Page 36 of You, with a View

No, I remind myself sternly as I make my way to my car.No one did.

Eleven

Time speeds up after my night with Theo. I forgot what it’s like to be busy. To have something to look forward to, even if it’s edged in anxiety that ebbs and flows when I think about picking up my camera. Or when I think about two weeks with Theo and the kaleidoscope of emotions he sends tumbling with a long look, that sharp tongue.

Thursday, the night before we’re set to leave, Theo texts me.

I have to do something tomorrow morning. We’re leaving at 3. My granddad is staying the night here. Can you find a ride?

No,I’m so sorry our plans have changed and we’re not leaving at ten after all, so that afternoon hike we’re doing in Yosemite? Not happening. And also by the way, Paul isn’t going to pick you up on his way down here anymore, will you be okay?Just a bunch of robot words formed into a demand.

I don’t respond, my blood boiling as I throw my entire underwear drawer into my suitcase. The truce Theo and I agreed upon is already crumbling—I’m going tostranglehim when I get to his house. However the hell I get there.

Thomas is my saving grace; Sadie’s on a work trip all week, and he’s feeling emo, so he decides to stay in Glenlake for the night and offers to drive me to Theo’s the next day.

My parents throw me a bon voyage dinner, decking out the dining room with streamers and a gold letter banner that readsgood luck. They ask me a million questions about the trip—where I’ll be stopping, what I’ll be doing—and my answers are an equal amount of truth and lies. Stomach-churning guilt makes it hard to eat or drink, but my family makes up for it. By the time ten rolls around, Thomas is sleeping off six beers while Mom and Dad reminisce about the county fair photography contest I won when I was twelve.

I go to bed feeling like a liar.

I wake up feeling like one, too, but as Thomas drives us into the city, I finesse it. It’s not a lie. It’s a secret, which is just a truth that hasn’t been told yet.

Thomas’s hangover and the afternoon work call he has to get home for make him practically kick me out of the car as we pull up to Theo’s. However, he manages to leave me with some parting words.

“Have a good time, kid,” he croaks out. “Sadie and I have a bet on whether you let Theo stick it in. I say day three, she’s got day ten, but I owe her some blue velvet couch she wants if you fall in love with him.”

“Fucking hell, Mas.”

“Have fun.” His smile fades and he pulls off his sunglasses. “For real. I hope you find whatever you’re going after. I’ll be following along with the story.”

I wave him off with a lump in my throat. He yells out the window, “Wrap it if you tap it!” and zooms off, cackling.

“Such a jackass—” I turn and my knees collapse. Theo’sstanding on the sidewalk, hands tucked into the pockets of his joggers. “Jesus!”

He smirks. “ ‘Wrap it if you tap it’?”

“I couldn’t even explain if I wanted to,” I say. “Which I don’t.”

He looks down at his phone, illuminating the screen. “You’re late.”

It’s 3:09. “We were supposed to leave at ten, so let’s not startthatconversation.”

I wait for the long overdue apology, or an explanation, but Theo merely steps forward and takes the handle of my suitcase, brushing my hand aside. I block my senses to the fresh soap scent of him, that hint of firewood and vanilla. It’s the sweetness that gets me most; Theo is all spice, no sugar. Strange that he wears it on his skin.

“Give me your other bags so I can pack up the car. We’re leaving in five.” Tension buzzes off him like electricity. Whatever he had to do this morning, it wasn’t relaxing.

I let my backpack and camera bag slide off my shoulders, and he takes those, too, then walks toward the minivan he rented for the trip, parked in front of his house. I sigh. I’m still recovering from my disappointment when he told me we weren’t taking the Bronco.

Paul walks out of the house just then. “Good afternoon, Noelle! Ready for our adventure?”

“I can’t wait.” It’s ninety-nine percent true. The one percent is watching me, his expression unreadable.

“Shall we start the trip with a letter?” Paul pulls a slip of paper from the pocket of his khakis. My heart reaches through my ribs for that piece of Gram.

He hands it over. “Now, this one is out of order, so you’ll have to forgive me. It seemed like the right one for our trip kickoff.”

“I’m sure it’s perfect.”

I gingerly unfold the letter, struck again by the familiar loop of Gram’s handwriting.

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