“No,” I said truthfully. “I just like silly Band-Aids. I got these at Archie McPhee. They have pirate ones and bacon ones, too.”
I squeezed some ointment on my finger.
Gideon looked surprised. “You don’t have to do that,” he said.
“Oh,” I said, embarrassed.” You’re probably capable of putting a Band-Aid on yourself, aren’t you?
“I
“It’s an impulse left over from babysitting.”
“Okay, go ahead.” He stuck out his leg. “So. You babysit?”
“Not anymore. I couldn’t take it. The kid I used to sit for was like a blood and vomit machine.”
Gideon laughed. “A patent on that idea could make a fortune.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Or his parents could just rent him out. Like whenever anyone needs blood or vomit, they could just come over and rent out Kai.”
All this while I was dabbing ointment on Gideon’s calf, which was tan and covered in light brown hair. I thought:
His skin is surprisingly soft.
But also hairy.
Gideon is practically an adult. I think he’s at least nineteen.
Is it horrible that I want to touch his leg?
I mean, Doctor Z says it’s completely normal at my age to have this level of Rabbit Fever, but what I really want to know is, am I being disloyal?
It is only ointment, after all.
And a Band-Aid.
Then again, I wouldn’t like it if Noel was spreading ointment on the bare calves of Ariel Olivieri.
Especially not if Ariel was wearing nothing but a bathing suit and a bead choker.
I was just putting a second Band-Aid on Gideon’s leg, and enjoying it more than I should have, when Hutch walked in from the greenhouse. I jerked back guiltily.
“Gideon Van Deusen,” Hutch announced, barely making eye contact while he went to the sink and filled his water bottle. “Rock on.”
Gideon looked blank. “Have we met?” he asked Hutch.
“This is John Hutchinson,” I said apologetically.
Hutch hopped up on the counter and swigged his water, still without making eye contact.
Gideon held out his hand. “Good to meet you.”
“We’ve met,” said Hutch, shaking it.
“I have a bad memory for faces.”
“We went to school together for ten years.”
“Oh, yeah,” said Gideon, obviously lying. “Out of context. Sorry.”
This is why Hutch is such a roly-poly. He has zero sense of what a warped little bunny he sounds like sometimes.
Yes, they had been at school together. But Gideon had graduated when we were freshmen, and seniors can’t be expected to recall every dorkface underclassman from three years ago. But there went Hutch, saying Gideon’s whole name like a semi-stalker, and then telling him to “Rock on,” not even saying hello like a normal person. And then what kind of conversationalist quick-calculates the number of years their Tate Prep careers overlapped and uses it to guilt the other person for not remembering?
“Did you finish getting the greenhouse set up?” I asked Hutch, to change the subject. “And is Dad presentable?”
“His face is dry, at least. And yeah. It looks pretty good in there.”
“Gideon’s boat ran out of gas,” I explained.
“Almost,” said Gideon.
We all stood around the kitchen for a moment. Not saying anything. Then Hutch said, “Nice lip gloss, Ruby,” jumped off the counter and went back outside.
What?
Why was he commenting on my lip gloss?
Since when did Hutch notice my lips anyway?
“Was that your boyfriend?” asked Gideon, plopping himself on our couch and stroking Polka’s ears.
“No,” I said, sitting down on the rocking chair. “Why?”
“He seemed a little tense is all.”
