I Hid My Perfect Score novel · Chapter 12 of 32

Chapter 12: Minus Thirty

"What emails?" I said. "From who?"

"I don't know. The lady wouldn't say." Gavin hugged his arms.

"She asked if Paisley had a twin. Mom said no comment and hung up."

"And then?"

"And then they called back. I picked up." He looked at the wet grass. "I gave them your email."

I stared at him.

"Why?"

"Because it's your life in that essay." His voice cracked. "And I've been quiet about enough of your life."

Behind him, through the front window, I could see the dining room.

Mom was standing at the table with the loan pages, gathering them up one by one.

Nobody was helping her.

"Go back inside before your socks freeze," I said.

"It's forty degrees."

"Go back anyway."

He almost smiled.

Then he went.

Emory and I spent the night in a hotel by the airport.

Two rooms. He insisted.

He knocked on my door at ten with two bags of vending machine pretzels.

We ate them on the carpet in the hall, backs against opposite walls, boots almost touching.

He made me laugh about my uncle so hard I cried.

Then I just cried.

He didn't do anything about it.

He sat there and passed me pretzels until I was done.

Then he said, "Your grandma looked like she wanted to fight your mom in a parking lot."

And I laughed again.

The flight home was nine hours with the layover.

I slept on his shoulder from Seattle to Fairbanks and woke up with a crease from his jacket zipper on my cheek.

Fairbanks was minus thirty when we landed.

It was 4 p.m., and the sun had already set.

The parking lot was a sea of trucks with their block-heater cords plugged into posts, steam rising from every tailpipe.

The air hurt my teeth.

Emory's truck was in the far corner, white with frost.

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