I’m not that grounded, and it’s disingenuous to say so. But it does make me think.
The chime of the doorbell startles me out of my teeth-brushing history-fanatic space out.
Mom’s door is open and her bed empty as I pass. I heard her leave for her early-morning shift hours ago. Guilt stabs at my belly as I think of our fight. We’ll make up later—we always do—but fighting with her makes me sick because everything she does is to help Chris and me get ahead. Hence the reason why one of the bullets on my Big Plan is taking care of Mom.
I fling open the front door and my mouth falls open when I see Jett standing there. His hair’s wet and slicked back. His skinny jeans, black T-shirt, leather jacket, and Doc Martens make him look like a movie star.
“Stop being so cool before nine in the morning,” I say, and groan.
“I’m amazingly cool,” he says, moving aside and pointing to the rusty red minivan in the driveway. Jett’s the oldest of four boys, all of whom are usually crammed into the van.
“No motorcycle today?” I try to smooth out the nest that is my hair.
Usually Jett drives a vintage black Triumph. He saved up a year’s earnings at the Castle, bought a broken-down bike, and fixed it. His dad told him if he could fix it, he could drive it. But only around town. And he’s not supposed to have passengers, but his parents make an exception for me because I’m sort of like family.
“Super cool ride, I know.” He grins. “You had breakfast yet? I thought we could go out for celebration coffee and donuts. You’re over ten thousand views this morning.”
“I cherish you,” I mutter, my voice still full of sleep. My only other breakfast option is stale Pop Tarts or something from the cooler of doom. “But I’m grounded.”
Jett raises an eyebrow. “Grounded? The first Lady Knight of the Castle is grounded?”
“C’mon,” I say, giving him a little shove. “My mom will kill me if I leave.”
“Is she here?”
I smile at him. “No, she’s on a double today and won’t be home until eight or so.”
“Then we’ve got tons of time. Let’s go. My treat.”
“Uh-huh. No buying my food. Against the Unbreakable Rules.”
“Just this once?”
“Nope.”
“Fine.”
I glance over my shoulder. Chris’s door is cracked, and his snores carry up the stairs. He probably got drunk on cheap beer after having it out with Len. I can go out, get coffee, and be back with time to spare before I have to mow the lawn. “Let me grab a few things.”
“I’ll be waiting in the van,” says Jett.
I take the stairs two at a time. I could change, but it’s coffee and donuts with Jett. He doesn’t care if I look like I just crawled out of bed. I grab my purse—a giant designer tote with a glittery unicorn and embossed castle on it that I got from Layla for Christmas and that I love with a fiery passion—the letter from Marquette that I still need to open, and my dead phone.
On the kitchen table, there’s a note from Mom.
Sorry about the fight, Kit-Kat. I think you’re brave and fierce, but I don’t want you to get hurt or get your hopes up. Get your chores done and have fun at Layla’s. I’ll see you tomorrow.
XOXO, Mom
I grab a pen and scrawl at the bottom.
Sorry too, Mom. See you tomorrow.
– K.
The Mason jar full of tips sits on the table where we left it last night. I only pause for a moment before I reach in and take out a twenty. Although I’d love for Jett to buy me breakfast, I can’t let him. Beyond our Unbreakable Rules, I don’t want him to know that this money is kind of way too much to spend on breakfast. Jett and Layla know I’m poor, but I’ve worked hard to make sure they don’t know how broke we are. Like I’m planning on stealing a roll of TP and some of the free tampons that are tucked into a cabinet in the local Dunkin’ Donuts bathroom, just so I don’t have to buy more before payday. That’s a ridiculous level of poor and the kind of things that are hard to explain to your well-off best friends.
Jett smiles as I get into the van. I plug in my phone to the charger, and the brassy horns and lilting melancholy of Beirut fill the car. Jett loves this band for the horns, but I love it because it makes me think of cities I’ve never visited. Of Paris before the wars and Istanbul at twilight. We’re quiet on the ride to Dunks, but it’s not weird. Just a nice silence. The cozy kind that’s like snuggling into a blanket on a cold day or wearing your favorite PJ pants. When Layla and I are together, we chat almost the whole time. Which thrills and exhausts me, but with Jett it’s always been relaxed and easy.
I’m pouring more sugar into my extra-large coffee when he asks to see the Marquette letter.
“Don’t make me open it.” I groan, and hand it over. I bite into a chocolate Long John. Sweetness fills my mouth. Donuts are my kryptonite, and of course, the history nerd in me knows that in the Middle Ages, they were a favorite treat before Lent.
“You can do it!” he says, sliding a finger under the lip of the envelope.
I snatch it back. “Too soon. Let me have a few more minutes of suspended disappointment. Please.”
He raises an eyebrow at me. “You’re not being very kickass Girl Knight.”
I drink more coffee. “Leave me in peace. I promise, I’ll open it today.”
“Pinky swear?” He holds out a finger.
I curl mine around his. “Pinky swear. Also, I haven’t done this since I was like nine.”
And I love the way our fingers fit together.
Jett laughs, unhooks his finger from mine, and finishes his donuts. “You know what you need?”
“A day of yard work at my mother’s insistence?”
Jett shakes his head. His brown eyes glow in the morning light. Goddammit, he’s gorgeous. “Road trip. To Marquette. Now. It’ll be like a pilgrimage. And you can open your letter there.”
“I can’t. I’m grounded.”
“And I’ve got to be back for my shift at the Castle tonight. You’ll be home with more than enough time to mow the lawn. I promise.”
I think again of all the women in the Middle Ages, especially of the Wife of Bath. Bold, brave, saucy, and spirited. Traveling to pilgrimage sites was kind of her thing. Exactly the kind of woman I want to be. Minus the six husbands and all that.
“Let’s go.”
We leave the donut shop before I have time to pilfer the bathroom for supplies, but that’s okay for now. Pilgrimage awaits.
10
MARQUETTE IS IN MILWAUKEE, A LITTLE OVER AN HOUR and a half away from my house. Driving into the city always takes my breath away. Lake Michigan sits in the east, an endless stretch of sapphire to the horizon. Then, skyscrapers, smokestacks, and the steeples of the city’s many churches and breweries stab at the clouds.
We find parking a few blocks from campus and stroll along the street. It’s mostly empty and quiet this morning. A homeless guy pushes a shopping cart past us. Jett puts a five-dollar bill into his outstretched hand. The guy thanks him with an elaborate blessing. It’s too much, but Jett just smiles and waves as we walk away. Only a few students stroll (or stagger) across campus. It’s Saturday morning after all. Even still, I wish I had changed. Most of the early-morning students have expensive bags and wear North Face pullovers. It’s almost like a uniform.