“What about you? Do you have any brothers or sisters?”
“Only child.”
“I can’t imagine how peaceful your house must be!”
“Believe me, I think you’ve got it better. It was too peaceful here today.”
He tilted his head, studying me. “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah…my parents both started work and it’s just…weird being in a new house all day by yourself, you know?”
“I don’t think I’ve ever been home by myself,” he said with a laugh. “But at least you had total control over the remote, right?”
“There’s no cable!”
His eyes widened. “What? No!”
I launched into my tale of woe. Luka was a good listener, nodding with interest, and I was pleased when he chuckled in all the right spots. My feet itched to step in closer, shrinking the wide gap between us, but my mind replayed the ads that had flooded the news, matches jumping out of place before they caught fire, contaminated surfaces glowing red and spreading, peaked curves sharp as a coffin.
I stayed put.
“Aw, that’s terrible! I can’t believe he just left the stuff on the steps.” He glanced down at the boxes in his hands, recognition furrowing his eyebrows. “Well…maybe I can. There’re so many new rules about everything, it’s hard keeping track of what you’re supposed to do. Like hand washing!”
My eyebrows raised in horror. “You didn’t wash your hands before all this?”
He doubled over, snorting. “That’s not what I meant! But like—I don’t think I ever thought about how long I was supposed to wash them for. I just rinsed the soap off and went on my merry way.”
“Not me. I always counted to twenty seconds. Twenty-five, actually.”
“Liar. What song do you sing?”
“Song?” I repeated.
“You’re supposed to sing ‘Happy Birthday’ to yourself twice.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“You can’t sing ‘Happy Birthday’ when it’s not your birthday. Plus I was always craving cake.”
“Cake does sound really good right now,” I admitted.
“You should have ordered some.”
I gasped theatrically. “Wait, you sell cake?”
“Oh yeah, it’s what we’re known for. Mom uses my grandmother’s old recipes.”
“What kind?”
He shrugged. “All kinds. What’s your favorite?”
“Depends on what I’m in the mood for. Today I think my favorite is…” I paused thoughtfully. “German chocolate.”
His eyes lit up. “Ooh, with the coconut and the pecans? Yeah, I could definitely go for that.” He tsked. “Should have ordered some.”
“I didn’t know! You really ought to include something about cake in the phone book.”
“Who uses the phone book?” He reached into his back pocket. “There you go, Millie Woodruff,” he said, smacking a menu onto the pizza box and leaving everything on the porch. “Prepare to have your mind blown.”
I picked up the trifold and scanned the dessert section, impressed. “These sound amazing.”
“They are….Hey, are you at Central?” He pointed to the paperback copy of The Catcher in the Rye I’d left open on the steps. “Mrs. Holwerda’s English?”
I brightened. “I will be. In the fall. With all of the remote-learning stuff, my teachers are letting me finish the year in Memphis, even up here. Well…if I ever get the internet back.”
It had been rather nice to not have eleven thousand emails and notifications chiming at me as assignments piled in.
“We’re reading Catcher right now too. It just drags. And there’s like no point to it, right?”
“You sound like such a phony,” I teased.
“Why are they making us read it? Did you know that every serial killer ever has a copy of that book on them when they’re caught?”
“Every serial killer?” I raised a dubious eyebrow.
“Look it up! Well, not right now, but later. The guy that killed the guy from the Beatles. JFK. Reagan.” He counted his list on his fingers. “There are loads more.”
“Reagan didn’t die,” I pointed out. “I mean, he’s dead now, but it wasn’t an assassination.”
“All I’m saying…it’s a seriously questionable book and we shouldn’t be forced to read it.”
“What should we be reading, then?”
He tilted his head, considering, and I tried not to notice the curve of his jawline. The mask accentuated it, clearly defining its angles, and I longed to rip it aside to admire the boy underneath.
“Something by Shirley Jackson, maybe.”
I blinked, taken aback. Basketball, cake, and now spooky books?
Luka was the perfect guy.
And I had no idea what he—or his sure-to-be-impossibly-adorable-cheerleader-girlfriend—really looked like.
“I love her! I read Hill House last year when the show came out.”
His eyes sparkled. “We all read Hill House last year when the show came out. I’m so excited for season two. Have you read Turn of the Screw?”
“Not yet.”
“It’s so good. One of my favorites. I’ve read it about fifty times. Old horror is so much better than the new stuff. I like when you have to really imagine all the creepy bits, not just have them come running out and smack you over the head. Like in—” He paused. “Sorry. I get really excited about books.”
“Don’t apologize! I love scary movies.”
“Yeah? You’ll go nuts over Henry James, then!”
“I’ll look it up the next time I’m at…” I trailed off, a wedge of emotions lodged in my throat. I didn’t know what the local bookstore here was and even if I did, it didn’t matter. I wouldn’t be able to go inside and mindlessly browse, looking up books that a cute guy recommended.
“Right…” Luka nodded with understanding. “Curbside delivery is all well and good but it’s definitely not the same.” His eyes flickered down to the Salinger. “We’ve got a test on that Friday.”
“Us too!”
“That’s funny. I could come over later if you want talk through—”
A tinny version of Weezer’s “Africa” started playing, leaving my hopes hung impossibly high, pinned at the back of my throat. I felt like I was at an amusement park, on the free-fall drop, the split second before gravity took over.
Come over.
He’d said he wanted to come over.
Here. To see me.
No pizza required.
“Err…hang on….” He fished out his cell. “Hey. Yeah, I’m still over at—okay…Yeah, no worries…Okay. Okay, okay, okay. Love you too.”
Love you too.
My heart sank. It was official. There was a girlfriend.
He lowered the phone, turning back to me. His mask puffed out
