“Is there any way to get Bernadette a ride to Yardsmouth?” “Why?” I’m still not looking at him. “Because if we did, we could be alone here from eleven-thirty to two.” He’s looking at me now. I flush, like actually flush. “Oh,” I say. “Can we?” “I’ll call Jenna,” I say. I still haven’t looked at him, but he reaches for my hand under the blanket. Like that’s the most normal thing in the world.
