Page 112 of Lovers Like Us
My cousins start marking their scores, and Thatcher takes the driver’s seat, letting Akara return to thelounge.
I rest my elbows on my knees,hunched.
“What are you feeling?” Farrow asksme.
“Lightly spinning,” I tell Farrow. “It’s not that bad right now…” I lose track of my thought as Charlie appears. He drops down from his bunk and determinedly beelines for thedriver.
I can overhear him through the music and chatter. “Stop the bus at the next exit,” he tells Thatcher. “You need to park at the DairyQueen.”
What?I call out to Charlie, “It’s Christmas Eve. Dairy Queen isn’topen.”
Charlie ignoresme.
I bottle whatever weird feeling sits in my stomach and head. My shoulders more squared.Alert.
Thatcher turns the wheel, the bus coasting along the exit ramp. “Is there a reason?” he asksCharlie.
“You’ll see in a second,” Charlie says, more concerned than usual. His arms crossed over his chest. He even stays at the front of thebus.
Beckett shuts off the music and stops video-recording. Everyone isquiet.
Oscar pushes to the front and speaks hushed to Charlie, who barely responds. Chatter escalates again, and I give Janie a look. “I wish he’d share something withus.”
“We don’t know what it is yet,” shewhispers.
Farrow wraps an arm around my waist. I want to lean my weight into him, but my joints feel unoiled andimmovable.
I’m onguard.
Maybe Charlie can feel my glare drilling into him. Because he swings his head over his shoulder and says, “Patience isn’t a strong suit ofyours.”
“Then tell me why we’re going to Dairy Queen,” Iretort.
Charlie messes his already messy hair. “You always have to be in everyone’s business. Just relax. Take a back seat for once in your life.” Spite drips off thosewords.
“I don’t want to drive your fucking car, Charlie. I just want to know where the destinationis.”
“I thought we were going to Dairy Queen,” Donnelly says to break thetension.
It doesn’twork.
Nothingeverworks when it comes to Charlie and me. The bus rolls to a stop, and an unlit Dairy Queen appears outside the window. Parking lot empty except for a green beat-up Jetta that I don’trecognize.
As soon as the bus idles, a knock pounds thedoor.
Istiffen.
Who the hell did Charlie invite on thebus?
Thatcher unbuckles, and he’s the first to head down the stairs and unlock the door. I hear him apologize about his underwear, and he warns the person about thecontest.
It’s agirl.
I just know it’s agirl.
I stand. Farrowstands.
My pulse thumps a mile-a-minute. Footsteps sound on the steps, and then…my little sister pops into view. Light brown hair tied in a loose topbun.
