What You Always Wanted (5 page)

His truck doesn't have a backseat, so we dump all the books onto the floorboard and I climb in the passenger side.

“So where do you live?” he asks, starting the engine, which gives a nice long screech before it finally idles right.

“Twin Oaks Circle.” I look out the window and focus on the other kids getting in their cars, even though I desperately want to see his reaction.

This is just like in
Sabrina
when David brings a newly made-over Sabrina home, having no clue she is the same girl who lives above his family's garage with her chauffeur father. Except I don't live above his family's garage—just across the street.

“Huh. What are the odds? That's the same road I live on.”

“Well, that's convenient.” I press my lips together to keep from smiling and continue to stare out the window as we merge into traffic.

Jesse runs through the same questions I've grown sick of answering today, about where I'm from and whether I'm a Cubs or a White Sox fan (I tell him the Cubbies, but only because Dad and Rider root for them—I don't watch televised sports. Or live sports . . .). He asks if I have any siblings, and I tell him about my older brother, Rider, who moved off to Texas State University. Not only does it have a reputation for being a party school, but also it was supposed to be super far from his family. So what do we do? We relocate within a few hours' drive of him.

I'm sort of glad, though. We were just starting to get close again when he moved. Not that I have a car to visit him with. I really need to look for a job.

His phone dings a few times in a row.

“Want me to see who it is?” I offer.

“No. I'm sure it's just my dad,” he says. “Which house is yours?”

I study our surroundings. “Um . . . I think it's on the right after this curve.” My stomach clenches. He's going to see how small and gross my house is. I should have thought this through.

“You're kidding.” He turns down my driveway, the rocks crunching together under the tires. “My house is just across from yours.”

“Huh. What are the odds?” It's probably not a great idea dragging it out this long. I'm going to have to tell him I met his mom and sisters days ago.

I slide out of the truck and we haul my homework load up to the house. I pause at the top of the porch steps when I realize I'm missing a rather important metal object.

“What is it?” Jesse asks.

“I don't have a key.”

“How do you not have a key to your house?” He sighs and sets the books down by the door.

I stifle my annoyance. It's a legit question, one I probably would have asked too. “For one, no car equals no key ring. Two, we haven't even changed the locks yet after the previous owners, so we haven't made copies. Three . . . well, there is no three. Those are all my excuses.”

“You really should change your locks. Those people were . . . shady.”

“Great,” I laugh. First they're grubby, now shady. Where the bleep did we move? “I'll remind my dad when he gets home tonight.”

We don't have any outdoor furniture on the porch, so Jesse sits on the concrete, his long legs sloping down the steps.

“What are you doing?”

“Waiting with you for your mom,” he says without looking back at me.

I sit on the top step and lean my back against the post. “You don't have to do that, you know.”

“It would be pretty shiesty of me to just dump you off on the porch and leave.” He taps the toes of his boots together. “I would say we could wait in the truck, but she overheats sometimes. I don't like to push her. We could go to my house, if you want.”

I pull my phone out of my purse and check the time. “By the time we got over there, you'd probably have to just bring me home again. Really, I don't mind waiting alone. I'm sure you have to get ready for work.”

He stretches back and rests on his palms as if to say he's not going anywhere.

“Where do you work, anyway?”

He groans. “Maria Tortilla,” he says with an unexpected accent. I wait for him to elaborate. “A Mexican restaurant off the highway.”

“That bad, huh? Are you a busboy or something? Dishwasher?”

“Food runner. It's not too awful. Just a little embarrassing.”

“Why?”

“Well, my dad sort of pushed the job on me. Thought it would help my Spanish.”

I eye him curiously. “You need help with your Spanish?”

“Don't
you
?” he shoots back.

“Uh, yeah, but—”

“But?”

I hesitate before telling him what I'm thinking. “You look like you'd be fluent already.”

He laughs from his gut. “The language doesn't come from the look. My mom doesn't speak Spanish so my dad doesn't speak it much at home. I understand most of what I hear, but my pronunciation is off a bit. He wanted me to work somewhere I'd be around fluent speakers.”

“Well, that's smart, I guess,” I say.

“I don't really see the point. Everyone speaks English here. It's not like I'm gonna move to Mexico.”

Now it's my turn to laugh. “Well, I wouldn't mind learning French, and I highly doubt I'll be moving to France at any point in my life.”

Jesse closes his eyes and inhales deeply, only a slight smile left. And I feel the strong pull of a subject change mixed with self-consciousness about my living situation.

“I'm sorry there's no porch swing or anything.”
Or money for said porch swing
. “It's sort of a transitional home as we get used to the area. Dad wants to flip it.” I hope he can't tell how much I'm stretching the truth. “I'm not sure how long we'll be here.” Translation: I hope Dad's new job works out so we can get out of this dump.

Ma's car pulls up the drive. She veers around Jesse's truck and parks in front of it.

“I'm so sorry, hon,” she says as she climbs out. She looks exhausted, dark circles under her eyes. I knew she should have gone back to bed instead of running errands all day for this stupid house.

