“Depends.”
“Oh.”
“It could mean that. But it might not.”
“Oh. Well, do you know if . . . if people who see visions, do those visions ever, like, happen?”
“What do you mean?”
“Like can people see something in the future and know something’s going to happen, and then it actually happens?”
He tilts his head and looks at me over his reading glasses. “Where are you headed with this? You mean like fortune-tellers? Psychics?”
I look at the floor, which has black scuff marks all over it. “I guess.”
“There’s a lot of debate about that. You could probably do some research on it and find out, you know.”
I nod. “Okay. Yeah, I know. I will. Thanks.”
“Anytime.”
“See you tomorrow.”
Mr. Polselli smiles and pushes his glasses up, resuming his grading. I check the hallway to be sure Sawyer is gone and make my way to the parking lot.
When I round the corner of the building, I run into him. Not literally, thank dog. But now that I think of it, I owe him a crash.
He’s standing next to his car, his door open and his arm draped over it, talking to two of the girls—Roxie and Sarah—who were in my family’s restaurant the night Angotti’s was closed for the wedding reception. He’s giving them that charming smile.
I stop short, then divert my path to get to my giant meatball truck, which is so inconspicuous I’m sure no one will notice me driving it out of here. I glance at him and he’s looking at me, frowning, talking to the girls. They turn my way, and I barrel down a row of cars to the back of the parking lot, my face burning.
Rowan is standing—no, hopping—outside the truck, waiting for me. “Finally!” she says. Then she narrows her eyes and looks past me. “What does he want?”
I turn around, and Sawyer’s jogging toward me. Alone. My eyes pop open and I get this twisty thing in my gut. I look at Rowan. “Get in the truck,” I say, unlocking her door. “Now.”
“Sheesh,” she says, but she gets in and closes the door, then stares at us. I turn my back to her as Sawyer slows to a walk a few feet away.
I shift my weight to one hip and lean against the door. “What.”
He stops and flips his car keys around his finger a few times. His breath comes out in a cloud. “Yeah, um, sorry my dad freaked out and called your dad. I couldn’t stop him.”
I just look at him and hug my books to my chest. “My dad flipped out.”
“I figured.”
“I shouldn’t have gone to your place.”
He shrugs. “You’re pro’ly right.”
“I told my dad it was for an assignment for psych class.”
He drops his gaze and gets that half grin on his face. “I’m not actually taking psych.”
“Great.” I’m such an idiot. I squint at the snow-covered pavement, which is brighter than white today because the sun’s actually out. It’s cold enough that it hasn’t melted. But heat climbs up my neck to my cheeks when I think about how mad my father was.
Sawyer kicks a hunk of dirty snow from under my truck and says nothing.
“So, okay, then,” I say. Every second that passes, I feel more and more stupid, and I don’t like the lump that’s forming in my throat. I try to clear it, but I can’t control it. It’s getting bigger. “I guess I don’t really need the drama,” I say, “of a . . . a restraining order, y’know, against my whole family.” The words are getting louder as an anger I didn’t know I had builds up inside me.
He looks at me with alarm, neither one of us expecting this, but I can’t stop. “So I guess after all those years of secret friendship, which you totally threw in the trash after I, like, was so scary that I smiled at you in public, in front of your dad, and then had the audacity to enter your restaurant almost four years later and throw everybody into a wild fit . . . well, I guess I’ll just see you, you know, never. Oh, and thanks for telling everybody I’m insane.” I reach blindly for the truck door and open it.
“Jesus, Jules.” His arm shoots out and he pushes the door shut. “I said I’m sorry. And . . . holy shit, I don’t really know what to say about all of that in the middle there . . . I—I didn’t know you ever thought about that anymore.” He blinks his long stupid lashes at me. “But I promise I didn’t tell anybody you’re insane.” He steps back and straightens his jacket collar. “I figured it was, I don’t know. Just weird.”
Angry tears burn at the corners of my eyes, and I will them with all my might not to fall. I glance through the window at Rowan, who’s sitting up, looking like she’s ready to jump out of the vehicle and attack. I shake my head at her, trying to reassure her with a shaky smile. “Okay, fine,” is all I can think of to say. He thinks I’m weird. “I need to go.”
“And I—don’t know what to say about the rest.”
“Yeah. You said that.” I reach for the door handle again.
“So, you know, are you?” He shoves his dangly keys into his coat pocket suddenly and coughs.
I look at him. “Am I . . . what?”
His face is red and he can’t look at me. “Never mind. I’m an idiot. See you.” He turns to go.
And then I get it. “Am I insane? Is that what you mean?”