Page 65 of Rumi: The Hawthornes

“You’re not gonna be busy when someone’s cleanin’ your carcass off the road.”

“I’ll bring it in tomorrow, okay?” I shot back in frustration.

I knew immediately that I shouldn’t have talked back. Pop’s expression darkened and I flinched, bracing for the blow up.

“Oh, look who came to join the party,” Nana said, interrupting us just as I heard the sound of Rumi’s bike. I glanced behind me, hoping it was anyone else, but no luck.

Gritting my teeth, I turned back around and met Bird’s gaze, shaking my head slightly at him. If he said a single word to Rumi or my grandparents about what I’d walked in on, I’d jump over the fire and strangle him with my bare hands.

“Prospect,” Pop greeted as Rumi climbed off his bike.

I turned to look at him.

“Hey, Samson,” Rumi replied. “Ash.”

“Hey honey,” Gram said with a smile. “You comin’ to celebrate with us?”

“Celebrate?” He tried to meet my eyes, but I refused to look above his chest.

“Hey, Rum,” I said, turning away.

“Nova got into that school she wanted,” Nana said proudly, reaching over to give my shoulder a playful shove. “Can’t believe she didn’t call and tell you right first thing.”

“Or at least stop by your house,” Bird said insinuatingly.

I scowled at him.

“You got in?” Rumi asked, coming up behind me. He set his hands on my shoulders, and I flinched hard. It was so reminiscent of the time he’d climbed into the back of Nana’s old car, inviting himself along with us, that I could’ve cried.

“Yep,” I replied, trying and failing to smile as I looked up at him.

“That’s awesome, No,” he said, his own smile awkward and pained.

“Grab a seat,” Pop said, gesturing to one of the lawn chairs leaning against the trailer.

“I was just comin’ to see if Nova wanted to hang out,” Rumi said, his hands sliding off my shoulders. “Her phone’s off, though. Didn’t realize you guys were celebratin’.”

“I think it’s dead,” I said, hopping up. “I’m just going to go plug it in.”

I hurried into the trailer, anxious to escape. Why in God’s name did he think that the appropriate response to me not answering his hundred texts was to show up at my house? There was no way that I’d be able to act like everything was fine with Rumi staring at me. We’d been friends forever. If my grandparents sniffed out any kind of tension between us they’d push and prod until they knew why.

Once I was in my room and plugged in my already-charged phone, I stood there for a few seconds, trying to calm my racing heart. Didn’t he realize I didn’t want to see him? I just needed a little time, just a day or two, and then I could pretend like everything was fine and we would be back to normal.

“Nova,” Rumi murmured quietly as I turned to go back outside. He was standing in my doorway, eyes apologetic and shoulders slumped.

“Hey, I was just coming back out,” I replied cheerfully. “Come on, Nana has s’mores stuff.”

“I’m so sorry, No,” he said, not moving.

“You’re sorry?” I laughed humorlessly. “I’m the one who should be sorry—barging in like that. Totally my bad.”

“Nova.”

“Seriously,” I said, lifting my hands in supplication. “I’m really sorry. Next time I’ll wait for you to answer the door before I come in. That’ll save us from any voyeurism.”

“I thought you were working late,” he said, slashing his hand through the air.

“Right,” I replied, nodding. “I was supposed to be. Totally my fault.”

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