He turns his head and looks. “No, not at the moment.”
I smile. “Good.”
“So we’re doing something right?”
“I think so.”
“About time.”
We go through the vision frame by frame until it’s almost five and I have to go. Sawyer drops me off a block from the restaurant. “Thanks,” he says. “It’s nice talking things through, you know? My family always just yells.”
“It was really nice. Sorry I was in your face.”
He leans over and we kiss, slow and sweet, and then I get out and head to work, wondering if Depressed Dad is oblivious to my nonappearance or if Angry Dad will be waiting by the back door for me.
Fifteen
Lucky for me, no one notices me slipping in because my parents are too busy admiring the shiny new ball truck in the back parking lot. I dump my coat and backpack, throw on an apron, and go out back to join them in the cold. The giant meatballs are the same, but the lettering and logo on the side of the truck are fresh and bold. Inside it’s pretty much brand-new, customized to Dad’s requests, with all new cooking equipment and fixtures and extra storage from what we were used to. It’s actually pretty nice, as food trucks go. Here’s hoping it puts Dad in a better mood.
“I hear it’s warming up this weekend,” I say, trying to pretend I’ve been here all along. “Can’t wait to try it out. There’s a food truck festival in the city. Heard about it on Twitter.” Trey snorts and gives me a look.
I grin and shrug, rubbing my arms to keep warm. My
cast snags my sweater, not for the first time. Annoying. I frown and poke the yarn into the new hole with my pinkie. “I’m going inside to see if Aunt Mary needs help,” I say.
“Me too,” Rowan says.
We run in together.
“Is Dad pissed?” I ask.
“No, he didn’t say anything. Giant balls saved the day,”
Rowan says. We clear the snow from our boots. “Sorry to put you guys in an awkward position again.” “Don’t worry,” Rowan says, hanging up her coat. She
looks over her shoulder at me and fluffs her hair before she puts it up into her usual work ponytail. “I’ll get you back.” The first customers are arriving as we check in with Aunt Mary, and my mind strays to Sawyer and the new scenes. It’s frustrating, not being able to see the vision. I feel like I’m removed from it in a big way. Like it isn’t really happening because I can’t see it, and this is just a puzzle I need to solve. Like eleven gunshots are just ricocheting in some movie I haven’t been to.
But it’s real. It’ll happen to real people, and to their
real families, whether we’re there or not. It’s the kind of horrendous tragedy that makes national headlines. And somehow, in my mind, a guy with a gun that could go off in any direction and end lives in an instant seems so much
LISA M c MANN more random and dangerous than a single snowplow hitting a single building. Like the snowplow is easier to control than one person’s arm.
Around nine we have a lull, so Mom and I are starting cleanup in the kitchen. When I feel my phone vibrating under my apron, I grab the bags of trash and run them out to the Dumpster.
“Hey,” I say. “I have about ten seconds.”
“Okay. Something wasn’t sitting right, so I went back to the library after I dropped you off. I watched the vision again, then rewound all the way and realized there’s a single frame so quick I missed it—it was just a little flash right after the short scene with the grass and sidewalk. And it took me forever to just land on it right, but finally I did, and there’s a building.”
I suck in a breath. “Okay?”
“It’s an old building with ivy on it. I can only see part of it. I sketched it. I’ll bring it tomorrow.”
“’Kay. Gotta run. Good job.” I slide the phone in my pocket again as Trey pulls up after finishing deliveries. I toss the trash in the Dumpster with my good arm and meet Trey on the way to the door.
“Slow night,” he says. “Nothing new come in?”
“Nada. You get to help us clean up.” I grin.
Before we go inside he pauses, his hand on the knob, and turns to look at me. “Is there something going on with you and Sawyer besides . . . you know. The usual kisskiss stuff?”
I try to stop my eyes from darting around guiltily, but I’ve never been good at lying to Trey. “Well, I’m not pregnant if that’s what you’re wondering. Again. Be sure and tell Dad and everyone.”
He laughs. “No, I wasn’t thinking that. Sawyer just looks…”
“Hot?”
“No. Well, yeah, but—”
“Sexay?”
He sighs. “Stressed-out.”
I just press my lips together in a grim smile and shrug.
After a minute, Trey nods. “Okay.” He starts up the steps to the restaurant and turns. “Well, if you ever need an ear.” I can tell he’s trying not to look hurt.
“Thanks, big brother,” I say, and reach out to squeeze his arm.
He messes up my hair. “Dork,” he says. He turns the handle and we go inside.
At night, when I lie in bed staring at the ceiling and watching the blinking lights from the sign outside, I think about what schools might be composed of old-looking buildings with ivy on them. The last thought I have as I drift off: Probably in the city.