitting?” my mom asks. She pulls down a bowl and starts making herself a bowl of cereal too. The same kind Evan has. I sigh.
“No,” I say. “Not like dog-sitting. It’s not even his dog.”
My mom frowns. “Whose dog is it?”
“It doesn’t have a home,” Evan says sadly. His eyes are watering, which is a total fake. The dude never cries, especially not over a dog that he just met. “He was a shelter dog that they were about to put down.”
My mom sets her spoon down and puts her hand over her heart. “That’s terrible!”
“They weren’t about to put it down,” I say, slathering peanut butter on my toast.
“Yes, they were,” Evan says. “They’re one of those kill shelters, the kind that kill dogs if they don’t get adopted.”
“It’s horrible the way people just discard dogs these days,” my mom says, shaking her head. She sits down next to Evan with her bowl of cereal. “You really shouldn’t get a dog unless you’re equipped to take care of it.”
“I know,” Evan says, even though he just got a dog that he wasn’t equipped to take care of.
“Anyway,” I say, draining my juice. “Thanks for stopping by, Evan, and good luck with the dog. I need to go work on my speech for graduation on Sunday.”
“I thought your speech was done,” my mom says, a look of panic in her eyes. My mom’s all worried that I’m going to get up there and blank out on my speech or something. It’s, like, her big fear. Which is ridiculous, since all I have to do is read it.
“I just thought I’d put some finishing touches on it,” I lie. “And practice reading it out loud.”
“You don’t want to sound too rehearsed,” my mom says.
“She’s right.” Evan spoons up the rest of his cereal, then brings his bowl over to the sink. “If you sound too robotic, people are going to start tuning out. Of course, people will probably tune out anyway, but you can at least try to make it a little easier for them to listen.”
“Thanks.” I roll my eyes.
“So, look, can the dog stay with you or what?”
“No,” I say at the same time my mom says, “Yes.”
“What?” we both say, looking at each other.
“Why the hell would you want to let me have a dog?” I ask. “It’s ridiculous. I begged and begged for a dog growing up, and you never let me have one.”
“You weren’t ready for the responsibility. And with your father and me working so many hours, it wouldn’t have been fair.”
“I’m not ready for the responsibility now, either,” I try. “I’m very irresponsible.” I look at my empty glass of juice. “See how I just leave my dirty glasses around? I’m horrible with responsibility.”
She waves me off. “Of course we’ll take the dog in. How long?”
“Just a couple of days,” Evan says. “Thanks, Mrs. Renault. I’m always telling Jace how lucky he is to have a mom as cool as you.”
It’s a lie. Well, half a lie. Sometimes he does say that, but it’s only because his parents are so strict that anyone else’s parents would seem cool by default.
“What about the wedding?” I say wildly in a last-ditch effort to derail this horrible plan. “Who’s going to watch the dog while we’re at the wedding?”
The wedding is at night, at this super-fancy resort, and so we’re going to be spending the night there tonight. I guess they’re having some big brunch tomorrow morning, and they gave my mom a major guilt trip when she tried to get out of it. Which means I have to go, too. Which means the night before my graduation is going to be a total waste.
“We can bring him with us,” my mom says. “He can hang out in the hotel.”
Great. A dog in my hotel room.
Just one more thing to worry about.
Saturday, June 26, 3:37 p.m.
Ocala, Florida
When Jace’s car smashes into whatever it is that’s behind us, it takes me a second to realize what happened. It’s like my brain can’t comprehend or accept the fact that I hit something. I slam my foot down on the brake, which is pretty stupid, since we’re already stopped.
From the backseat, Hector gives a little squeal.
I close my eyes. “What just happened?” I croak.
“What the hell do you think just happened?” Jace yells. “You hit someone.”
“Are they . . . are they dead?” I whisper.
“No, they’re not dead, you hit their car, not them.” He’s unbuckling his seat belt and stepping out of the car. There’s man in a button-up shirt with a receding hairline standing behind us, his face so red and so mad that for a second I think he’s going to explode into a fireball.
I put the car in park, then unbuckle my seat belt and take a deep breath. Hector is just sitting in the backseat, not making a sound. I check him over before I get out, to make sure he’s okay. He looks fine, physically, which is good. But he’s just sitting there quietly, which is kind of disturbing. I mean, usually he always wants to whine and wiggle around. The fact that he’s being so silent means he knows something bad is going on.
“It’s okay, boy,” I whisper into his fur, wishing I could just stay in here with him. How could I have hit someone? I know the answer. The truth is, I was distracted. I was thinking about what Jace said in the restaurant, about how running away wasn’t going to solve anything. Deep down, I know he’s right. It’s not going to help anything. It’s not going to help me figure out how much of the credit card debt I’m going to be responsible for. It’s not going to help me figure out how to confront my mom.
