“Do you really get it? How about one more iteration? If I answer, it means someone has called.”

Yes, he was still the most annoying person on the planet.

“Maybe you’ll have the desire to paint by being around the paintings,” Ms. Lin said to him like she’d had this conversation with him before. So he obviously wasn’t the artist responsible for the piece in the corner.

As I moved to leave, my dad’s words about my brother being like Jackson came back to me. Dad could’ve compared Eric to almost anyone else and I would’ve been fine. But Jackson? Maybe I just didn’t know him well enough. Maybe he had another side. But that wouldn’t matter. My dad had met only this side. And this was the side that reminded him of my brother. If I hung out with Jackson more, would I get used to him? Would this over-the-top personality become endearing?

Jackson lifted an easel over his head. “You need a body model for class, Ms. Lin? I’ve been told my physique is nearly perfect.”

Nope. That would never become endearing. This sucked because before, being around Jackson was only an irritation, but now it was depressing. My stomach hurt, my chest hurt, my head hurt. Why had my dad said that? It tainted all the things I had learned about Eric over the years.

“What did I do?” Jackson asked, and I realized I was staring. I could feel the scowl on my face and I quickly smoothed it back to uninterested.

“Nothing. See you later, Ms. Lin.”

“Wait up,” Jackson called as I left the classroom.

I walked faster but he still caught up with me. I gave myself a mental pep talk. I could be nice to Jackson. He was a nice guy. He was just helping Ms. Lin. That’s what nice guys did. “I thought you were moving easels.”

“I’m finished. She only had a few for me to stack today.”

“Lucky me.”

“So I have a serious question for you.”

Did Jackson know how to be serious? “I’m listening.”

“Was Amelia your ride home?”

“Um . . . yes. Why?” I turned to him, now wary.

“Because isn’t that her?” He pointed to the street, where I saw her yellow car, its tiny blinker going on and off, indicating she was turning left.

Why was she leaving me? I’d told her I needed to drop off my schedule and that it would only be a minute. She took longer than me in the locker room, so it shouldn’t have been a problem even if it had been more like fifteen minutes. “Did you tell her to leave me?”

Jackson’s eyes twinkled in amusement. “Why would I do that?”

“Why do you do anything?” I said more to myself, then pulled out my phone to see ten texts littering my screen. All from Amelia.

The light turned green and she turned. I called her but she didn’t answer.

“You’re in luck, Moore. I can drive you.”

“That’s okay. I’ll walk.”

“You’d rather walk than let me drive you?”

That did sound kind of stupid, but I wanted to answer yes. It was only two miles away.

“My car is dying to drive you home. This has nothing to do with me. You wouldn’t deny my car what it wants, right? It just got out of the shop.”

“Why was your car in the shop?”

“My friend thought it would be funny to see what would happen if he put milk in the gas tank. I probably don’t have to tell you that it did not end well.”

I laughed.

“Oh, now you laugh.”

“I just think it’s funny when you’re on the other end of pranks for once.”

“My life was endangered.”

I laughed again. “Milk is noncombustible. I’m sure it screwed up your car but you were safe.”

“You know about cars?”

“Not really.” Not like my brother. He and my dad had restored his truck from the engine block up. I knew my dad missed talking cars with someone, so sometimes I would humor him. “Do you?”

“Not a thing.”

This thought relieved me. It was a way he wasn’t like Eric.

“This makes you happy, for some reason? Do you hate cars?”

“No. It’s nothing.”

“So? A ride?”

“Sure. Why not?” Maybe I would learn a few more things about him that would make him different from my brother.

“This is your car?” I asked as we approached a beige sedan. It was at least twenty years old and looked like a car my grandpa would drive.

“You don’t like my Buick Century? It’s a classic.”

“No, this cannot claim that title.”

“You’re going to hurt his feelings.” He stuck the key in the lock, turned it twice to the left, once to the right, then jiggled it before pulling it back out and opening the door. I wasn’t sure if that was really necessary or if it was just something he did as a joke.

“I thought you had a Lexus.”

“Who wants a Lexus when they have the opportunity to drive this?”

“True.”

“That was my dad’s car. He let me borrow it a few times while my car was getting fixed.”

“Oh.” I climbed in and spent the entire time he walked around the car trying to buckle my seat belt.

“That one doesn’t work,” he said as he sat down. He patted the middle seat. “Guess you’ll have to sit next to me.”

“Did you break this seat belt on purpose?”

“Best pickup line ever, right? I wish I had thought of it on my own. But no, I didn’t. It legitimately broke all by itself.”

“Right.” I slid over next to him and buckled up.

He draped his arm across the back of the seat, lifted one side of his mouth into a half smile, and met my eyes. “Hey.” His eyes were green. Like my brother’s.

I scowled, and he laughed and put both hands on the wheel.

“Sorry, I’ll behave. It was just a joke,” he said.

Of course it was.

“Where to?” he asked, starting the engine.

I told him where I lived, then reached for the radio.

“It doesn’t work.”

I gasped. “How can you drive without music?”

“Well, it might be an old-car thing, but my gas pedal isn’t connected to the radio at all.”

“Funny. It’s just, I wouldn’t be able to do that.”

“But to be fair, you don’t do anything without music.”

“Music is life.” It was to me at least. It filled me up, gave me words, helped me to feel or not to feel.

“Interesting.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

It wasn’t until we were almost to my house that I remembered my brother’s truck up there on the platform like a trophy in our front yard. I knew the whole town knew the story behind it, but people still had this need to hear it from me. They wanted the details. And they’d ask in this soft, sad voice. I wasn’t ready to hear that voice from Jackson because it would sound even more fake than when other people did it.

A sharp pain shot through my right shoulder. I clutched at it, then pinched the muscle, hoping to soothe it faster.

“What’s the matter?”

“I just get shoulder cramps every once in a while.”