Candy Colored Sky, стр. 30
“I mean, if it’s so impossible, what’s the harm in making a little bet. I’ll even buy your prom ticket,” Jake says.
“And if I’m right and this plan fails miserably?” I question.
There’s a long pause in conversation, the void filled with the very song that Eleanor sang during our trip to the parts shop. It’s as if karma’s introducing her to the conversation.
“Jake streaks the gym after his last basketball game,” Eleanor says.
My eyebrows shoot up to match my friend’s upon hearing that suggestion. Gemma spits out her water and laughs loud enough to cause it to echo in my garage. We all turn to face Eleanor as she sits with her legs twisted up in the green folding chair.
“I would honestly pay to see that happen. Your white ass flying through that gym. I mean, come on.” Gemma leans to one side hanging her arm over the back of her chair as she crosses her legs slowly in temptation to Jake. She stares at him with one brow higher than the other for a few long seconds and he doesn’t break her gaze once, even as he accepts the terms.
“Deal. Jonah, you better start pricing out tuxes because ain’t no way I’m getting naked in the gym—unless I want to.”
We all laugh at his attempted bravado, and Eleanor is the first to call him on his ridiculous argument, shouting above our collective laughter, “What does that even mean? Who wants to be naked in the gym?”
“This guy,” I say, pointing to my friend, setting off a new round of laughter.
To prove how unfazed he is, Jake pulls out another folding chair, places it in the open part of the garage, and promptly stands on it. He rolls his hips and tugs up the bottom of his sweatshirt and T-shirt underneath, swinging them in cowboy-roping-style circles over his head after pulling them off. It is one of the saddest-looking strip teases to ever be performed, no doubt, but it has all of us laughing so hard that it might be hard for a passerby to discern whether we’re in pain or not.
Point proven when the music cuts off and our good time comes to an abrupt halt as Jake flirts with unsnapping the button on his jeans.
“Oh, party foul . . .” My friend’s voice fizzles when he sees Morgan Trombley standing at the entry of my garage, his speaker in one hand and the batteries in the other.
“What is wrong with you, Eleanor?” It’s as if Morgan doesn’t see the rest of us at all. Her eyes are red, almost glowing, and locked on to her sister’s.
“I’m just visiting my friends.” Eleanor’s voice is almost a whisper, and her body somehow becomes smaller in size, everything about her shrinking before my eyes as she squirms to fold herself into a tighter ball.
“Aunt Renee and Uncle Kevin have been here all day. They’re asking about you, wanting to see you and make sure you’re all right. We all thought you were in your room, sleeping. That’s all you do, sleep! We were worried, and instead you’re here?”
I bristle at her comment about my house as if I’m some den of sin just because one of our teenaged friends makes us laugh with a strip tease. Also, I can’t believe that all Eleanor does in her room is sleep.
“Hey,” I say, moving forward with an open palm to stop Morgan’s verbal assault.
“I’m sorry, but who are you? Why are you talking?” She scolds me fast. I’m so shocked by her words that I’m left with my mouth hung open, unable to form the right response. I’m mentally riffling through the facts, that the Trombleys are grieving, that they are worried and stressed to unnatural heights, that Morgan is only doing what she thinks is right to keep anyone else from going missing.
But Eleanor slept for an entire day at my house, which means she doesn’t sleep at hers. Or maybe I’m all wrong about it, and maybe she should be with her family right now. I don’t know what’s right.
“He’s my friend, Morgan. It’s his birthday, and I wanted to feel normal for a little while,” Eleanor finally blurts out, standing from her chair and glaring at her sister with fire in her eyes. “So much for that lasting, though.”
She folds her chair and leans it against the other folded chairs with a bang, quickly crossing her arms around her chest and marching toward her sister who has come to take her home. The two of them have a short standoff, staring at each other at the entry of my garage, eyes glassy and jaws locked for battle until Morgan breaks, bending down to set Jake’s speaker on the concrete. She pockets his batteries and passes her judgmental gaze over the three of us, ignoring Jake’s retort of “Hey, those are mine.”
“I’m sorry, Jonah. Sorry, guys.” Eleanor grimaces, her voice a far cry from the defiant one she used a second ago. She follows in her sister’s steps while the three of us hover at the garage entry and watch her melt back into darkness.
Jake and I manage to get a lot done in the couple of hours he and Gemma stick around after Eleanor leaves. Probably because no one is talking. Or singing. Or dancing. Nothing but the cricket-like sound of wrenches broken up by the occasional masculine grunt from Jake or me trying to loosen impossible bolts.
When Jake gets a text about a party at one of the other ballplayer’s houses, we wrap up work for the day. He asks me to tag along, but we both know that’s not happening. I close down the garage after he and Gemma leave and go inside to cut myself an extra piece of birthday cake from the pan of chocolate goodness my mom