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wild.”
    *   *   *
    An hour later we’re in my living room with a reality show droning on in the background as we play dirty-word Scrabble. The game awards triple points for any words related to sex, and I’m winning. Jay claims I have an advantage because I have a raunchier vocabulary than he does. “Not that I’m complaining,” he clarifies as he leans in for a kiss. He hasn’t mentioned us going for a walk, but my ankle still twinges a bit from my workout.
    Besides, once I pull off turning the word “late” into “titillate,” Jay can’t keep his hands off me. He gently props Frankenfoot on a pillow safely out of the way and the two of us sink into our delicious make-out position that makes time get all floaty.
    We’re lost in each other until Harley bursts in calling, “Heads up!”
    Jay is slingshot to the other end of the couch and pretends to be absorbed in watching the commercial playing on television. I can’t help but laugh as I wipe my mouth and ask Jay, “How did you get over there so fast?”
    Leaning over our abandoned Scrabble game, Harley takes the letter R from my rack and adds it to the word “bone.” “Hey, look”—he grins at Jay— “‘boner.’ Triple word score.” Jay blushes and my brother gives a low whistle as he heads up the stairs.
    â€œI didn’t realize how late it was,” Jay says as he briskly scoops the Scrabble tiles into their pouch. “I’d better get going.”
    â€œWhat’s wrong? Nervous my dad will walk in and think you’re corrupting me?”
    â€œWho’s corrupting whom here, Miss Titillate?” He grins and kisses me while his hand caresses my arm. We linger a moment, but pull apart before things start up again. “I need to work out before dinner,” he says. “And by the way, my family is seriously torturing me about meeting you.”
    â€œI know, I know.” I gesture to Frankenfoot. “When I’m ready.”
    My legs are stiff when Jay helps me up from the couch. We share a swoony kiss at the door and I promise to meet his family soon- ish . Besides perfect-sounding parents, I imagine Jay’s three protective older sisters “weeding out the weak” with some method that’s as emotionally crippling as my father’s.
    *   *   *
    It turns out Jay didn’t need to rush out, since Dad is working late at the Tattoo Guru anyway. When Mom gets home from the city, we decide to make sandwiches for dinner. It’s a sound move, considering the deficiency of our combined cooking skills.
    â€œI ordered your homeschool supplies before I left this morning,” Mom tells me as she piles tomatoes and kale on the cutting board. “They should be here in two weeks.”
    â€œGreat.” I start spreading tuna on slices of whole wheat. “I can get a nice early jump on the workload.”
    The two of us spent a lot of time on the computer searching for the perfect self-paced homeschool program. Now she just needs to go down to the high school and sign me out. To be honest, we were both a little surprised at how easy it has been to make the switch.
    â€œI thought only pregnant girls dropped out of school.” Harley reaches over my shoulder to grab two sandwich halves off the counter. He gives me a glazed-over grin and bites into half of one.
    â€œI am not dropping out of school.” I glance at Mom’s back end sticking out of the fridge and hiss at him, “She’s going to see you’re baked.”
    He whispers, “Dad’s the bulldog around here,” and laughs as he shoves the rest of the sandwich half in his mouth.
    â€œDon’t forget we go to the doctor’s after Ulysses next Friday,” Mom calls from the fridge. “Aren’t you excited they might be changing your cast?”
    â€œThat’s a week and a half away,