Candy Colored Sky, стр. 35
I play along, though. I focus on making my hand feel natural, on willing my palm not to sweat, and on fending off the need to twitch with nerves. It lasts for the escalator ride, and our hands slip apart as she rushes off at the second floor, darting into Shippy’s ahead of me. I form a fist to capture the warmth and feel of what just happened, then join her at the hostess stand.
“Party of two?” The girl working up front is dressed like a nurse from World War II. It’s part of the theme here, and I’ve never understood the correlation. I dig it, though.
“Yes, we’re together,” Eleanor responds.
And I suppose for today, right now, we are.
Eleven
Sixty dollars on skee-ball feels like a bargain. I don’t even care that all I have to show for it is this wicked dragon temporary tattoo that, yeah, after Eleanor pointed it out, does look more like a pigeon. I gave most of my tickets to her so she could get the giant smiley face pillow. Maybe she slept better with it. I slept better knowing she had it.
We got home as the sun was setting, and I slipped in right before my mom got home so I was able to eat Sunday TV dinners on the couch with her and my grandpa while we watched an old episode of Star Trek: The Next Generation. I’ve seen them all, some twice. Still feels like a necessary Sunday ritual.
I texted Eleanor after to make sure she wasn’t in trouble with Morgan, but I never heard back. I found myself checking my phone all day at school today too. Nothing. It has me worried and my head is taking things in all sorts of directions. Does she regret spending time with me? Holding my hand? Or was her family upset with her for running off? She never once texted anyone to let them know she was gone. From what I could tell, though, nobody called or texted her either.
My dad’s notebook was my distraction and excuse for not being social at school today, but I did manage to hold conversations with Jake and Gemma once they got back from lunch. Without giving them details—or giving Jake an excuse to give me shit for spending the entire day with Eleanor again—I learned enough to know Eleanor wasn’t in major trouble or hurting or upset. Not enough to tell Gemma anyhow. They spoke last night about cheer. She said Eleanor doesn’t want to quit, but she doesn’t think she has a choice.
For the entire rest of the day I contemplate how stuck she must feel, to the point that instead of heading straight home from school, I find myself here, at her front door—the one place that literally scares me to the point of quivering in my shoes.
“Ring the bell, Jonah. Man up! Come on.” I whisper what I think my grandpa would say to me in this situation. The words feel much more urgent when they come from him, but if I keep this up, someone in Eleanor’s house is bound to see me talking to myself. I’m already enough of a weirdo; don’t need to add more evidence in Morgan’s case to stop Eleanor from spending time with me.
I’m about to press my index finger into the glowing button when a pair of chilly hands reach around my face and cover my eyes.
“Guess who?”
It’s obviously Eleanor. Also, I am pretty sure I just yelped and it was not a manly yelp whatsoever.
“Sorry, I couldn’t resist,” she says as I turn around and swallow down the bile that shot up my throat like a rocket when she startled me.
“Noted. Paybacks though.” I grimace in jest and let her think that one day there’s a chance I may get her back. I couldn’t muster the courage to ring her doorbell. Pretty sure I won’t be able to spring out and yell boo.
“You just get home from school?” She tugs on the strap of my backpack.
“Oh, uh, yeah. Easy day. You start the online stuff yet?”
“Yeah, I basically finished the entire week’s worth of homework today. Not sure I’m going to be college ready with this method.” She scrunches her face and I think to myself how much Jake would love to trade academic situations with her.
“Is it a Bronco night?” Her hands are shoved in the back pockets of her jeans and she reminds me of . . . me. Maybe she’s nervous asking me that question, inviting herself into my garage. How do I tell her she is welcome to observe or interrupt my life at any point she wishes?
“I don’t know. Jake’s starting basketball workouts because their season starts in December, and it’s hard to do some of that stuff on my own. My Grandpa isn’t really able to slide underneath and stuff.” I’m not making an excuse, but I can’t invite her over to watch me fumble about the engine like a fool.
“I have two capable hands,” she says, holding out open palms that are probably a lot more qualified than mine at making that thing run.
I lift a shoulder as if to say “Why not?” and Eleanor loops her arm through mine, gently urging me to leave her front walkway and head toward my house. I notice the driveway is getting fuller, a minivan now tucked up into the last bit of space next to her aunt and uncle’s car.
“Full house?” I ask, pointing at the minivan as we slip between the line of cars on our way down the driveway.
“Too full. More like crowded,” she says, her mouth tight and pinched at the corners as she glances toward me. “My grandparents are here too. You’d think it was Christmas, but no, it’s just . . . something else.”
Her words trail off at the end. I gather she