The Dolls by Kiki Sullivan Page A

me a moment of wiping the rain out of my eyes to realize it’s Caleb. I scramble ungracefully to my feet, slosh through a puddle, yank the door open, and tumble inside.
    “Sorry about your seat,” I say as my drenched skirt squishes loudly against the vinyl.
    “It’ll dry,” Caleb replies. As soon as I shut the door behind me, he guns the engine and continues up the road without another word.
    “Thanks for stopping,” I say. I smooth my hair a little but suspect it doesn’t help. “So you live out in this direction too?” I have to raise my voice to be heard over the roar of the downpour.
    He nods, and for a moment I’m afraid he’s not going to answer. Then he says, “Other side of the cemetery from your place.”
    “How do you know where I live?”
    “Eveny, everyone knows. Your family is as legendary in this town as Chloe’s and Peregrine’s.” He doesn’t elaborate, nor does he look at me.
    “So,” I say, bridging the silence. “I heard you aced your PSATs.” And then, because I apparently have some sort of disease that makes me blurt out idiotic things in front of handsome, enigmatic guys, I hear myself add, “Rock on.”
    I can see him hiding a smile. “No big deal,” he says gruffly. But then he adds, “Does that mean you’ve been checking up on me?”
    “What? No. Of course not.” I can feel my cheeks turning red. “But I did notice that you surf.” Outside, there’s a huge roll of thunder, and lightning crackles across the sky.
    “How do you know that?”
    I point upward. “There’s a board strapped to the roof.”
    He laughs. “Right. Yeah, I take my board out whenever I get a chance. Or I used to, anyhow. I won’t be going much anymore.” A muscle in his jaw twitches as his expression hardens.
    He probably wants me to shut up, but it’s not every day you meet a hot surfer who also happens to be a mysterious PSAT-acing genius, and I’m desperate to know more about him. “So, surfing, huh? I thought we were pretty landlocked here,” I say.
    “We are.” For the first time since I’ve met him, his face relaxes a little. “I actually drive to a beach in the Florida panhandle called Sailfish Island, which is about four and a half hours away.” A faraway look crosses his eyes for a moment as he adds, “You wouldn’t believe the way the sunrise looks over the Gulf from the east side of the island.”
    “Sounds beautiful,” I say, embarrassed that I’m suddenly picturing myself with Caleb on a beach watching the sun come up. Stupid overactive imagination. “So you think you’ll get out there again soon?”
    Everything in his face immediately shuts down. “Things are different now. It’s a long story.” He stares straight ahead, and I have the strangest feeling he’s suddenly mad at me.
    I try to make casual conversation as Caleb turns onto the road leading up the hill toward my house, but his only replies are one-word answers.
    By the time he pulls up my driveway and sweeps the Jeep around in front of the house, the silence and tension in the car are so thick I can feel them.
    “Well,” I say awkwardly, grabbing my sopping backpack from the floor, “thank you again.”
    When he doesn’t reply, I get out into the rain, which is pounding down so hard that I barely hear him say, “Rock on, Eveny,” in that perfect, deep voice of his, just before I slam the door closed.
    And then, before I have the chance to react, he’s already pulling away.

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
    HarperCollins Publishers
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9
    T he storms pass by that evening, but the humidity lingers in the air, making it hard to breathe. Drew will still be out sick for the next couple of days, and I try calling him a few times but it goes straight to voice mail. I remind him he’s invited to Aunt Bea’s bakery opening on Wednesday night, but he texts back that he’s not sure he’ll feel well enough to be there.
    I eat lunch