She pops the trunk and pulls out a few bags. Jesse rushes over to her, taking the rest of the sacks and a couple gallons of paint. I'm watching it happen, and I don't even understand how he's carrying it all.

“Ma, this is Jesse. He lives across the street.” I take the keys from her.

“Ma'am,” he says.

Her smile spreads, and we file into the house. I cringe at the sight of boxes stacked high along the walls. What's left of our life back home. Everything that could fetch a price was sold before the move. Nothing like seeing your inheritance spread among your friends whose families still get to be rich.

I pray Jesse doesn't look too closely. I don't think the carpets have been cleaned. Ever.

“Jesse,” Ma says, “thank you so much for bringing her home. I was running so late. My whole day just got off schedule.”

“Where's the cake?” I ask, investigating the bags when we set everything on the kitchen counter.

She claps a hand over her mouth. “I can't believe I forgot. I even walked right through the bakery section to get to the produce. I'm so sorry.”

“Is today your birthday or something?” Jesse asks.

He directed the question to me, but Ma starts rambling in a voice that's much higher pitched than normal. “She loves cake. Yellow cake with chocolate icing. I usually make it for special occasions. Like today. The first day of a new school year.” She drops down on a bar stool, looking so upset with herself I'm pretty sure she's about to cry.

Jesse takes a few steps back, eyes widened. “I'm gonna get your books from the porch,” he says before disappearing to the front room.

I turn to Ma and flip my acting switch so she doesn't know I'm disappointed.

“It's fine, really. I have so much reading to do, I'm just going to eat a bowl of cereal in my room and blaze through it all. Why don't you go rest? Take a nap or something.”

“I think I need to. Just for a little while.” She wraps her arms around me and squeezes tight before setting the bag with the cold items in the fridge and heading to her room.

Jesse comes back then. “I put them on the dining table.”

My shoulders relax as I exhale. I'm so tired, I don't even filter my words. “You're sort of wonderful.”

He laughs, and I walk him outside.

“Thanks for the ride.”
And for carrying my books like we're going steady
.

“Need a lift to school in the morning?” he asks, scratching his chin, which I don't understand because he has zero facial hair. There should be no itching.

“Thanks, but I already have a carpool set up.”

He cocks his head to the side. “Who with?”

“Angela.” I back into the door opening and reach for the knob. “Your sister.” I start to close the door to avoid questions. “I'll see you tomorrow.”

He shakes his head and smiles. “See you tomorrow, Maddie Brooks.”

Brooks? How do you know my . . . ?

He winks and lets that sink in before I watch him saunter to his truck. Jesse Morales knew who I was all along.

CHAPTER FIVE

After Economics, I head straight to English without stopping at my locker. Only a few people make it before me, so I slip into the same desk by the window that I had yesterday and skim over last night's reading in case I end up having to answer questions about it.

A handful of kids filter in, and I spot Jesse among them, backpack slung over one shoulder, the sleeves of his black shirt rolled up to the elbows. He takes the seat next to me again.

As I debate whether to say hello or let him say it first, he beats me to it. “Maddie Brooks.”

“Jesse Morales.”

“Guess what I ate last night.”

Eyebrow raised, I slap my literature book closed and twist my body toward him. I search the outer reaches of my brain for
anything that might have attained significance in our twenty-four-hour relationship.

No.

“If you say cake I'm going to kick you.”

“Cake.” He laughs. “But you can't injure me. I'm important. I accept verbal assault only.”

“Ugh, no fair.
I
was promised cake.” I face forward and flip through my book without focusing on anything.

Curtis slips in just in the nick of time, does his handshake thing with Jesse—who again calls him Red—and sits in front of me. Mr. McCaffey walks in and shuffles some papers on his desk. The bell's going to ring any second.

I face Jesse and speak low. “Do you think I could catch a ride home again today after school?” Ma's planning another day of errands, so I'd like to have something lined up just in case. Plus, he's already seen where I live and he's still talking to me.

“Can't.” Jesse opens his notebook and clicks his pen. “Baseball meeting.”

“Oh, that's fine. I'll figure something out.”

I thought it would be a simple solution to my car-less plight to go to school every morning with Angela and ride home every afternoon with Jesse. Doesn't look like that will happen.

“I can tomorrow, though,” he adds.

“I'll bring you home today.” Curtis turns to me, the tips of his cheeks pink.

Jesse laughs. “What? The meeting involves you too, genius.”

“I can come back. How important could it be? Baseball doesn't even start for real until, like, January.” He looks at me. “I can take you. No problem.”

“Oh, um—”

“Coach isn't gonna let you skip, Red,” Jesse says, kicking the leg of Curtis's chair with a boot. “Not if you're serious about preseason tournaments.”

“I'm confused,” I say. “Is his name Curtis or Red?”

“
He
is sitting right here. My name is Curtis. Friends call me Red.”

Jesse looks at me. “You can call him Red too.”

“But where did that come from?” I ask. “He's almost blond.”

“Still right here,” Red says, shaking his head. “And it's a story you won't be hearing until I get to know you better. Like during lunch. Sit with me.”