Ruining His Summer

Chapter Two: The Revelation of Jack Brendor

I have a meeting with my parole officer this morning.

At eight a.m.

Even my parents’ new cat is yawning at this. He’s not even ready to be up at this hour. He’s still crashed on the couch with his paws semi-in the air and chin exposed.

Looks like me when I have a hangover, which I haven’t had in forever because, hello, I’ve been locked away for two years. But I’m pretty sure if there was a picture of me during my hangover days, I would look like that cat.

When I stumbled upstairs (yeah, upstairs. Thanks, parents) I have the surprise of my life when I see Jack, fully dressed and showered, sipping his coffee. He looks so old for twenty-two.

The Jack I knew considered noon to be the hour of the dead. I remember there being a time when Jack would come out of his room as we were eating dinner, so I was stunned to say the least now.

“What are you doing?” I asked groggily.

Jack looked up, and he grinned. “I’m drinking my coffee,” he said, holding his cup up for proof. “Want some?”

I just stared at him. “Since when are you awake at eight a.m.?” I asked, watching as he furrowed his brow. “You know? You’d wake up at, what, six p.m. every day?”

He shrugged. “That was before I got a job,” he said in a matter of fact tone. “That was while I was still seeing Kira, and Brittney, and Lisa, and what was her name? Tori?”

“Tiffany,” I filled in, flatly. “So, if you’re not seeing them, then who are you seeing? Some girl named Tess?”

He gave me a look.

“What?” I asked, shrugging. “The name sounds like a girl you’d go out with. So, who is it?”

“Scarlett,” he said proudly.

I raised an eyebrow. “Scarlett?”

He shot me another look. “She’s not like the other girls, okay?” he said, glaring. “I didn’t meet her at a party or something.”

“Then where did you meet her?”

“At a bookstore,” he said triumphantly. “Bookends, remember that place?”

I made a face. “What were you doing in a bookstore?” The Jack I knew hated books. The Jack I knew hated Bookends. The Jack I knew would never go looking for girls at bookstores.

He hesitated, running his fingers along his mug. “I didn’t say where I got a job,” he said quickly before taking a gulp of coffee. “Anyway, she was buying some book by someone like Sarah Dressen? I don’t know who it was. So, anyway—”

“You got a job at Bookends?” I asked incredulously, cutting in. “Were you freaking high or something?”

Jack blinked. “Well, yeah,” he said, his eyebrows furrowed. “Haven’t you been listening to me?”

“But you hate books.”

He took a small drink of coffee, looking away.

“You do hate books, right?” I asked slowly, waiting for him to jump in and declare that books were repulsing or something.

He scratched the back of his neck. “I did hate books,” he said very quickly, like before. “But then I read this really good book by—”

“I don’t care who it’s by,” I said, cutting in once again. “Since when do you read? Since when do you pick up girls at bookstores? And since when did you start working at bookstores?”