“You draw puppies in the coffee now?” Graphic Novel Dad pipes up from behind Jasmine. “I’ll have one of those too, please. And some more book recommendations if you’ve got ’em! I’m picking up the new Candy Buttons book today, but she goes through these so fast, I have to find something new.”
So much for getting Jasmine out of here.
There’s an unreadable look on her face as she says, “They have Candy Buttons? I may have to go pick up the new one myself.”
“They have a great graphic novel section here since this one started,” he says with a nod in my direction. I suddenly find myself very busy with literally anything but meeting Jasmine’s gaze. “She helped me find some great books for my daughter, and I’m sure she’d be happy to help you too.”
“I’ll check out what there is first,” she says, taking back her card. “Thanks for this.”
I make a choked sound in response as I watch her head off to see that I’ve had Beth stock the store with every single one of her favorites, every book she passed to me that I fell in love with, every book I knew would find fans if we carried it.
I make the dad’s drink and chat with him about some other choices for his daughter—MooncakesandThis One SummerandI am Alfonso Jones, recommendations I found on book blogs and promptly devoured—while I brace myself for Jasmine’s return.
He leaves before she gets back, and her drink goes cold. I help myself to a few sips of it and make her a new one with shaking fingers, art and all. It’s my worst design of the day, no question, but when she comes back to the counter with a smile on her lips, I have a feeling she won’t mind. “That’s a nice selection you have there.” She glances at the coffee and laughs. “And a nice… spider?”
“I’m new at this,” I mutter.
“Well, thank you for the new coffee. And for the books. You even have some I haven’t tried yet; I’m gonna go ahead and buy a few.”
“Great.”
“Great indeed.” She picks up her cup and tips it lightly in my direction with a “Bye, Tinkerbell” that sends a tremor through my knees.
Or maybe it’s the caffeine.
After spending the whole morning standing over the steam of the cappuccino machine, an afternoon at Kiki’s pool is exactly what I need. My hair is a mess of frizz and even in all black, you can see the zillion places I spilled coffee and foam on myself today. I call my messy self out before the others can beat me to it and change into one of the bathing suits I keep at Kiki’s, because where else do I really need them now?
“ThankGodit’s still warm enough to sit by the pool,” says Gia, ever dramatic as she stretches out on a floating raft, trailing her fingers in the water.
“Barely,” I say miserably, stretching my legs out from my seat on the second-highest step. “I can feel my tan fading already.” It’s impossible to shake the concern that every little change I went through this summer has contributed to Chase’s attraction, and even though it would make him a colossal ass if it were true, and even though he already said it isn’t about how I look, I can’t help feeling like if I shed too much of the summer, he’ll realize I’m the same girl he wasn’t interested in last year or the year before that.
“You can always join me at the salon,” Gia singsongs. She is the queen of spray tans and is always trying to convince us to come along, but I just can’t get on board. I would end up leaving splotches of orange on white surfaces all over town.
“Not gonna happen, G,” says Shannon, slathering on another layer of sunscreen at the mere mention of tans. “Painting your skin is weird.”
Kiki, who’s Japanese American and naturally darker than the rest of us, just snorts and does a somersault in the pool.
“You’re all gonna change your minds when it comes time to buy homecoming dresses,” Gia warns.
“Speak for yourself,” says Shannon. “I am wearing red lipstick and it’s gonna look perfect with my paleness, thank you very much.”
“How do you know what you’re wearing already? We haven’t even gone shopping yet,” I say. I haven’t given aton of thought to Homecoming this year, but I’ve imagined myself on Chase’s arm at it enough in the past. The dress is always nebulous, though—I like clothes, but being on a tight budget means shopping always feels like a mixed bag, for fear I’ll find something I absolutely love that I can’t take home in a million years.
It was a double-edged sword shopping with Jasmine—she knew my limitations, and like that night at the poker game, she never acknowledged them out loud; she just made sure we went to places that’d work for me. It was uncomfortable in its own way, but it didn’t have that overhang of dread that shopping with Shannon did, the worry that she’d find something she thought looked so good on me she’d say “Just pay me back later” or “You have your mom’s card—who cares if it’s a little over budget?” And I couldn’t get mad when she was trying to be nice. It wasn’t her fault she was spoiled and completely clueless. But I couldn’t exactly get mad at my mom either. All it left me with was a lot of frustration that usually had me going home with a headache.
This year, though… this year I have a date.Thedate. Chase hasn’t officially asked me yet, but we’d had a good time the night before, and he’d asked me out again for the next weekend. He wouldn’t ask me out again andnotask me to the second biggest dance of the year that was only a month from now, would he?
I lift my face to the sun, just in case.
“Some of us don’t pull off every single color,” says Gia with a sniff, as if I should somehow feel bad that green doesn’t make me look sick the way it does to her, and white looks good as long as I’ve gotten some sun, theway it never would on Shannon. “We have to do some advance planning.”
“Speaking of advance planning,” says Shannon, “has Chase asked you yet? You wereverystingy on date details last night.”
She’s referring to the group text that went on for half an hour after I got home, and she’s full of crap because I told them everything from how much of the movie we spent making out (at least half) to what snacks we got (popcorn with extra butter and Milk Duds—he’s a man of taste) to his exact wording when he asked me out for the next weekend (“I had a great time tonight—do you maybe wanna hang out again after the game next Friday?”) But she’s right that I didn’t say anything about Homecoming, because it never came up.
Maybe it’s more of a third date conversation?
“I can’t believe you went on a date with Chase Harding and you’re not talking about it nonstop.” Kiki sends a delicate splash in my direction. “Who even are you? This is like the only thing you’ve wanted for six years.”
