Page 84 of June First
“That was mildly cringey.” Theo falls into stride beside me as we turn onto the riverwalk, where ducks float along the water, hopeful for starchy snacks from passersby. “Your face is as pink as your leotard, Peach.”
“Shush.”
I feel him watching me as we walk, and my legs inadvertently pick up the pace as if I’m trying to lose his stare. “What was that all about?”
“How would I know?” I wince when my inner sass lashes out. That’s not like me anymore. I’ve evolved from a bratty teenager into a polite and eloquent lady, for the most part, thanks to that one time my mom recorded me in the midst of a hormonal hurricane when I was fifteen. She replayed it back for me once I’d calmed down, and I was so humiliated by my behavior that I turned my attitude around fast. It’s heightened my awareness of how other people perceive me, so I make a great effort to always put my best foot forward. Quickly correcting myself, I shoot Theo a small smile. “Sorry.”
My brother doesn’t seem to take offense, but that’s no surprise. Over the years, I’ve discovered that only two things in this world truly offend him—one of them being people who get offended.
The other: people who have the potential to put me in harm’s way.
This includes primarily any person of the male variety who looks at me, talks to me, God forbid touches me, and occasionally breathes the same air as me. Apparently, that last one depends on their face. If it looks like the face of someone who might participate in the previous list of offenses, they’re toast.
Theo doesn’t reply for a few beats, licking his ice cream cone until it molds into a perfect point. Then he murmurs, “I wonder why she thought that.”
Heat blooms on my cheeks again, and not even the cold ice cream can counteract it. “Weird, huh?”
“Definitely weird. She said something about the way you two interacted with each other… What the hell does that mean?”
“I have no idea. She obviously needs a lesson in social cues.”
“I’d say so.” He’s quiet again, so I assume this humiliating conversation is finally over. “How do you interact? Like, hugging or some shit? Or do you—”
“Theo, this is awkward. He’s my brother, and we act how we always act. Can we please talk about something else?”
I feel Theo’s eyes on me again. Gallant blue eyes. A sigh falls out of him as we travel beside the river’s edge, and when I peek up at him, he’s already popping the last bite of cone into his mouth, his attention on the water. “It’s a good day to save someone,” he says.
I laugh. He always said that when he still lived at home, right before he’d leave for his shift. “It’s always a good day to save someone.”
“I save a lot less people than I thought I would going into this gig. Where are the damsels in distress? The princesses trapped inside the haunted castles?” Theo’s sandy-colored hair parts when the wind blows through it, and as his smile grows, his spattering of freckles seems to multiply. “I rescued a litter of kittens from a sewer last week.”
Another laugh spills out of me. “That absolutely counts,” I say, licking up the melted ice cream that drips down my hand. “But seriously, I know you’ll get your big save one of these days. You were born to do this, Theo.”
He throws an arm around me, pulling me close as we stroll down the riverwalk. Giving me a little squeeze, he says, “As long as you believe in me, Peach.”
Theo dropped me off at Celeste’s house after our ice cream date, and we spent a few hours practicing our dance routine, gossiping, and making plans for the following weekend. Celeste’s brother is going to a party, and she wanted us both to tag along.
I’m not much of a partyer, mostly because I have a deep-rooted fear that my brothers will materialize from the walls if I even glance in the direction of an alcoholic beverage, then carry me out upside down after securing me with a chastity belt and pulverizing every boy who had the audacity to be under the same roof as me.
Also beer tastes like wet cardboard after a dog peed on it.
I agreed, though, because I’ve spent every waking weekend hour devoted to dancing and I could use the social break. I’m not planning to stay long. It’s not easy staying out late with Brant still living at home. I swear he refuses to sleep until I’m home safe, always checking to make sure I’m unscathed the moment I walk through the door.
Well, he used to, anyway.
The sun is just beginning to dip behind the horizon as I walk the short trek home from Celeste’s and traipse into the house.
Dad is just finishing up dinner, while Mom clears the table. My father swivels in his chair, sending me a hello from across the way as I set my duffel in the foyer. “June Balloon, my darling daughter,” he bellows, but it’s a charming bellow. He never sounds angry despite the rough baritone of his voice. “Hurry and gobble up some of this gumbo before your mother eats it all.”
“Very funny, Andrew,” Mom murmurs from around the kitchen corner. “You’re like a rabid animal with gumbo, foaming at the mouth when I try to take a single serving.”
“I wasn’t foaming, dear. It was a subtle froth.” He shoots me a pronounced eye roll, then mouths “Dramatic.”
My dad is a goof. He wears platypus slippers, makes up funny words, and is always rhyming my name with something random. June the Goon when I’m acting silly. June the Typhoon when I’m a grouch. June Balloon, June Lagoon, June Harpoon—the rhymes are endless. Infuriating at times when I want him to take me seriously, but mostly I’ve come to treasure them.
Pulling the treats I accrued from the ice cream shop out of my bag, I stroll through the living room and into the kitchen, where exotic spices and cumin sweep under my nose. I hand my father the packaged fudge. “For you and Mom.”
His eyes light up as he coughs into his fist, slurring, “Favorite child alert.”