I still haven’t come up with a way to salvage the evening when we reach my faded white car. It isn’t much to look at, but it has a working AC, which was pretty much my only requirement. I open the door for Hannah, hoping it will prove I’m not a total psycho. She doesn’t seem impressed. Not that I blame her.
The drive back is torture. I’ve never noticed how many noises my car makes—but I’ve never had such a quiet passenger. I’ve also never noticed how many lights Highway 111 has. It’s the main road that connects all the desert cities together, so there’s a signal. At every. Freaking. Block. And, of course, tonight they’re all red.
Thanks a lot, universe.
We’re about halfway home, just entering the string of “affordable cities” in the valley, when Hannah finally speaks.
“You gonna tell me what happened?”
I drag out a sigh, stalling for time. “I . . . thought I saw someone I knew.” It sounds lame even to me.
“Did you used to date her?”
Ha—I wish.
Fortunately, I stop myself from saying that out loud. I can hear the hurt in Hannah’s voice.
But it’s nice to know that Hannah really did see her—even though I have no idea what that means.
I stare at the dark, empty road. “It’s not what you’re thinking. It’s not like . . .”
“Like what?” she asks when I don’t finish.
I take my eyes off the street long enough to look at her. “I would never chase after some hot girl when I’m with someone else—not that the girl’s hot. I mean, okay, she is—but . . . that isn’t why I cared.”
“Why did you care?”
I wish I knew.
“She’s just . . . someone from my past.”
It isn’t a lie, but it isn’t the truth, either. She isn’t just someone. She’s the girl. The one I’ve been dreaming about since the day I woke up in that pile of rubble and found my whole world torn apart. The only clue to my past. The only thing I see when I close my eyes.
She’s aged in my dreams. Grown up along with me. Which is the most confusing part. What kind of dream does that? And what kind of dream girl walks into Yard House?
The dreams are insanely vivid, too. Every night it’s like she’s in my room, leaning over me, watching me with eyes so dark blue, they’re almost black. Her long, dark hair tickling my skin. Her lips whispering sounds I can’t understand as they float through my mind. But when I wake up, I’m alone. Nothing but silence, and a faint breeze swirling through the air even though my window’s locked tight.
It all sounds so crazy.
But I’m not crazy.
I don’t know how to explain it—but one of these days I’ll figure it out.
I turn down Shelby’s street, searching the row of single-story houses for the gray pueblo-style one Shelby’s parents own. The rounded architecture might look cool, if normal, flat-roofed houses didn’t surround it. La Quinta’s random like that, like no one could make up their minds what to build here.
Isaac’s beat-up truck is out front, so I switch my phone off. He won’t be happy with me when I drop Hannah off so early.
Hannah gathers her purse as I slow to a stop, but I don’t unlock her door. I can’t let the night end like this.
“I’m really sorry,” I say, realizing I never apologized. “I was actually having a nice time, before I ruined everything.”
“Me too.” She tucks her hair behind her ears.
She looks so shy. So vulnerable. So different from the girl haunting me.
Maybe Hannah will make her go away.
I have to get over my obsession before she ruins my life.
A couple of June bugs—dumbest bugs on the planet—knock into the windshield, shattering the silence between us. I come to a decision.
“Can I . . . maybe have a chance to redeem myself?” I ask, ignoring the voice in my head begging me to let it go.
A half smile spreads across her lips. “Maybe—but only if you promise no Canadian jokes.”
“Aw, come on, you have to give me at least one, eh?”
She laughs. Even though it sounds forced, I can tell things are on the mend. I’ll have to be on absolute perfect behavior, but if I can pull that off things might be okay. And it surprises me how much I want them to be okay.
I don’t want to be the crazy guy chasing a mystery girl. I want to be a normal guy who hangs out with his friends and has a summer fling with the cute girl from Canada.
So I get out of the car and walk her to the door, the sticky air smothering us as we stand under the porch light. Moths fly at our heads and crickets chirp in the bushes and our eyes meet. I have no idea what the look on my face says—but her expression seems to say, Why not?
I can’t agree more. It’s time to take control of my life.
My stomach does back flips as I step toward her, and I try to tell myself the sourness rising in my throat is nerves. I refuse to feel guilty for cheating on a girl I’ve never met. A girl I’m still not sure is real.
My hand cradles Hannah’s cheek, which is slightly cool from the car’s AC. She closes her eyes, and I close mine and lean in, hardly able to believe I’m finally doing this.