“If you laugh, I’ll leave.”
Luca leaned against the driver’s door and looked me over, which was exactly the wrong thing to do when I was already regretting my outfit. I had changed twice before coming downstairs, then changed back into the first thing I picked because Mom had called the second outfit “too funeral” and the third one “too much like I was trying.” The final choice was dark jeans, clean white sneakers and a cream sweater she insisted made my eyes look brighter. It was probably true. It was also the nicest thing I owned that didn’t involve a school uniform, which became painfully obvious the second I looked past Luca at the house behind him.
“I haven’t said anything,” he said.
“You don’t have to.”
His mouth twitched. “I’m trying to figure out how you made sneakers look form
