Free A Small Town Dream by Rebecca Milton Page A

today.
     
    “What is it exactly that you need me to tell you?” She pushed past him out the door, intending to head for home.
     
    It was a rare day for her. No homework, no meetings no clubs. She wanted to lock herself in her room and read On the Road again. She had read it three times now and still wasn’t done absorbing it. Despite the strange feelings it aroused, she still loved it. It spoke to her. So she decided to make it her book, not just one that Parker happened to give her, but her own.
     
    Parker followed, calling for her to stop, but she ignored him. After several minutes, she realized she couldn’t hear him any longer. She turned around to find him gone.
     
    “Good,” she said to herself, “maybe he’s finally done. Maybe we’re finally done.” Her relief lasted only a few steps, however. Then relief turned to sadness. Part of her wished Parker would still pursue her, and that they would still steal kisses, and still hold hands, and still be—
     
    “Be what ?” she demanded of herself. “Dating? A couple? Deceiving Connie? What would we still be?” Her cheeks burned, so she put her head down and walked faster. All she wanted now was just to be home .
     
    But half a block from her house, she froze. Parker’s car was in the driveway, and he was sitting on her porch, drinking a glass of milk and eating cookies.
     
    “What are you doing here?” She skirted him as she walked up the steps.
     
    “Your mom makes incredible cookies,” he said through a mouthful of chocolate chips.
     
    “Parker—”
     
    “We need to discuss a student government problem.” He smirked. She dropped into the porch swing, her backpack hitting the floor. He took a sip of milk, then picked up another cookie.
     
    He looked ridiculous with a milk mustache and chocolate bits in the corners of his mouth. Any other time, it might be disarming. His attitude, however, sitting with his back toward her as if she didn’t exist, combined with his infantile munching on cookies, was too much. She couldn’t resist a dig. “Aren’t you supposed to be emulating your hero ? Kerouac only ate apple pie and ice cream while he wrote that book.”
     
    Because his back was to her, Annie couldn’t see his eyes narrow for a moment, or his lip begin to curl. She did see his back stiffen, just for a second. Then he stood and brushed cookie crumbs off his black jeans. He finished his milk in one swallow, set the plate and empty glass on the top step, and pulled out his car keys. “Take a drive with me… Anne ?”
     
    “No.”
     
    “I’d like to talk to you.”
     
    “OK. Have a seat.” His fist clenched the keys for a moment, then relaxed. Annie moved to go into the house.
     
    “Anne, wait.” He took a step forward. “I really do want to talk to you.” Whatever he was trying to sell, she didn’t want any. But Annie had been raised to be polite, so she sat back down and indicated the chair across from her.
     
    “If you want to talk, talk. Right here. But I’m not going anywhere with you.” He saw that she was serious, so he sighed, then slumped onto the top step and picked at the cookie crumbs on the plate.
     
    “Tell me it’s just because of Connie, Anne.”
     
    “Tell you what’s because of Connie?” She couldn’t read his expression. “I don’t know what you mean, Parker. I’m not trying to be difficult. I honestly don’t know.”
     
    “I know you’re not. Trying to be difficult, I mean. You’re not like that.”
     
    “Thank you,” she said quietly. She hated having to put him off, so she was relieved he wasn’t holding anything against her. “So, Parker, please just tell me—”
     
    “ You please just tell me.”
     
    “Tell you what? Parker, I don’t want to play games.” He suddenly looked jittery.
     
    “Listen, Anne, I kind of need a cigarette. Would you come out into the yard with me? I don’t want to make your folks mad.”
     
    “Well…” she hedged, looking at his car. He