Page 41 of The Sun
“Hey,” Daisy said as we filed down the faded-red carpet that lined the aisle. “We don’t have to go eat with your parents, do we?
“No.”
“Good.”
A group of kids from school stood in a semi-circle by the exit with Ben and Brandon in the middle. Brandon smiled at me, but Ben didn’t even glance in our direction. I did my obligatory wave at Brandon and then shifted my narrowed gaze at Ben who was making googly eyes at some blonde from Lockhart.
Daisy’s shoulders sagged.
“Ugh.” I shoved open the heavy, wooden door, squinting against the sunshine when I stepped outside. “Guys are such dicks.”
The lady who ran the Meals on Wheels service, gasped then clucked her tongue disapprovingly.
“Like that old bat hasn’t said worse things.” Daisy leaned into me on our way to my car. “Mother said she was a stripper back in the sixties.”
I glanced over my shoulder, trying to imagine the gray-haired lady in the floral-print dress swinging around a pole. “No. Way.” I opened my car door and let the trapped heat roll out before climbing in and cranking the engine.
Daisy placed her bare feet on the dash and hitched up her dress to the top of her thighs. “Alabama needs to learn the damn seasons.” She cranked up the air conditioner to full blast.
“It’s not officially fall,” I said.
“Yeah, and I’m not officially a citizen of hell yet, either. This heat is stupid.” She huffed. “So, you didn’t tell me how your date went.”
“You mean the one you forced upon me?” I shifted the gear into drive. “And don’t roll your eyes. You know I didn’t want to go on that date.”
“Was it that bad?”
“No.”
“Exactly!”
“But I’m just not into him like that.” Mussafer’s Z71 came barreling through the parking lot, an engine snorkel sticking up from the hood. I had to slam on my brakes to keep from T-boning him. “Shit.”
“You’re crazy! How can you not be into Brandon McClure?”
“I’m just. . . ”Elias. Elias. Elias.“Not.”
She sighed like she was either put out or disappointed, then skipped the CD to song number two, cocking a brow when the beat started. “This is your anthem.”
By the time I pulled into my drive, Daisy had played “Losing My Religion” three times. Definitely not my theme song but probably hers.
We got snacks from the pantry, went straight to my room, closed my door, and then piled on my bed and turned onAmerican Pie.
Halfway through the movie and a box of Crunch and Munch, Daisy rolled onto her side. “What do you think it is about band camp?”
“Huh?”
She helped herself to a fistful of the caramel-coated snack and crammed it in her mouth. “Seems like everyone gets freaky at band camp. I mean, I thought band people were like. I don’t know, not focused on sex or something. They’re all quiet and sit right at the front of the class.”
I blinked a few times. I loved Daisy, but sometimes she was ridiculous. “Wow. Judgey Mc Judgerson?”
“Come on, Sunny. In all these movies the band geeks get knocked up. Doing stuff with their flutes on their girlfriends.” She zoned out for a second, then shoveled more food in her mouth. “I heard that Betty Minkle did something with a trombone that you just don’t want to know.”
I didn’t want to know about Betty Minkle—or anyone for that matter—doing anything with a trombone aside from playing it. Shaking my head, I used my hands as earmuffs. “Nope. Do not want to hear.”
Daisy pried my hands away from my head and pushed my arms down to my sides. I gave her a menacing look, hoping she understood I’d shove her right off the bed if she so much as breathed a word about what happened with that trombone.
“How are you supposed to make a guy like you?”
