“No.” Bungee jumping off Whitestone Bridge wasn’t anything new or special. Practically everyone I knew had done it. It was even professionally run by a company called Just Jump that swept in when it became popular. So I wasn’t sure why Heath Hall was making a point of doing it. He had given a speech at the museum about his reasons for displaying the painting. Sure it was a little, tiny, barely-worth-mentioning speech but maybe he’d do something similar before jumping.

“I really hope I can come. I will start wearing down my mom now, but with the swim meet all day and my aunt here, she’s probably going to want me home. She likes me as a buffer.”

“More like a hostage.”

“Exactly. I’ll talk to you soon.” She hung up.

I heard my mom come in the garage door. She was midsentence and I figured she was on the phone but I went out to greet her anyway. She waved at me with one hand, her keys, hooked around one of those fingers, jingling as she did. Her other arm held groceries while her cell phone was precariously pushed against her ear by her raised shoulder. I grabbed the bag from her and her hand took over the job of holding the phone.

“So can we count on you for a donation, then?” She waited and I held my breath along with her. “That’s great,” she finally said. “I’ll send you the forms.” She hung up with a smile. “We’re almost fully funded.”

“That’s awesome. This is like record time.”

“Every time it gets easier. That’s the reward of experience.” She gave me a hug. “How was school?”

“Average.”

She smiled. “Are you already anticipating the end of swim season?”

“I’m going to be so bored when it’s over.”

She pulled on the ends of my hair. “Well, even if you don’t like the break, your hair likes it.”

“Thanks a lot.”

She laughed and started unloading the groceries, handing me a few items to put away as she went.

I ended up at the far counter, dumping a bag of rice into a canister that sat right beneath the keys to my brother’s truck. During the seven seconds it took to complete the task, I found myself staring at those keys. For a split second I imagined ripping them out of the box and hurling them against the wall. The thought surprised me. I pressed the lid back on the canister and turned my back to the keys.

“I got stuck at school today,” I breathed out.

“How?”

“Amelia couldn’t give me a ride home.”

“You should’ve called.”

“A friend . . .” I caught myself when I imagined how smug Jackson’s smile would be if he heard me say that. “Well . . . not really a friend but this guy I know gave me a ride home.”