Page 16 of Eighteen (18)

“You called me Sunday last night.”

“I did not.”

“You woke up about three am asking for water. And you said, Thanks, Sunday. And I said, Who the fuck is Sunday? And you said, You, dumbass. And then you grabbed my t-shirt and pulled me down, close to your face, and said—”

“I did not do any of that,” I say, laughing.

“Then how do I know you call me Sunday?”

“I don’t… know.”

He leans across the table, his face getting so close to mine I have a shock of fear that he might try to kiss me. And then he whispers, “Because you said it, Daydreams.”

He leans back into his chair again and I just stare straight ahead for a few moments. All I can do is blink silently.

“And I was gonna call you Elephant, but—” He shrugs.

My smile is big. “I like Daydreams better.”

“My favorite song by them,” he says. “Cigarette Daydreams. ‘Youuuu were only seventeen. So sweet—with a mean streak.’”

I laugh.

“‘Nearly brought me to my knees.’”

“Oh, my God.”

He stops singing. “But you’re eighteen now. So fuck. I’m a day late, aren’t I?”

I take a deep breath and let that little thrill wash over me. That thrill that says you might’ve just met someone special. “Nah, you’re right on time, Sunday.”

He stands up and get his keys, then grabs my backpack off the floor. “Ready?”

“Sure,” I say, grabbing Alesci’s leather jacket—thankful Sunday didn’t mention it again— and fall into step with him. We leave by the back door and he backs an older-model Acura out while I wait in the driveway, since the garage is too small to get in the passenger side.

I open the door and slide in next to him. The car is not new, but he takes good care of it and the leather is soft to the touch.

“I’d put some music on,” he says, flipping the car around so he can get out of the driveway without backing into the street. “But then you’d have no reason to talk to me.”

I shake my head. He’s nice. Built like a quarterback, I remind myself. And he has a handsome face. “It’s a two-minute ride to school. Not much to say.”

“You can start with something like… what happened last night?”

I frown.

“Or not. You’ll tell me eventually though.”

“How do you know that?” I watch him drive, his eyes straight ahead. He didn’t shave this morning, so he’s got more stubble than he did yesterday.

“Because you’re stuck with me now, Daydreams. I like you.”

I laugh and look out the window. “Thanks, by the way.”

“What for?” he asks, pulling up to the stop sign at Lincoln Avenue.

“Rescuing me.”

“Ha.” He laughs. “I don’t think you needed a rescue, Shannon.” When he says my name my stomach flutters. “You just needed a hand up, that’s all.”