Does this mean I’m a coward? Does Jace think I’m a coward?
“I just need the summer,” I whisper to Hector. “I just need the summer to not have to deal with it, and then I’ll figure it all out, I promise.”
Hector whines and turns his head, then puts his front legs on the back windshield and starts pawing at the glass.
I sigh. I know I should get out and see what’s going on. I take another deep breath and then step out of the car.
“What the hell have you done to my car?” the man I hit is yelling.
Jace doesn’t answer him, just peers down at the cars, looking at the damage. And there’s kind of a lot. At le
ast, it kind of looks like there is. The whole back bumper of Jace’s car is hanging off. I immediately burst into tears. Something like that is expensive. Extremely expensive. You have to pay thousands and thousands of dollars for bodywork. I know because one time my mom got into a fender bender and it cost like two thousand dollars in bodywork and my dad was so pissed he threatened to take her Navigator away and make her buy something that had lower insurance premiums, like a Corolla.
“Why are you crying?” the man roars when he sees me standing there. “You’re the one who hit me! I’m the one who should be crying!” He’s waving his arms all around, his face flushed and sweaty. God, he’s scary. I look at his car, but I can’t see any damage.
“There’s nothing wrong with your car,” Jace says. He’s been inspecting it while I’ve been crying. “So you can be on your way.”
“I will not be on my way!” the man screeches. “We are calling the police.”
“Knock it off,” Jace says and rolls his eyes. “It’s a stupid fender bender. I’ll get you my insurance info.” He turns and heads toward the car to get his insurance card.
“Were you driving the car, young lady?” the man demands.
I open my mouth to answer, then quickly shut it. He’s probably going to try to nab me on some kind of insurance technicality or something. Like say that since I was driving, I have to pay everything out of pocket.
“Because if you were, you need some driving lessons. The first thing I always tell my daughter, the first thing, is that you need to check your rearview mirrors. Didn’t you take driver’s ed?”
I did take driver’s ed, but it actually wasn’t that helpful. It was four of us all in one car, and you spent most of the time just sitting there, waiting for your turn to drive. It was an hour-long class, so you only got, like, fifteen minutes of driving time once a week.
At the end of the six-week class, you got a percentage off your insurance. Which will come in handy now. Because my insurance will probably have to pay, won’t it? Or will Jace’s? God, I wonder if I should call my dad. He knows about stuff like this. Of course, I’ll have to make something up, something about how I was driving with Brooklyn and crashed the rental car. He’s not going to be happy, especially since—
“Here you go,” Jace says, shoving a crinkled up piece of paper into the man’s hands. “There’s my insurance information.”
Jace pulls out his cell phone out and snaps some pictures of both of the cars, and the man does the same.
Then the guy grumbles something about “crazy female drivers,” gets back in his car, and drives away. How rude. I mean, couldn’t he at least have said something about crazy teenage drivers? Why does it have to be female drivers? I’m a very good driver. Well, usually. I mean, I’d never gotten into an accident before this.
When it’s time to get back into Jace’s car, I know enough to slide into the passenger seat. Hector does a little whine and then lies down in the backseat and stays quiet. Jace climbs into the car next to me, his face dark and stormy looking.
“I’m really sorry,” I say. “I should have looked behind me.”
He doesn’t stay anything, just sits there, looking out the windshield, his hands gripping the wheel.
“I’ll pay for it,” I say.
He still doesn’t respond.
“I’ll make sure it all gets paid for, I promise.”
He still doesn’t say anything.
My eyes fill back up with tears, and after a second, Hector slides his paws onto the back of my seat and starts licking my face. I don’t even care about all the disgusting dog germs that are getting all over me.
“You can drive me back to the hotel if you want,” I say to Jace. “If you do, I’ll understand. Or you can take me back to Courtney’s, and she can help me get home.”
I can tell he’s really mad. After a second, he turns the key in the ignition, makes a big point of adjusting the rearview mirror and then pulls out of the parking lot.
When we get to the highway, I’m sure he’s going to start heading back to Siesta Key. But instead, he continues on our route, driving north toward the Carolinas.
• • •
Jace doesn’t talk the whole rest of the way through Florida and into Georgia. It’s actually pretty unnerving. I don’t know what he’s thinking. I don’t know what he’s planning. I’m half afraid that maybe he’s so mad he’s going to drop me off on the side of the road somewhere, leaving me to hitchhike the rest of the way to North Carolina.
When Hector starts whining in the backseat like he has to go to the bathroom, I’m relieved. I have to go to the bathroom, too, but I’m way too nervous to say anything.
Jace reaches over and pulls the GPS out from the little holder on the windshield, and starts punching something in, probably looking for a rest stop.
