It's Not Summer without You by Jenny Han Page A

proof. Proof that he really did care.
    Conrad was good at math. Well, he was good at everything, but he was really good at math.
    A few weeks after we started talking on the phone, when it had become more routine but no less thrilling, I told him all about how much I hated trig and how badly I was doing in it already. Right away I felt guilty for bringing it up—there I was complaining about math when Susannah had cancer. My problems were so petty and juvenile, so high school compared to what Conrad was going through.
    “Sorry,” I’d said.
    “For what?”
    “For talking about my crappy trig grade when . . .” My voice trailed off. “When your mom’s sick.”
    “Don’t apologize. You can say whatever you want to me.” He paused. “And Belly, my mom is getting better. She put on five pounds this month.”
    The hopefulness in his voice, it made me feel so tender toward him I could have cried. I said, “Yeah, I heard that from my mom yesterday. That’s really good news.”
    “So, okay then. So has your teacher taught you SOH-CAH-TOA yet?”
    From then on, Conrad started helping me, all over the phone. At first I didn’t really pay attention, I just liked listening to his voice, listening to him explain things. But then he’d quiz me, and I hated to disappoint him. So began our tutoring sessions. The way my mother smirked at me when the phone rang at night, I knew she thought we were having some kind of romance, and I didn’t correct her. It was easier that way. And it made me feel good, people thinking we were a couple. I’ll admit it. I let them think it. I wanted them to. I knew that it wasn’t true, not yet, but it felt like it could be. One day. In the meantime, I had my own private math tutor and I really was starting to get the hang of trig. Conrad had a way of making impossible things make sense, and I never loved him more than during those school nights he spent with me on the phone, going over the same problems over and over, until finally, I understood too.

    Jeremiah came back into the room, and I closed my fist around the necklace before he could see it.
    “So what’s up?” I asked him. “Is your dad mad? What did he say?”
    “He wanted to go to Cousins himself, but I told him I’d do it. There’s no way Conrad would listen to my dad right now. If my dad came, it would only piss him off more.” Jeremiah sat down on the bed. “So I guess we’re going to Cousins this summer after all.”
    As soon as he said it, it became real. In my head, I mean. Seeing Conrad wasn’t some faraway pretend thing; it was happening. Just like that I forgot all about my plans to save Conrad and I blurted out, “Maybe you should just drop me off on the way.”
    Jeremiah stared at me. “Are you serious? I can’t deal with this by myself. You don’t know how bad it’s been. Ever since my mom got sick again, Conrad’s been in freaking self-destruct mode. He doesn’t give a shit about anything.” Jeremiah stopped talking and then said, “But I know he still cares what you think about him.”
    I licked my lips; they felt very dry all of a sudden. “I’m not so sure about that.”
    “Well, I am. I know my brother. Will you please just come with me?”
    When I thought about the last thing I’d said to Conrad, shame took over and it burned me up inside. You don’t say those kinds of things to a person whose mother just died. You just don’t. How could I face him? I just couldn’t.
    Then Jeremiah said, “I’ll get you back in time for your boat party, if that’s what you’re so worried about.”
    It was such an un-Jeremiah-like thing to say that it took me right out of my shame spiral and I glared at him. “You think I care about a stupid Fourth of July boat party?”
    He gave me a look. “You do love fireworks.”
    “Shut up,” I said, and he grinned. “All right,” I said. “You win. I’ll come.”
    “All right, then.” He stood up. “I’m gonna go take a leak before we go. Oh, and