Oh, we are definitely becoming Wordle friends.
I hide a smile and put my list away. “Okay. Wordle time.”
“First word?”
“MONEY. As in, I still have to figure out where to get the money to pay for this event.”
“Won’t the museum pay for it?”
I sigh. “Trey says Shelley—that’s the museum manager—won’t pay for anything extra.”
I type MONEY into Wordle, but only the Y is yellow. Shoot.
“Could you buy the supplies yourself?” John asks. “If you charge people, like, two or three bucks for a hot dog, you’d probably break even.”
“But what if I shell out a bunch of my own money and no one shows up?”
He shrugs. “I’m sure people will go. What else is there to do here?”
I frown at him. “Why do you live here, if you hate it so much?”
John looks vaguely surprised. “I don’t hate it.”
“You talk about Waldon like it’s super boring and filled with old people.”
“Itissuper boring and filled with old people.”
“So move somewhere else.”
He shrugs. “I like it here.”
I hesitate. “Why?”
“I dunno. The rent is cheap. It’s quiet. It’s by the water. What else do you want?”
“I want to live somewhere exciting, like New York or Paris.”
He raises a doubtful eyebrow. “Really?”
My frown deepens. “Yeah. So?”
“I don’t know. Volunteering at the barrel factory—”
“Museum. Barrelmuseum.”
“—and working with a bunch of old people... you just seem like more of a small-town girl. I can’t really picture you living in a big city.”
I look down at my phone. I don’t know why it hurts my feelings so much, but it does. The rational part of me knows that there’s nothing wrong with being a small-town girl. But that’s notme. That’s not what I want.
“Thanks,” I say shortly.
John frowns. “I didn’t mean—”
“Let’s just do Wordle,” I interrupt.
“You’re mad.”
“I’m fine.”
