Claire De Lune by Christine Johnson Page B

making the surface ripple and burble. If she had someone who would actually help her—who
could
actually help her, unlike Emily—then maybe she could get through this after all. With a flick of her wrist, Claire tossed the phone onto the cushioned deck chair behind her and slid into the cool, quiet pool.
    The conversation with Zahlia and a good set of laps in the pool had made Claire just calm and tired enough to think that calling Matthew was a good idea.
    “Hello?”
    “Um, hey, Matthew. It’s Claire. How are you?”
    “I’m bored out of my skull. Seriously. It’s too hot to go for a run and my dad’s getting ready for some sort of big meeting, so he’s kind of taken over the house. I’m actually thinking of doing my summer reading assignment. It’s that bad.”
    Claire laughed. “It must be bad if you’re willing to do schoolwork.”
    “Yeah, it’s pretty awful. But,
A Separate Peace
actually looks sort of interesting. And it’s short.”
    Claire stretched, smiling. She’d guessed he was smart—not in a geeky, chess club way, but a quiet kind of smart. She liked that. She liked it a lot. “Well, Emily bailed on me around lunchtime and you don’t hear me resorting to trigonometry,” she teased.
    “Hey, hey, hey, not so fast. I said
nothing
about doingmath,” he shot back. Claire could hear him grinning. “So, do you want to rescue me from my boredom before I resort to doing something productive? I could come pick you up, maybe grab a smoothie or something?”
    Claire hesitated. There were plenty of reasons to say no—like the fact that his dad was hunting her family, that she might slip and give something away. But it was so easy to talk to him. And he was so cute.
    “Sure,” she said, trying to shut up the part of her brain that was second-guessing her even as she agreed to go. “That sounds fun.”
    “Great! A half hour from now okay with you?”
    “Perfect.” Claire was already halfway up the stairs, mentally scanning the contents of her closet. “See you then.”
    While she was dressing, Claire called Lisbeth and left her a message. She put on a little makeup and the sapphire earrings her mom had given her for her birthday.
    Pretty, but not as good as a car.
    She sighed and headed downstairs to wait for Matthew.
    The outside of Matthew’s car was coated in a thin layer of dust—almost everyone’s was, because the drought had dried everything out so badly—but Claire was surprised to find the inside was really clean. No soda cans rolling around on the floor, no dirty soccer cleats stashed behind the seats.
    “What?” he asked, clearly amused at the amazement onher face.
    Damn. I’ve got to be a little less see-through than that if I want this to work.
    “N-nothing. It’s just—I didn’t expect your car to be so, um … ,” she faltered.
    “Clean?” he offered, pulling out onto the street.
    “Yeah.”
    Matthew shrugged. “I ruined a really expensive jersey once—it was behind the seat and I threw a soda can back there. Turned out, the can wasn’t quite empty. Ever since then, I’m pretty good about keeping it clean.”
    Claire thought about the piles of clothes on her floor and the nest of covers on her unmade bed. Maybe they weren’t as alike as she’d first thought.
    “My room’s another story,” Matthew said. “It’s usually a disaster.”
    Claire stifled the laugh that bubbled up in her chest. “Mine’s pretty bad most of the time too.”
    They got to The Juice Junction and stood studying the menu.
    “Are you ready?” Matthew asked, putting a hand on the small of her back. His touch sent a wave of fire through her and Claire swallowed hard. She managed to nod.
    They got their drinks—Mango Tango for Claire and Strawberry Blast for Matthew—and sat at a sticky-topped table. Claire sipped at the sweet, frosty slush, trying to get herhead back together. Her back still tingled where Matthew had touched her, and the memory of him almost kissing her on his