Page 59 of June First
“You’re really embarrassing, Theo,” I mutter, throwing the towel onto the patio pavers. “It’s not my fault if some guy wants to be a creep.”
“No, but you can sure as hell give him less to creep on.” He storms over to me, picks up the towel, then drapes it over my bare legs. “Until I have the authority to arrest any asshole that has the balls to put his eyes on my kid sister, cover yourself. I mean it, Peach.”
I stick my tongue out at him, then lower my sunglasses, indicating the end of the discussion. Theo hovers over us for another beat, folding his arms and silently glowering like a big brute. His hair has recently been trimmed short, longer on top and buzzed around the sides, making him look more dominating than I know he is. Theo is a softie on the inside, regardless of his muscles, surly attitude, and new macho haircut.
He has more freckles than I do, but they’re lighter, like a smattering of sand. Like the honeyed color of his hair. Theo looks more like our father with his sharp angles and square jaw, but his eyes are blue like Mom’s—dark, dark blue, reminding me of steel.
Steel armor, steel blades, steel gallantry.
Steely overprotectiveness that often drives me mad.
The moment he marches away, I toss the towel.
“Yikes, your brother is obscenely protective.”
Filling my cheeks with air, I blow out a breath, sipping on my soda. “Lucky me.”
Theo is finishing up his last year at the police academy, so he thinks that gives him some kind of free pass to act like the law around me. He’s already scared away two boys who made the mistake of stopping by the house to study. As much as I love him to death, I really can’t wait for him to move out once he gets a position on the force. He’s totally embarrassing in front of my friends.
Thankfully, Theo is going to his girlfriend’s apartment tonight, which means he won’t be around when I have my little get-together. We all graduated from eighth grade last month, so Mom said I could throw a summer party as long as everyone clears out by 9:00 p.m.
Celeste mock-shudders beside me. “Super lame. I’d die if I had two older brothers breathing down my neck.”
“Yeah, it’s rough.” Setting my soda can beside me on the side table, I tinker with the fringe on my shorts. “Anyway, do you think we should set up some games for tonight?”
“Ooh. Truth or dare?”
My chin pops up, and I bite my lip as a wave of thrill rolls through me. “Definitely. And maybe…spin the bottle?”
“Oh my God. With Hayden?” She clasps her chest with her hand, throwing her head back. “Stick a fork in me. I’m done.”
We both giggle.
“Have you kissed anyone yet?” Celeste asks midchew, swiping crumbs off her leggings. Her dirty-blond hair is piled high on her head, shimmering in the sunny haze. “I kissed Jordan last month at the beach bonfire. I think I told you.”
I clear my throat. “You did.”
The beach bonfire.
The beach bonfire I was banned from going to because Brant and Theo found out about it and told Mom and Dad there would be drugs and debauchery.
There wasn’t, of course. It was held at Adam Plankton’s beach house with his parents and grandmama who likes to wave her cane around, threatening to smack anyone with alcohol on their breath. Sure, maybe a few kids made out, but honestly—we’re only fourteen.
I think everyone was just excited to stay out past curfew.
Chewing on my thumbnail, I shake my head. “Nope, not yet. I haven’t had much of an opportunity. My brothers seem to think that I’ll get pregnant in the mere presence of the opposite sex.”
Celeste snickers. “Welp, maybe tonight’s the night.” She singsongs, “‘June and Marty sittin’ in a tree…’”
“Don’t be immature.” I smile deviously, plucking the towel from the pavement and chucking it at her.
She laughs. “Bitch!”
When our giggles ebb, I fall back onto my lounge chair, drawing up one knee. My thoughts float to Marty. Specifically, kissing Marty.
My skin hums with nerves.
I’ve been curious about boys for a little while now. My body has been evolving, growing, becoming more mature. My breasts began to bud shortly before my thirteenth birthday, growing fuller and more pronounced with each passing month. I went from wearing a sports bra to needing a B-cup within a twelve-month span.