I can feel the veins in my wrists pulsing, and I‘m nervous,
I‘m so nervous. I run out of the car and ring the doorbell.
When I hear footsteps from inside, I wave Daddy off, andhe backs out of the driveway. Kitty‘s awake now, and she‘sgot her face up against the back window, grinning hard. Shesends me a thumbs-up and I wave back.
Peter opens the door. My heart jumps like a Mexicanjumping bean in my chest. He‘s wearing a button-down I‘venever seen before, plaid. It must have been a Christmas pres-ent. His hair is mussed on top, like he‘s been lying down. Hedoesn‘t look so very surprised to see me. "Hey."" He eyes myskirt, which is poofing out from under my winter coat likea ball gown. "Why are you so dressed up?"
"It‘s for New Year‘s." Maybe I should‘ve gone home andchanged first. At least then I would feel like me, standingat this boy‘s door, proverbial hat in hand. "So, hey, how wasyour Christmas?"
"Good." He takes his time, four whole seconds, before heasks, "How was yours?"
"Great. We got a new puppy. His name is Jamie Fox-Pickle." Not even a trace of a smile from Peter. He‘s cold; Ididn‘t expect him to be cold. Maybe not even cold. Maybejust indifferent. "Can I talk to you for a second?"
Peter shrugs, which seems like a yes, but he doesn‘tinvite me in. I have this sudden sick-to-my-stomach fearthat Genevieve is inside-which quickly dissipates when Iremember that if she were inside, he wouldn‘t be out herewith me. He leaves the door ajar as he puts on sneakers and