I turn back just as I’m walking out the door and say, “Sooner or later, you have to start trusting me.”

She nods and smiles sadly. After a moment, she says, “Be home before dark.”

I turn and leave the house, and for the first time, I feel sorry for my mother.

Chapter Eighteen

We walk down the clean streets of our neighborhood, house after house that all look the same. Some have brick on the outside, some have white siding, some have blue. But they all seem to have the same setup. The same windows, a paved path leading up to the small patio, and the same thick door. Even the same doorknobs.

The only difference is in the gardens. One has a big tree in the front yard with a cheesy tire swing. I can only imagine a girl in a white cotton dress swinging from it—although I have no idea where that image comes from.

Another house has an overload of flowers. They’re everywhere. Nearly half the yard is covered.

Another looks like it’s trying really hard to be different. A fake well sits on one part, an angel statue on another, and a big gnome across from it. It looks completely ridiculous.

Then there are a few that were obviously professionally landscaped, with their perfectly mown grass and pretty brick ponds with waterfalls cascading down.

“I hate this neighborhood,” I mutter.

At first Jackson doesn’t respond. We keep walking slow steps down the concrete sidewalk, but when I glance over to him, his eyebrows are pressed down like he’s thinking really hard about something.

“Why?” he asks eventually.

“It’s trying too hard. Too perfect.” I miss my stupid apartment in New York that smelled like a bizarre combination of piss, fried chicken, pot, and cats. I don’t want this pretend-perfect shit.

Then again, what I probably miss most about my apartment was that Luis lived in it. And I can’t pretend he’s perfect anymore, either.

Jackson looks around. “I don’t think it’s so bad.”

I sigh. He would. Just more proof we’re too different for this project. This friendship. Or whatever this is.

He stops walking, a stress line appearing down his forehead. “Sometimes I don’t know what to think about you.”

That’s more like it. He shouldn’t know what to think. “Me either,” I say.

He surprises me with a light chuckle. “Touché,” he says. A smile spreads across his face. “You really don’t like it here?”

I shake my head. “Not really.”

He nods. “Then let’s go somewhere else.”

“What about our project?”

“We’ll do that later. I want to show you something.” He must see the hesitation on my face, because then he says, “Besides, we can’t really do that project without knowing anything about each other, right? Maybe we’ll find inspiration.”

I narrow my eyes for a second. I hate that my mind wanders to those dark places even with Jackson. He’s been nothing but good to me so far, and that’s why I don’t trust him. At least when people treat me like trash, I know I’m getting what I deserve.

“Where do you want to take me?”

His smile is sweet enough to make me forget, just for a second, everything bad that’s ever happened to me. And when he takes my hand, my heart races, and I know I’m in trouble.

I like him. Really like him.

The way he looks at me. The way his hand feels on mine.

I glance at his lips, but then I look away. No one’s kissed me in years. Not in a way that didn’t leave my mouth full of the taste of cigarettes. But his lips look so inviting. And I already know what they’ll taste like. I’ve seen the fruit snacks he loves to eat.

There’s no way he wants to kiss me, too. And I guess that’s for the best. One kiss and he’d see right through me. Taste the garbage that I can’t get rid of.

With way too much pep, Jackson spins around and gently grabs my wrist to pull me along. His hand holds on to mine as I follow him, and I can feel the warmth of his fingers seep into my cold skin.

He turns and smiles, a glint in his eyes that’s different from before. So this isn’t just an innocent suburban boy. He has a mischievous side, too.

“Come on,” he says. “Let’s be bad.”

My stomach flips and my lips curl into a smile, even though his version of bad can’t possibly match mine. Somehow, I like the sound of that.

We walk down one of the streets, and just when I think we’re about to walk to someone’s house, one I’m sure isn’t Jackson’s, we walk right past it. There’s a big gap between two of the houses that’s nothing but grass. It’s almost like a suburban alleyway.

Behind the houses is a big field, and I mean big. For a neighborhood, anyway.

It’s smaller than a football field, I’d guess, but still big enough to play a game of touch football or something. This is probably the kind of place teenagers play all the time, the kind of place I should have come to play tag and Frisbee or whatever else kids play. Watch the boys tackle each other playing football. Ya know, if my mother had ever let me out of the house without her.

I went straight from reading books and playing puzzles to drinking and getting in cars with boys. One day I’d given up on my mother’s rules and decided to live however I could. I did anything I could have to have a life, experience things.

I wonder how long Jackson has lived here, if I would have played with him as kids. Assuming my parents would have let me out of the house. Mud fights, sledding, and stolen secret kisses in the dark. A whole life I could have had as a kid, a life I’ll never have now.

But maybe tonight’s a chance to taste the impossible.

Jackson walks over to a patch of yellow flowers that grow like weeds at the edge of the field. There’s a small batch of trees there, and as we get closer I can see a little stream flowing behind them.

He picks one of the little yellow flowers and hands it to me. I put it to my nose and smell. It’s fantastic! It smells so good, like spring. I smile ear to ear. For a moment we’re not just students working on a project, not even just friends. For a moment he’s a boy giving me flowers. A boy looking at me with bright shining eyes.

It’s cheesy, but I’ve never had cheesy before.

For a moment, I feel beautiful.

“We’re lucky they’re still here. It’s getting cold pretty quick. They’ll probably be gone soon.”

“What is it?” I ask, mesmerized by the little flower.

“Honeysuckle. You’ve never had one?”

“Had one?”

His eyes grow wide. “Seriously, who are you?”

I shrug.

He pulls another flower to show me. “Watch,” he says.

At the bottom of the flower is a little white end. He pinches it and pulls slowly. A little white string-looking thing comes out, and at the end is a drop of liquid. He holds it up, like I’m going to let him feed it to me.

First of all, I don’t know if this thing is even edible. Will it make me sick?

Second of all, even if it is edible, no way am I letting him put it in my mouth.

“What is it?” I say, wrinkling my nose.

“Don’t you trust me?” he asks.

“No offense, I don’t trust anyone.”

“Just try it. It’s mostly water, but it’s good. That’s why they call them honeysuckles. ’Cause of the honey.”

“Honey?”

“Sort of, but it’s not that thick. It’s good, trust me.”

I narrow my eyes, looking at him, then at the little flower. I pull the white nub and watch the string pull through the back of the bud. A little drop of liquid sits on the end.

I hang it over my tongue, and it drops before I get a chance to change my mind. It tastes a lot like it smells—like springtime. Being reborn. I don’t know what that means exactly, but I like it.

“Is this what you wanted to show me?”

He smirks, so cocky, but he wrings his hands together. “No, that’s not what I want to show you.”