Page 11 of By the Book

“And that was the THIRD time we thought they were going to KISS!”

My mom’s eyes were wide and, I thought, a little glassy.

“And the FOURTH time we thought they were going to kiss was when Dash TRIPPED. And Bobby CAUGHT HIM!” Millie sounded like she was wrapped up in the drama of it all over again—not that there had been much drama. Keme had left his sneakers on the stairs, and I’d only been half-awake (it had been eleven o’clock in the morning—sue me), and Bobby had been, well, in the perfect position. In that particular instant, for the record, I hadn’t been thinking about kissing Bobby. I’d been thinking about the fact that I was wearing a ratty old SEGA tank I like to sleep in, and a pair of boxer shorts printed with monkeysand the wordsLet’s monkey around. It had been number seven on my list of most embarrassing moments of my life, but having Millie tell it at a party was nudging it up toward number six.

As I opened my mouth to intervene—hopefully before Millie could talk about the fifth time they’d all thought we were going to kiss, which was when Bobby wiped frosting off my lip, and it was Indira’s homemade chocolate buttercream, and at that exact moment, a rainbow appeared in the sky—I caught the tail end of what my dad was saying.

“—right size for your hand. You look like a natural—we need to get you out on the range.”

Thenaturalin question turned out to be Keme. Who was holding my dad’s gun. He said something I couldn’t hear.

Whatever it was, my dad nodded approvingly. “You’re eighteen, aren’t you? And you’re a citizen of the United States. I’ll talk to Dashiell, and we’ll get it all sorted out.”

“Mr. Dane,” Indira said, “I don’t feel comfortable—”

“Ma’am,” my dad said, “I have to tell you what a pleasure it is to meet you. Dash has only ever had the highest praise for you. We need more people like you—people with the good sense to know that what matters most in life is protecting the people you love. My son is lucky to have someone like you.” And then, without missing a beat, he added, “I sleep better knowing there’s a responsible citizen taking advantage of her Second Amendment right who’s willing to protect my son.”

Indira. Actually. Preened.

I forgot about the wizard costume pictures. I forgot about Millie’s list (the sixth time we had almost kissed had been when Bobby and I had gotten home from a run in the rain, and there’d been a really loud thunderclap, and all the hair on my arms had stood up, and Bobby had PUT HIS HAND ON MY SHOULDER—Millie voice).

I marched over to my dad, looked at Keme, and said, “Absolutely not.”

He glared back at me.

“Is that loaded?” I asked my dad.

“He’s just holding it—”

“Give it to me.” I took the gun and held it out to my dad. “Lock it up.”

“He’s an adult, Dashiell.”

“No guns.”

“We were having a conversation, that’s all.”

“My house, my rules. No guns.”

My dad made a face, but he took the pistol and nodded.

“Indira carries her gun in her purse,” I informed him. “How’s that for responsible? And what about Bobby? Bobby is adeputy. Bobby’s whole job is to carry a gun and protect me.”

My dad nodded, but it looked like he was trying to keep a straight face, and his voice held a note of suppressed laughter as he asked, “What does he carry? A nine-millimeter?”

For some reason, that made all three of them burst out laughing. Even Indira, although she had the decency to look slightly ashamed of herself.

“Okay,” I said. “We’re done. Stop talking to these traitors—who are supposed to be my friends—and go play your harp or your fife or whatever you’re supposed to be playing.”

“Dashiell,” my mom said, “don’t be rude.”

“I hate to be a pest,” Fox said in the tone of someone afraid the conversation was wandering off-topic, “but you did mention a faux hawk phase—”

“Stage. Medieval folk music. Now.”

My mom sighed to let everyone know how unreasonable I was being. My dad rolled his eyes. They did, however, start toward the temporary stage we’d erected at the far end of the room. Fox looked bereft. Millie looked like she had more to say.Keme looked like an eighteen-year-old who had just realized he could legally acquire a firearm.

I gave my friends an imperious, sweeping glance—a kind of nonverbalYou all should be ashamed of yourselves. And then I stalked off to find Bobby.

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