Everyone in the small town of Hull knows two things. One: Jill Williams doesn't date, and two: Carson Blue is addicted to drugs.
When Carson decides to clean up his act and apply at Jill's family restaurant, she's less than enthused. Between school...
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CARSON MUST'VE SEEN my headlights through the windows, because he appears in the doorway of the trailer and squints into them until they flick off. When I get out of the car, we jog until we almost crash into each other.
"Hey, what're you doing here?" A smile is plastered on his face, but his expression turns serious when I dab tears from my cheeks. "Whoa, hey, what's going on? What happened?"
"It's--" I laugh, not because it's funny, but because seeing him is so euphoric. The calm after a storm. I don't know how to tell him about my dad, the breakdown I had on the way here, or that I might get in trouble for not telling Mom where I was going. Somehow, when I look at him, all of that is just gone. "I'm okay now," I say. "Can I come in?"
He gently touches the small of my back before we go inside. I haven't been in here since the time we had chili. Other than the AC rattling, it's dead silent.
"My mom's asleep," Carson says, "so we gotta be a little quiet. C'mon, you caught me making food."
I almost feel like I'm trespassing since Dorothy doesn't know I'm here, but apparently this is normal for Carson so I follow him down the hall. The lights are on in the kitchen. A jug filled with a bright blue liquid and a wooden spoon is on the table next to a torn packet of Kool-Aid. The buttery smell of Kraft Mac n' Cheese soaks the air, and steam lifts from the pot on the stove. I'm not in the mood to eat; memories of my dad play from a jumbotron in my head, but the normalcy of the room calms me down. Reminds me that even though the last few hours of my life have been a train wreck, the world always keeps spinning.
"You like mac n' cheese?" Carson asks.
"Not my favorite." I laugh. "I've eaten way too much in my life."
"But you've never had mine. Trust me, it's in a league of its own." He saunters to the stove and stirs the pot, wearing red plaid pajamas and a black, form-fitting T-shirt. My cheeks scorch. Somehow seeing him in his PJs feels super intimate. With his ruffled hair and sleepy eyes, he's never been cuter.
Carson plops a mound of noodles into two bowls. Still with that grin, he pours Kool-Aid into plastic cups. Faint snoring sounds through the walls, and Carson's face flushes.
"Hey, let's eat in my room, that cool?"
"Sure," I say. We haven't had a chance to be alone alone since the night we almost kissed. My heart flutters when I think about what might happen if I stay the night.
Darkness shrouds the bedroom, and Carson shuts the door behind us. Setting his bowl and cup on the floor, he turns on the bedside lamp. A dim, comforting glow settles over the room, and a bundle of unmade sheets is next to the guitar on his bed.
"Glad I made two boxes," he says, sitting on the rug, "'cause one's never enough for me."
I sit cross-legged across from him. "You can eat two boxes?"
