Page 99 of Rebel Summer

ME

Do you want me to come?

DAX

Yeah

ME

What about what you said on the boat?

DAX

We’re friends, Books. Unless you’re worried about not being able to keep your hands to yourself?

ME

Won’t be a problem.

And it wouldn’t be.

DAX

I’ll pick you up after your shift at the cafe.

ME

Sounds good, buddy.

DAX

Dork

Biology Class

Day 48

My stomach tightened as Dax dropped into his seat next to mine. So much had happened between us in the twenty-four hours since we last sat here, and every moment pinched at my nerves. I kept my gaze locked onto Mr. Gray, my back stiff and my neck straight. Every part of my being except for my eyes focused intently on the guy sitting next to me. The way he slouched in his seat, just enough to look bored but not enough to fool me into thinking he wasn’t paying attention. After a while, Mr. Gray started a documentary about ecosystems.

Dax nudged my leg with his.

I turned and met an expression brimming with mischief.

“We could use a lookout tonight. You up for it?”

“Nope,” I whispered, turning my attention back to Mr. Gray. Hating the coldness in my voice, while at the same time hiding behind it.

There had been many emotions coursing through me last night, but the shame of my dad looking at me as if I were on a brazen path of self destruction seemed to overpower everything else. I had made it my business to never give him cause to worry about me, but all it took was one moment of being in the wrong place at the wrong time for none of that to have mattered. The worst part was, my dad hadn’t even seemed surprised. Angry, yes. Disappointed, absolutely. He acted like he had always known that this would happen–that I would do something to screw up his campaign. I had already screwed up his life by just being born, so I suppose it made sense that he was just biding his time until I repeated the offense. And yet, I hadn’t even messed up. Unless you count getting into the cart with Dax. Now my dad assumed I was about to trade in all of my plans for Dax Miller.

“That boy is trouble.”

“You’ve got plans after graduation. You’d better not do anything to screw that up.”

“He’ll be in the exact same spot in ten years. Causing trouble in or in jail somewhere. Mark my words.”

I could hardly stand the guy, but my dad refused to be convinced.

Mark and Trudy Miller lived in a nice neighborhood on the south end of the island. The house was white with blue shutters and had a picket fence and a porch swing. It looked like the absolute opposite of the kind of home I expected Dax to hail from. I kept waiting for a sweet old grandmother wearing a pink cardigan to slip out the front screen to sip her iced tea on the porch.

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