Page 90 of Rebel Summer

“Hey! It’s Ivy. Or even Books, okay? Not Caroline.”

“Why? That’s your name, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but it was my dad’s mom, and she wasn’t a very nice person.”

“You kept smacking me underneath the car. Maybe your name is trying to tell you something.”

At my best leveling gaze, he only laughed and began putting his tools away while I peeled off the coveralls.

“What do you have the car for anyway? You don’t plan on leaving the island, right?”

“I plan on driving this thing all up and down the coast one day. It’ll stay in the garage on the mainland when I’m finished. But I bought it all in parts, and I had to have somewhere to put it together.”

“You ferried it over in parts?”

The amount of knowledge Dax had about cars astounded me. To have the skills to put together his own car was something not many could boast. And he wasn’t even boasting about it. It seemed so matter-of-fact to him.

“Not ferried. I drove my own boat so I could sneak the parts inside.”

“The little old ladies next door didn’t catch you?”

“Thankfully, I guess they’re not looking too hard at what I’m carrying.”

The booming pop of another round of fireworks went off. I hadn’t meant to be gone this long. I had forgotten my original purpose in finding Dax, with the excitement of the car and being with him. I had intended to drag him to the beach and force him to be around his friends and have fun.

“We should go watch the fireworks.”

He looked my way and almost started to say something before he hesitated.

“What?” I asked.

“I was going to offer to let you drive my golf cart to the beach to watch them, but then I remembered who I was talking to.”

I ignored his teasing. “Come with me.”

“Nah.”

“Why?”

“By the time we get down there, the fireworks will be done.”

“They usually go for a half an hour. They just started.” He was wavering, I could tell, so I added one more log to the fire.

“I’ll give you an hour.”

He looked at me, arms folded, clearly in a debate with himself.

“Two hours, then. Final offer.”

An exasperated look crossed his face. “Keep your hours, you annoying pest of a girl.”

He yanked open the door and motioned me to follow him. “Let’s go.”

I squealed in excitement, bolting out of the room before Dax could change his mind and lock me inside. Once outside, Dax strode to a cupboard above the workbench and reached for a key inside before putting it in his pocket. At the back door, he plucked two thin, black hoodies off a coat rack.

“Let’s go,” he called.

“Where’d you park your golf cart?”

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