politician, a master of spin and PR. Patrick’s never been like that—everything he feels is always written across his face like a sign on the highway, no secrets to suss out there at all. It’s one of my favorite things about him, or it was.
“So, hey,” Gabe says now, perching comfortably on the edge of the sofa like he hangs out here every day of his life. “In the spirit of being dirty rotten scoundrels, what do you say we get out of here, huh? Go for a drive?”
“Gabe.”
I shake my head even as I’m still smiling back at him, the crooked grin I’m starting to realize is possibly more than just friendly on his part. Right away I want to say yes just as much as I need to say no. “I’m working.”
Gabe raises his eyebrows. “You must get off sometime, right?”
“I—yes.” In less than an hour, actually, but it’s not that easy. It can’t possibly be that easy, and it’s not. “Your whole family hates me,” I remind him. “It’s a disaster wherever we get anywhere within fifty feet of each other. I think it’s pretty clear the whole of Star Lake would rather I just stayed in my room and watched documentaries all summer. I mean, there’s one about farmers who grow giant pumpkins for cash prizes that I’m really looking forward to, so . . .”
“So.” Gabe just looks at me, patient, like someone who’s willing to wait me out. The lobby is quiet, sun streaming in through the freshly wiped French doors at the far end of the lobby and a jungle’s worth of green plants newly arranged on the mantel of the tall stone fireplace. “So
what
, exactly?”
I huff out a noisy breath instead of answering.
“Why?”
Gabe laughs. “’Cause I like you. I’ve always liked you, and now you’re a social outcast, so I’m figuring you’re free.”
I snort. “Rude,” I scold, ignoring the compliment. Ignoring the
always
, and everything that might mean. “What happened to being on the same team?”
“I’m a social outcast, too!” Gabe exclaims immediately, which is as absurd as it is weirdly winning. He grins wide and pleased when I crack up. “Come on,” he says, like he senses he’s got me. “Nobody will see, you can crouch down in the seat until we get to the highway. Wear a disguise.”
“Those glasses with the nose attached, maybe,” I suggest, shaking my head and smiling.
Screw it
, a tiny voice inside my head is saying—the same voice, just maybe, that told me to go to the party at the lake. Almost everybody in this whole town hates me or is totally indifferent. Everyone, it feels like, except for—
“Gabe.”
“Molly,”
he says, echoing my tone exactly. “Trust me.”
So. I do.
We drive an hour to Martinvale with the windows of the station wagon rolled down to let the wind in; it’s bracing, the feeling of old skin sloughing off in the breeze. “So, biology, huh?” I ask him, reaching across the center console and flicking the Notre Dame key ring dangling from the ignition with one of my short, naked fingernails. I expected the ride out to be loaded or awkward. Instead it just feels nice. “What’re you gonna be, a mad scientist or something?”
“Uh-huh, exactly.” Gabe lets go of the wheel and puts his arms out like Frankenstein’s monster, his warm shoulder bumping against mine as he does it. “Sex robots, for the most part. Some secret stuff with lizards.” Then, as I’m laughing: “Nah. I’m premed.”
“Really?” That surprises me for some reason. I always thought of Julia as the brains of the Donnelly family. Gabe had the personality. Patrick had the soul. “What kind?”
“Cardiologist,” he says immediately, then huffs out a wry little breath and shakes his head at the windshield. “I guess it’s kind of lame and obvious why, huh? ‘Ladies and gentlemen, this kid’s dad keeled over from a heart attack, behold as he works out all his issues in the world’s most obvious way.’”
I’ve never heard Gabe talk about his dad before. I
“So, hey,” Gabe says now, perching comfortably on the edge of the sofa like he hangs out here every day of his life. “In the spirit of being dirty rotten scoundrels, what do you say we get out of here, huh? Go for a drive?”
“Gabe.”
I shake my head even as I’m still smiling back at him, the crooked grin I’m starting to realize is possibly more than just friendly on his part. Right away I want to say yes just as much as I need to say no. “I’m working.”
Gabe raises his eyebrows. “You must get off sometime, right?”
“I—yes.” In less than an hour, actually, but it’s not that easy. It can’t possibly be that easy, and it’s not. “Your whole family hates me,” I remind him. “It’s a disaster wherever we get anywhere within fifty feet of each other. I think it’s pretty clear the whole of Star Lake would rather I just stayed in my room and watched documentaries all summer. I mean, there’s one about farmers who grow giant pumpkins for cash prizes that I’m really looking forward to, so . . .”
“So.” Gabe just looks at me, patient, like someone who’s willing to wait me out. The lobby is quiet, sun streaming in through the freshly wiped French doors at the far end of the lobby and a jungle’s worth of green plants newly arranged on the mantel of the tall stone fireplace. “So
what
, exactly?”
I huff out a noisy breath instead of answering.
“Why?”
Gabe laughs. “’Cause I like you. I’ve always liked you, and now you’re a social outcast, so I’m figuring you’re free.”
I snort. “Rude,” I scold, ignoring the compliment. Ignoring the
always
, and everything that might mean. “What happened to being on the same team?”
“I’m a social outcast, too!” Gabe exclaims immediately, which is as absurd as it is weirdly winning. He grins wide and pleased when I crack up. “Come on,” he says, like he senses he’s got me. “Nobody will see, you can crouch down in the seat until we get to the highway. Wear a disguise.”
“Those glasses with the nose attached, maybe,” I suggest, shaking my head and smiling.
Screw it
, a tiny voice inside my head is saying—the same voice, just maybe, that told me to go to the party at the lake. Almost everybody in this whole town hates me or is totally indifferent. Everyone, it feels like, except for—
“Gabe.”
“Molly,”
he says, echoing my tone exactly. “Trust me.”
So. I do.
We drive an hour to Martinvale with the windows of the station wagon rolled down to let the wind in; it’s bracing, the feeling of old skin sloughing off in the breeze. “So, biology, huh?” I ask him, reaching across the center console and flicking the Notre Dame key ring dangling from the ignition with one of my short, naked fingernails. I expected the ride out to be loaded or awkward. Instead it just feels nice. “What’re you gonna be, a mad scientist or something?”
“Uh-huh, exactly.” Gabe lets go of the wheel and puts his arms out like Frankenstein’s monster, his warm shoulder bumping against mine as he does it. “Sex robots, for the most part. Some secret stuff with lizards.” Then, as I’m laughing: “Nah. I’m premed.”
“Really?” That surprises me for some reason. I always thought of Julia as the brains of the Donnelly family. Gabe had the personality. Patrick had the soul. “What kind?”
“Cardiologist,” he says immediately, then huffs out a wry little breath and shakes his head at the windshield. “I guess it’s kind of lame and obvious why, huh? ‘Ladies and gentlemen, this kid’s dad keeled over from a heart attack, behold as he works out all his issues in the world’s most obvious way.’”
I’ve never heard Gabe talk about his dad before. I
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