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“My God,” I tell him. “You really are a nerd.”
* * *
We walk home in the dark and we have the sidewalks to ourselves. The neighborhood feels safe, quiet, peaceful. Adrian plays tour guide, pointing out the houses of his most notorious high school classmates, like The Dude Who Rolled His Parents’ SUV and The Girl Who Had to Change Schools After a Scandalous TikTok Video. I get the sense he knows everyone in Spring Brook, that his high school years were like a glossy Netflix teen drama, one of those silly soap operas where everyone is beautiful and the outcome of a varsity football game has life-altering consequences.
Then he points to a house on the corner and tells me it’s where Tracy Bantam grew up.
“Should I know who that is?”
“The point guard for the Lady Lions. Penn State’s women’s basketball team. I figured you knew each other.”
“Penn State is enormous,” I tell him. “There are fifty thousand students.”
“I know, I just figured all the jocks went to the same parties.”
I don’t answer Adrian right away. He’s giving me the perfect opportunity to come clean. I should tell him it was a stupid joke, a game I play with strangers. Clear up the truth before our relationship goes any further. I think it’s possible he’ll understand.
Except I can’t tell Adrian part of the truth without telling him the whole truth. If I tell him that I never actually went to college, I’ll have to explain how I’ve spent the last few years—and there’s no way I’m ready to get into all that, not right now, not when we’re having such a nice conversation. So I just change the subject.
We arrive at the Flower Castle but Adrian says he’ll walk me home and I don’t object. He asks where I’m from and he’s surprised to learn that I grew up in South Philly, that I could see Citizens Bank Park from my bedroom window. “You don’t sound like you’re from the city.”
I give him my best Rocky Balboa: “Yo, Adrian! You tink we all tawk like dis?”
“It’s not your voice. It’s the way you present yourself. You’re so positive. You’re not jaded like everyone else.”
Oh, Adrian, I think to myself. You really have no idea.
He asks, “Are your parents still in South Philly?”
“Just my mom. They split up when I was young, and my dad moved to Houston. I hardly know him.”
This is all true, so I think my answer sounds fairly convincing, but then Adrian asks if I have any siblings.
“Just one sister. Beth.”
“Older or younger?”
“Younger. She’s thirteen.”
“Does she go to your meets?”
“All the time. It’s three hours in the car, one way, but if it’s a home race my mother and sister always come.” And my voice catches—I don’t know why I’m saying all this stuff. I want to be honest with him, to have a real relationship, and instead I’m just piling on more lies.
But as I walk these moonlit sidewalks with this very sweet and handsome lawn boy, it’s so easy to surrender to fantasy. My real past feels a million miles away.
When we finally reach the Maxwells’ house, it’s dark. It’s after ten thirty and everyone must be in bed. We follow the tiny flagstone path around the side of the house and it’s even darker out back, with just the shimmering blue light of the pool to guide the way.
Adrian squints across the yard, scanning the trees for the outline of my cottage. “Where’s your house?”
I can’t see it, either. “Somewhere back in those trees. I left the porch light on, but I guess the bulb burned out.”
“Hmmph. That’s weird.”
“Is it?”
“After all the stories you just told me? I don’t know.”
We walk across the lawn to the cottage, and Adrian waits on the grass while I climb the steps to my porch. I try the door and it’s still locked, so I reach for my keys. Suddenly I’m grateful to Caroline for insisting I put the Viper on my key chain. “Maybe I’ll just look inside for a minute. Would you mind waiting?”