I laughed, then sniffled. “Yes! And do you want to know the worst part about it? It didn’t matter. They didn’t want to go to the awards ceremony. They still chose him.”

He seemed to analyze my comment. “Was it a choice between an event for him and one for you?”

I let out a humorless laugh. “Yes, actually, it was.”

“But that’s not fair. I mean, that would be hard for a parent to have to choose between their kids. You must’ve wanted to support him too because you obviously missed your own awards ceremony if you were just getting that award today.”

“I did miss my awards ceremony. For his charity banquet.”

“I’m sure he appreciated it.”

“He didn’t.”

“Unless he told you that he didn’t, you can’t just assume—”

“He’s dead.”

He cussed under his breath, then his eyebrows shot up. “Well, technically you still can’t assume he didn’t appreciate it.”

I laughed.

“Now you laugh at me?”

“I already cried enough, right?”

“I’m sorry. When did he . . .”

“Die?”

“Yes.”

“Eighteen years ago.”

“So . . .”

“I didn’t know him. He died of cancer before I was born. That truck on our lawn? That’s his truck. It’s been there for eighteen years.” I put my head back against the seat. “If that truck won an award the same night I did, they would go to its ceremony over mine because it belonged to my brother.”

“But what if the truck won an award the same night as the charity dinner?” He was trying to make me laugh again. It kind of worked.

“The truck would be out of luck.”

“And the truck would have a right to be pissed.”

I laughed louder this time. “Really? In this fake scenario you’ve presented, you think my parents should pick the truck’s award ceremony over my brother’s charity dinner?”

“Well, no, but in my head that was a much better metaphor where I was making you the truck and telling you that you have a right to be pissed.”

I smiled. “Yeah, I got that.”

He wasn’t smiling anymore. “Did you? Because, Moore . . .” He met my eyes. “You have a right to be pissed.”

“I am.” I pressed my palms to my eyes, even though I knew that was just going to make a bigger mess of my mascara. “But mostly I’m just sad.”

I brought my knees up on the seat with me and hugged them against my chest, resting my forehead on them while more tears fell. This was so embarrassing. “You have to promise me this doesn’t leave your car.”

“Nobody would believe me anyway.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Moore. Tough, competitive, stoic swim star. You’re kind of known for walking through the halls in the zone. Your headphones in. Your game face on. Your veins pumping chlorine.”

“Okay, I get it.” I had been shutting out my problems, and apparently people, for years, trying not to think about how I felt second-best in my home.

Jackson moved next to me and put his arm around my shoulders. Because of my compact position, I fell against him. I thought about pushing away but I was already there and it felt nice, so instead, I turned my upper body toward his, wrapped my arms around his torso, and didn’t try to stop the tears.

His hands went to my back, where they softly ran up and down. Soon they were the only thing I felt, his hands, sending tingles along my spine. I had to remind myself four times that he was still annoying. Very, very annoying. This changed nothing.

He cleared his throat, and as if to prove me right, said, “It’s kind of nice to know you have weaknesses like the rest of us. I mean, your problems aren’t as bad as most people’s but you do actually cry over them.”

I let out a single laugh and shoved away from him. “You know, you’re really cute when you keep your mouth shut.”

His half smile, the one he wore a lot, came onto his face. “You think I’m cute?”

“No, because you can never keep your mouth shut.”

“Fair enough.”

He was cute, getting cuter by the second, it seemed.

“So does this mean we’re friends now?” he asked.

“Until I see you making a fool of yourself at school again.”

“So until tomorrow, then?”

I nodded. “Exactly.”

We stared out the windshield together toward the lake below.

“I wish I were better at advice,” he said. “I’ve been trying to think of something cool or comforting to say for the last half an hour and all I can come up with are stupid jokes.”

“Jokes? I’m surprised. That doesn’t sound like you.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“I have some advice for you,” I said.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yes. Run away from the mess that I am right now. Nobody needs all this drama in their lives.” I flipped down the visor, looking for a mirror but there wasn’t one.

“Huh. You’re not very good at advice either, it sounds like. But I can’t even come up with bad advice right now.”

I stretched toward the rearview mirror instead and worked at the mascara beneath my eyes. “It’s okay. There’s really nothing to say. I need to get over this weird competition I have with my brother. It’s not like I can confront him. And I should talk to my parents about how I feel. It’s not that I think they don’t love me or anything. I know they do. Maybe they just don’t realize how what they do makes me feel sometimes.”

“Your parents seem really cool. They both couldn’t stop bragging about you. I mean, neither of them mentioned your brother once at the swim meet the other day. That has to count for something.”

I leaned back against the seat. “Did you let them talk?”

He laughed.

“You’re right, my parents are cool. But we all live in the past.”

“So are you going to talk to them?”

“I’m scared.”

“Of what?”

“I’m scared that even if I talk to them about how I feel, they’ll still choose him.”

“You need to talk to them. You have to give them the opportunity to prove you wrong.”

I closed my eyes and smiled. “And you said you were bad at advice.”

His hand closed over mine and he twined our fingers together. “I’m even worse at taking it.”

Twenty-Two

It was two days later and I swore I could still feel the pressure of Jackson’s fingers between mine. He had held my hand in the car that day until I was ready to leave. He’d then driven me home, not once asking if I wanted to go back to school. And that made it seem perfectly acceptable that I didn’t.

When we’d arrived at my place, he gave my brother’s truck a good long stare, very unlike the reaction he’d had the first time he’d seen it. Then he punched my shoulder, like we were pals, and I got out and walked away a little confused as to what now existed between us. I was still confused. That day he’d rescued me I wasn’t myself. I was emotional and vulnerable and wasn’t thinking straight. I shouldn’t have told him half the things I did.