Page 17 of Jack
“Maybe that was my fault,” Boo said. “I had turned eighteen early in the year, and I think he just assumed that Harper was the same age.”
“Actually, after I thought about it, I don’t think he even realized who I was. I was twelve when he went away to college, and he didn’t come home much. I don’t remember really seeing him at all during those years. And I might have changed a little between twelve and eighteen. Got braces, grew out my hair, added some curves.” She shrugged. “And I was part of a humanitarian team that Doyle put together, all from his college buddies, so . . .”
“Wait. When was this?” Penelope asked.
“Senior year, spring break,” Boo said. “A hurricane had ravaged Grenada, and Doyle led a team from his college group to help rebuild a children’s home. I’m not sure how he talked Jack into going, but Harper went too.”
“And he thought you were one of the college kids.”
“I might have tried to hide my age. And when he knew me at the age of twelve, everyone else called me?—”
“Bee.” Boo grinned.
“As in busy bee—something my dad called me. I didn’t hate it until later. But Jack never called me Bee. He called me Pigtails.”
“Cute.”
“Yeah. For achild.When I saw Jack again, I didn’t want him to think that, so I introduced myself as Harper. He didn’t remember my real name.” She hung up a sweater in the closet. “Like I said—my fault.”
“But he kissed you?” Penelope had pushed the pillow behind her, leaning forward.
“Please don’t put this in a podcast.”
She laughed, flipped her dark hair back. “Not unless you murder him.”
“He might be the one to murder me. I’ve never seen a guy so embarrassed.” She hung up a black jumpsuit, then dropped the bag onto the floor. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“You were thinking my brother was . . . well, Jack’s always been a little larger than life.”
“Yeah. And here he was, donating his spring break to rebuilding an orphanage. We’d had a fun week, laughing, working together. He never once asked me about home, and maybe I thought . . .Good. He’s trying to start over.”
“Get to the kissing part.” Penelope drew up her knees, clasped her arms around them.
“Okay.” Harper sighed, but why not? “It was a couple days before we flew home, and we were working on rebuilding the roof, and he’d come down wearing a cutoff T-shirt, all sweaty and hot and perfect, and I just said, ‘Hey, will you walk out on the beach with me tonight?’ And he said yes.”
A beat.
“And—”
“And during that beach walk, we kissed. And I thought . . . oh so many things. And then the next day, we were standing in the shade, and he was smiling and laughing and maybe flirting with me a little, and I think he might have even put his arm around me. . .”
She sank down on the bed and grabbed her own pillow for protection. “And then Doyle came up and clamped him on the back, laughing, and said, ‘Hey, Bee, so, looks like you found your prom date.’ And then he laughed and said to Jack, ‘You and Brontë can double-date.’”
“I didn’t know that part,” Boo said. She made a face. “That Doyle.”
“Yeah. Well, that’s when it sort of all clicked. Jack just . . . stared at me. Like I’d slugged him. I could actually see the horror playing on his face as the recognition set in. And then he said, ‘Pigtails?’ and his voice shook a little, and I knew, right then, it was bad. Very bad. And then it got worse.”
“Oh no,” Penelope said.
“He was horrified.” Harper said.
Boo turned to Harper, wearing a pained expression. “I’m sorry. I heard the entire thing from Doyle, and he just said you both shrugged it off, no big deal.”
“Yeah, well, that’s because Jack laughed,” Harper said. “Like, really laughed, like it might be ridiculous that he’d even be seen with me. And maybe it was to cover up his embarrassment, but everybody heard it, everybody saw it, and then he shook his head, like,stupid little girland thennever spoke to me again.”
Silence.
“Ouch,” said Penelope.