whatever,” I tell him coolly. “Give me a minute.”
I scoot back through the window, carefully wedging it down, and then hurry downstairs. It seems like a good idea to make him wait for a while, just so he doesn’t think I’m dying to hear whatever it is he has to say. Even if I kind of am.
I stand at the front door and count to thirty before I open it. Jake is still standing in the same spot, stomping out his cigarette, and instead of approaching me, he just cocks his head to the side until I march over.
“What do you want?” I huff.
I want to know what’s going on, but if he keeps this up, forget it. I’ve never been the kind of girl to beg. I’m definitely not about to start now.
He grabs my arm and hauls me behind the towering oak tree at the edge of the lawn. “Let’s talk in there,” he says, jerking his chin toward the van parked right on the curb.
I glance around to see if anyone is in earshot. Our old neighbor Mr. Jones is mowing his lawn, and some woman pushes a stroller down the sidewalk. When the woman passes, she gives us a strange look, but then the baby starts wailing and diverts her attention.
I stare at Jake blankly. “Yeah, that’s not happening.”
“What? Why not?”
“Sketchy black van? Weird stalking of my house? What are you going to do next, offer me some candy?” I scoff. “Sorry, I saw that Dateline special, thank you very much. Besides, anything you need to say to me, you can say be hind this tree.”
He makes this annoyed growling sound in the back of his throat, then takes a deep breath. “Listen. I know what you and Laney are planning on doing.”
Well, that is not what I expected. I look at him closely. He can’t know. Can he?
“Uh, okay,” I say. Best to play dumb. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“What, like I’d come all the way over here just to bullshit you? Do you think I’m an idiot?” He pauses. “Don’t answer that.”
Not a problem, as I’m sort of at a loss for words at the moment. All I can do is look at him. Up close, I get a better view; there’s no denying the fact he is really, really good-looking, in this rakish, edgy, badass, I-just-rolled-out-of-bed-and-screw-you-I-don’t-need-a-mirror kind of way. He has these piercing, unbelievably green eyes that are as gorgeous and sharp as the rest of him; it’s like they can see straight through me. But I don’t want to be seen. I just want answers.
Realizing his hand is still on my arm, I shake it off. He shoves his hands in his jean pockets and waits.
“How much do you know?” I ask cautiously.
“You, her. June—the urn.” He pauses. “California.”
“How did you—”
“You’re not as discreet as you think,” he says. His grin is so smug I want to punch him in the face.
“You spied on us, didn’t you?” I don’t even try to hide the amount of disgust in my tone. The thought of him listening in on our conversation by the door the whole time like some kind of creepster leaves me feeling horrified and violated and pissed off, all at the same time. I cross my arms over my chest. “Okay, so you know. Congratulations. Would you like a cookie?”
Jake looks me in the eyes intently. “I’m going with you.”
“No.”
“Yes,” he insists. He steps forward, once again violating my personal-space bubble, and lowers his voice. “You take me with you, or I swear I’ll tell your mother. I bet she’d love to hear what you’re planning to do with her dearly departed daughter’s remains. Or I could talk to your lovely aunt, who I had the pleasure of meeting the other day. She seems like the kind of person who’d be really on board with that plan.”
My heart starts racing a little faster. If Mom found out … if Aunt Helen found out … it’d be over, no question. I’d be under permanent house arrest and twenty-four-hour surveillance. And they’d probably call Dad and tell him to speed up the urn selection process, and if they split the ashes before I can figure out how the hell to get to California, that’s it. I’ll have failed before I even started.
Jake has to be bluffing.
But what if he’s not?
“Like she’d believe you,” I say sarcastically, but I’m less sure now, and he can tell.
“Like she’s not paranoid enough right now to listen to me?” He snorts. “I don’t think so.”
Damn. He has me on that one. “So now I’m being blackmailed by a tattletale?”
“Put it however you want,” he says. He heaves a long-suffering sigh, like even having this conversation is a total pain. “Look, I’ve got a van—”
“That—” I wave a hand toward the contraption parked on the curb “—is not a van. That is a death trap.”
“Leave Joplin out of this,” he retorts, and I blink in surprise. His van has a name? Before I can whip up a snarky comment, he plows on. “And I have some money, and no one who’ll even notice I’m gone. You’re talking about two minors traveling across the country. If you take a car, or a bus, you’ll never make it. The cops’ll track you down in a second.”
That—that is actually all really convincing. But I’m not ready to concede to his common sense, not yet. Everything about this is too weird. Too … wrong.
“Why do you even care?” I ask. “So my sister tutored you a few times for padding on her college apps. Big deal. You hardly knew her. Right?”
Jake doesn’t seem to know how to respond to that one. At least five different emotions flicker over his face, none of which I can pinpoint. There’s more to it—to him and June—than he’s letting on. I know it.
“That’s what I thought.” I start heading back to the door.
Good. Now I have the upper hand. Now he’s the one who’ll have to beg.
“‘Don’t let the bastards grind you down,’” he calls out to my receding back. I stop, but I don’t turn around until he breaks into a half jog to catch up to me. “Where did you hear that?”
I ignore him. “You’re hiding something. I want to know why you’re doing this.”
“I have my reasons.”
I shake my head. “That’s not good enough.” I need to know why he’d volunteer for this, why he cares about my sister at all.
“Yeah, well, too bad!” he shouts. “I told you the deal!”
Maybe my strategy isn’t working as well as I thought. I called his bluff, but he doesn’t look ready to budge. He looks me up and down and then abruptly turns away.
As he walks toward his van, he looks over his shoulder and says, “Your move, Scott.”