“I can do that,” I offer, trying to sound equal parts apologetic, thankful, and helpful. “It’s probably safer for me to use it. You know, since you’re driving and all.”
He snorts. Which makes sense. I mean, who am I to bring up safety? I’m the one who just got into an accident in a car that wasn’t mine before I even started driving. He finds what he’s looking for on the GPS, then slides it back into the holder.
Ten minutes later, he pulls into the rest stop, still not talking to me. He gets out of the car and starts walking Hector over on the grass. I’m not sure exactly what I’m supposed to do, so after I minute, I unbuckle my seat belt and head inside.
I use the restroom, then buy myself the cheapest food I can find—a snack-size bag of potato chips and a can of generic diet soda. Total cost = three dollars. At the last minute, I add a second bag of chips and a bottle of water for Jace. I figure doubling my budget is worth making the effort to keep him happy.
Well, maybe not happy, exactly. I mean, even I know that a snack isn’t going to make up for the fact that I smashed his car. But maybe we can move past it. Maybe it will become one of those funny little road-trip stories we’ll tell people later. Like party conversations, ha ha ha.
But when I get back to the car, Jace is standing behind it, scowling down at the bumper.
“I got you some snacks,” I say.
He takes the water from me, pulls off the cap, and takes a long sip. Then he takes the chips.
“You’re welcome,” I say.
He still doesn’t say anything, just keeps looking down at the bumper.
“Okkkkaayyy,” I say. “So are you going to just ignore me the whole rest of the time?”
“I’m not ignoring you.”
“You’re not? Because it seems pretty much like you are.”
“Why would you think that?”
“Because you haven’t been talking to me for the past four hours!”
“You wrecked my car.”
I roll my eyes. “I didn’t wreck your car,” I say. “It still runs, doesn’t it?”
“I’m not sure,” he says. He picks up the bumper and pushes it up against the frame of the car. When he holds it like that, it almost looks like you could just glue it back on. They probably have some kind of special glue you can buy at an auto parts store for like, ten dollars. That’s what happened when Brooklyn got her brakes done. It was going to cost her four hundred dollars if she took it into a shop, but instead she got this kid in our class to do it for eighty dollars after she bought the parts at AutoZone.
“It might be something we can fix ourselves,” I say, crouching down. I hold up one edge of the bumper, but when I do, the other side droops down and scrapes the paint. Oops.
“Don’t touch it,” Jace says, running his hands through his hair. “Jesus.”
“Sorry.” I feel my eyes start to fill with tears. I blink as fast as I can, not wanting him to know he’s having this kind of effect on me.
He sighs. “No, I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m being a douche. You didn’t mean to crash my car.”
“I didn’t mean it,” I say, shaking my head vehemently. “I swear. I should have b
een looking where I was going. But it was a total accident. And I really am going to pay for it, I promise. I’ll send you however much it costs.”
Of course, I have no idea how I’m going to get said money, but I’m so desperate for Jace not to not be mad at me anymore that I’ll pretty much promise anything. Besides, it’s the right thing to do.
“The insurance will probably cover it,” he says. He rolls his head around, stretching his neck. “Look, we should probably find a place to stay.”
“A place to stay?” Hector is pawing at my legs, so I crouch down and rub his head until he starts to calm down a little.
“Yeah, a hotel. I’m exhausted, and there’s no way I’m going to let you drive.”
I nod. “That’s fair.” I take a deep breath. “Can we stay somewhere cheap?”
He nods. “Sure.”
I want to ask him if he expects me to pay for his room, too, but I don’t. If he says yes, I don’t know what I’m going to do.
We all climb back into the car. Hector sits on my lap this time. He smells kind of gross, but I don’t mind. It’s comforting, having him close to me. Besides, he’s just a dog. He has no idea that my life is a disaster, that I’m on a road trip with a guy I can’t stand, or that my mom did something horrible to me. All Hector knows is that he’s in this car, right now, driving, while I pet him.
And that’s enough to make him happy.
I just wish it were enough for me.
• • •
Half an hour later, Jace pulls up in front of the Residence Inn in downtown Savannah. It’s definitely not the cheapest hotel, but it’s one of the only ones around that seemed like it was in a safe area, close to our route, and most importantly, took pets.
When we get inside, Jace walks right up to the front desk.
“We need, um, two rooms please, I guess,” he says. He looks at me for confirmation. I nod. “And we have a dog.”
“And which room would you like the dog to stay in?” the front desk clerk asks happily. Her nametag says MIA.
“Mine,” Jace says. I’m about to protest, because it would be nice to have Hector curled up in bed with me, but then the front desk clerk says it costs an extra seventy-five dollars for the pet fee. Jace hands over his credit card and pays for the rooms, I guess expecting that I’ll pay him back later.
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