The Six Rules of Maybe

skipping school in the seventh grade, Mom only gave her a lecture about making life choices. In the ninth grade, she took Mom’s car and drove onto the ferry and over to the other side and back, and Mom just had a talk with her that left them both crying. Eleventh grade, she was hanging out with Buddy and Jason Dale and whoever, drinking. Caught by Officer Beaker, and there were only morewhispered, urgent talks, them with their heads tightly together like they had private issues I would never grasp. Juliet could even yell and slam doors, and the next day Mom would be making her lunch as usual. Juliet could do no wrong, ever.
    “This time she’s hurting other people,” I said. I would risk the conflict this time, even welcomed it. But Mom’s voice was firm and calm.
    “Scarlet, you need to let this be her business. I mean it. She’s got to work things out herself.”
    “He doesn’t deserve this,” I said.
    “I’m sure it was nothing.”
    Right then I knew we were all liars, Mom and me and Juliet. I just lied to other people. Mom lied to herself. Juliet, it seemed, did both.
    His voice woke me that night.
    “I don’t know, I don’t, boy,” he said. I thought I was dreaming it. Through my open window, below me, rising from the night, I heard the truck door open and close, and then the rustle of cellophane. The flick, flick, flick of a lighter. He was having trouble getting it to work. “Fuck,” he breathed. And then flick, flick, flick again.
    I didn’t care that I was only wearing my long T-shirt, the one Nicole had brought back for me from Las Vegas, the time her mom took her on a pissed-off spending-spree trip to run up her dad’s credit cards. I didn’t stop to check how I looked, only swiped on a quick fingertip of toothpaste as I went past the bathroom and headed downstairs. I knew where Mom kept the matches gathered from various restaurants over the years or from somewhere—I didn’t exactly even know where they came from, because I doubted she’d ever been to those places. I grabbed a red box labeled The Flame . Norestaurant by that name around here. Some objects—pens, matches, coins—liked to travel.
    The air was wet and thick and it smelled like it had rained, even though it hadn’t yet—that wet earth smell, wet streets, wet evergreen boughs, wet, simmering campfires.
    I threw the book of matches and he caught them against his chest. “Here. In spite of the fact that it’s not who you are either.”
    He was shirtless again—the night was warm. My whole body noticed this, the valley of his chest, the curve of his muscled arms. The noticing surprised me—it was a bold feeling, and I was not exactly known for being bold. Want , even, and I was not known for wanting.
    “I woke you,” he said. “You shouldn’t have gotten up. And you’ve got school tomorrow.”
    “Hmm,” I said. “I didn’t look at the clock, but if it’s past midnight, it’s officially Saturday.”
    “Jesus,” he said. He shook his head as if it needed clearing. He struggled with the matchbox, lit his cigarette. He inhaled deeply. Zeus lay down at his feet, as if it were okay to rest now that someone else was on duty. “Another week gone by,” he said.
    “Time flies when you’re having fun,” I said.
    “Ah. You heard.”
    “She’s not the easiest person in the world.”
    He blew smoke up to the sky. “This isn’t the easiest way to begin a relationship.”
    I thought about what to say. I looked down at my feet on the cool cement, curled my toes under so I couldn’t see the polish and then out again so that I could. I wanted to be careful. The moment was careful. The night held its breath.
    “Maybe you shouldn’t love her so much,” I said quietly.
    He looked at me, straight on. Hs eyes were direct, his gaze shooting straight inside me. My stomach dropped. It was like he was staring right in, seeing the way I worked; seeing, maybe, all the things I wanted to hide and couldn’t say and might never say.
    “But that wouldn’t be the truth,” he said.
    “If you knew her … I don’t mean to say you don’t know her, but if you knew-knew her … She likes the cool, distant thing, right? You hold back, she chases, you get; she pulls back again, you pull back, she chases… .” I was talking fast. He needed to know these things if Juliet was ever going to love him like he wanted. “It’s dangled, I think. Out of reach. Somehow she wants it more then.”
    “If I did that …” He