“Then you can pay my teacher three thousand dollars to replace it.”
Grandma crinkled her nose and stormed back into the garage, mumbling something about disrespect. “Get me if anyone shows up!” she called.
I clicked the camera off and knelt in front of Naomi. The grass was damp and cold.
“Do you want a blanket?” I asked.
She studied my face for a moment. “You aren’t mad, then?”
“No—I just had a good shot and you messed it up. That’s all.”
“I was trying to help! But I guess I can’t do
I looked away from her glare, hugging myself. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Like, yesterday—you bit my head off because you dropped your lunch box. It wasn’t my fault, Drea. I didn’t knock it out of your hands.”
The cutting sound of her voice made me want to get up and run, but I closed my eyes, trying to think of the right words.
“You could at least look at me,” she said.
“I don’t like seeing you so angry at me.”
A few seconds of silence went by. Finally, she exhaled. “Sometimes it just seems like I annoy you. Like you don’t want me around.”
I opened my eyes. She was looking down, running her fingers through the grass. “I do want you around.”
“Okay,” she mumbled. We sat quietly for a minute before a smirk crossed her lips. “Justin told me about his juvie days last night. That’s kinda hot, right?”
“Are you kidding?”
“No way. Justin in handcuffs? Awesome.” She laughed.
Their talk didn’t help as much as I’d hoped.
“Why is that funny?”
She leaned back on the palms of her hands. “Um—because it’s Justin. That image is a little hard to picture.”
“His mom died. Do you think that’s funny and awesome too?”
Her mouth dropped open. “Of course not. But shit happens, people die. It’s not a reason to stop living yourself.”
I pulled up a chunk of grass and let it sift through my fingers. “Whatever.”
“There you go again—acting all pissy.”
My stomach tensed. “I just don’t understand some of the things you say.”
“It’s called having a sense of humor, Drea.”
I counted the loose blades of grass in my hand. “Okay.”
“I should’ve been sixteen in the eighties,” she continued. “I would’ve been the perfect punk chick.”
“Why can’t you be a punk chick now?”
“Because Sid is dead, duh.”
I threw grass at her. “He died in 1979.”
She rolled her eyes. “Semantics. Anyway, Justin had a conniption because I called Green Day old-school punk. So he gave me a CD with the Dead Milkmen, Sex Pistols, the Clash, and a bunch of others on it. Good stuff.”
“Cool.” I looked at her empty driveway across the street. “Is your dad home this weekend?”
“Nope, but his vacation starts next Saturday. He claims he’s taking me car shopping.”
My chest relaxed. At least I had a week to convince Mom not to call. “You never said how your dinner went Thursday.”
“It was a dinner with Dad, not an all-night party. What exactly is there to talk about?”
“You seemed excited, that’s all.”
“What I really want to talk about is you and Justin. He’s so gaga over you.”
I let a smile slip.
“Ooh. You’re blushing. Something’s totally happened—fess up.”
I buried my face in my knees.
“Oh my God. You hooked up with him!”
I put my hand against her mouth. “Shut up. My grandma will hear you.”
She pulled back. “I wasn’t talking that loud. Don’t be so paranoid.”
“We kissed,” I whispered.
