“You know romance novels have actual plots, right?” I say dryly. “The characters do real things and have brains and stuff?”
“Oh, I’m teasing. But not about the good stuff.” She keeps a finger where I left off and flips through the rest until she finds something to her satisfaction. “Ah, here we go.
“‘If this is what yardwork does to your body, I need to shake some more leaves from my tree,’ said Zoe, sliding a perfectly manicured red fingernail down the line bisecting Drew’s pecs and following it with her lips.
“‘Baby,’ Drew breathed, ‘I’ll be happy to shake it all for you.’ He lifted her in his strong arms and pressed his mouth to hers, inhaling her like the spicy scent of wood smoke on a crisp autumn morning. But his lips weren’t content simply to taste her mouth. He rolled her so shewas beneath him and left kisses all over her cheeks, her throat, her shoulders, that magnificent collarbone, and the velvety soft pillows of her breasts.” Jasmine hands the book back. “You really like that stuff?”
I realize my entire body is clenched tight in reaction to her reading, as if I were trying to stop myself from responding. I relax my limbs, take the book back, and give her an honest answer. “I really do. I’m a sap. I’ve always been a sap. I never got to grow up seeing my parents sneak kisses or grab each other’s butts or whatever it is parents who actually like each other do in movies. Sometimes I think my mom’s sad she never had that too, not even for a little bit like your parents. But it’s not something everyone who wants it gets, even if they’re awesome and put themselves out there. I figure, if I never get it in real life, at least I get it here.” I hold up the book. “The way she writes lets you put yourself in her main characters’ shoes, because they’re not these perfect women; they’re messy and not always perfect-looking and they don’t all have incredible jobs. They struggle with different shit, but find love anyway. And that’s what I want.”
I don’t look at Jasmine until the words finish rushing out of me, and the teasing smile I expect to see is gone. She’s looking at me like… I don’t know, exactly. But she’s taking me seriously and not about to make fun of me for spilling my silly, romantic guts, and I’m grateful.
Her lips do curve again, but there’s no real mocking in their tilt. “So, you put yourself in Zoe’s non-Louboutins, huh? Do we have to find you a Drew to do yardwork?”
My mind flashes to Chase, who definitely has Drew’s defined pecs but I’m pretty sure also has a gardener. Iopen my mouth to mention him but what comes out instead is, “We’re already shaking leaves here.” I indicate the trees holding up our hammock. “So.”
“Good point. What’s next for Zoe, then?”
And because I am half out of my mind, and her low voice reading the excerpt is ringing in my brain, and though we haven’t talked about it, I can’t get the night of the bonfire out of my head, I say, “Well, you read it.” And I drag my decently manicured green nail down to the edge of her tank top and follow it with a kiss.
I spend the longest second in the world waiting for her reaction, gripping the side of hammock in case she rolls out of it with a quickness and I go flying, but finally, she laughs and says, “I did.”
And she presses her mouth to mine, inhaling me like the spicy scent of wood smoke on a crisp autumn morning.
NOW
The memory is so clear in my head that I can still hear her voice, and I realize a moment later when a tray slaps down next to Shannon that I am literally hearing her voice. “Hey. What’s with the spreadsheet?”
Gia may be a little flighty, but she is amasterorganizer. She turns her laptop to Jasmine so she can see the page with all eight of her chosen colleges listed. “This is where I’m applying,” she says, “and here are deadline dates, which schools use the common app, and—well, stuff like that.”
She swivels her computer back around, but not before Jasmine catches a glimpse of the last column. “What’s DFBC?”
We try really, really hard not to laugh into our food as Gia blushes. “It’s, um, Distance from Boston College. That’s where Tommy’s going. Everyone in his family has gone there for three generations.”
Jasmine catches her jaw drop quickly, but I don’t miss it, and I’m pretty sure Gia doesn’t either. “Oh, that’s, uh… thorough planning.”
“There are a lot of good schools in Boston,” Gia says quickly, dragging her fork around her Cobb salad. “It’s not like I’d be following him there or anything. I’d be lucky to go to BC, or BU, or Tufts, and Shannon’s applying to Harvard and Brown, so she might even be close by.”
Clearly, Gia’s been practicing her justifications on her parents, who think it’s absurd that she wants to go to Boston when she could go to school fifteen minutes away at SUNY Purchase.
My mom says I’m free to go wherever as long as it won’t put me in debt for the rest of my life. And since my dad said he’ll pay for state school, I’ve kinda dragged my feet on looking anywhere else. I can’t imagine what would be worth taking out loans for if I don’t have to. Anyway, I want to major in English, and all schools have English majors, right? So, whatever.
“Where are you applying?” Gia asks her, and I know there’s a vague response coming. Jasmine never really wanted to talk about college, said it was too big a decision to leave subject to other people’s opinions.
But there’s no hesitation when Jasmine says, “I’mpretty set on NYU, especially since my mom is moving to Jersey. But I’ve also been thinking about getting off the East Coast entirely, maybe applying somewhere in Colorado or California. Photography’s a big hobby of mine and I’m definitely planning to study it more in school, so it’d be cool to get some new surroundings.”
I clench my jaw at how readily she just revealed so many personal bits of information, pieces I had to dig halfway to China to get. It’s the first time I’ve heard Jasmine mention her mom since she got to Stratford, and I thought maybe they’d had some sort of falling out, but it sounds like they’re as tight as ever.
As annoyed as I am, though, I’m relieved to hear things between Jasmine and her mom are OK and there isn’t gonna be as much physical distance as I thought. The weekend we spent with Sylvia Halabi was one of my favorites of the whole summer, and I see why she and Jasmine are so tight. She’s cool and effortlessly glamorous, a solid view into what Jasmine will probably look like in thirty years, and an amazing cook. It’s hard to picture her with Jasmine’s more ruggedly handsome and super Irish dad, but beautiful people always seem to find each other, even if a billion things eventually tear them apart.
“Cool,” says Kiki. “NYU’s a great school. Lara’s applying there too—you guys should talk.”
“I’mthinkingabout applying there,” I correct her, picking at my turkey burger, and it’s true, I am. It’s pretty close to home, I can minor in creative writing, and there are plenty of bookstores around so I can hopefully keep working at one, which would offset thetuition difference a little. I’ve thought about eventually working in publishing and being in the city would be perfect for that. But being at the same school as Jasmine, even if it’s enormous? Doesn’t sound quite as perfect. “I’m also applying to a few SUNYs, and that’s probably where I’ll go.”
“Where’s Chase going?” Gia asks.
I shrug. “Also local, most likely.”
Gia’s eyes light up—she’s such a believer in true love, she’s an even sappier romantic than I am—but Shannon looks at me and laughs. “Wait. You’re not staying localbecauseof him, right? You wouldn’t follow a guy to college.”
