Maybe talking to Shannon is exactly what I need. She may give way too much advice, and sometimes it’s downright bad, but not always. Sometimes it’s exactly what I need to hear, enough that I hear it even when she’s thousands of miles away. I light up my phone to check the time and do a quick calculation to see if it’s too late to call.
It’s about one in the morning in Paris, which is sort of on the border of acceptable, but what would I say?Hey, Shan—I’ve been hooking up with this girl and I’m confused about what it means?How would she know, without knowing Jasmine?
Maybe imaginary Shannon’s advice is right, though. Sometimes “just” is exactly that. Jasmine and I are just having fun. It’s not even like things are happening intentionally; they justhappenwhen we’re doing other things. What could be more “just” than that?
Satisfied, I do one last touch-up of my makeup, take a selfie, and pick up the newest Clementine Walker book.Who needs tough love when you can escape into pure fluff?
Half an hour later, the boil is in full swing, and guests are swarming the gingham-covered tables piled high with jumbo shrimp, crawfish, sausage, crab, and corn. The air smells salty and briny and spicy and sweet, and my mouth is watering, even though I’m secretly scared of the crawfish and their freaky heads.
“Are you coming or what?” Jasmine calls from the table where she’s sitting with Keisha, Brea, Derek, and Owen, glass bottles of colorful wine coolers dotting the cloth in front of them. “Where have you been?”
I’d gotten too wrapped up in my book, which is embarrassing since I’d already read it once this summer. I only looked up from it because Gia FaceTimed me from cheer camp, which she does every week to show me what I’m missing by dropping off the squad, and by the time we hung up, everyone was here and the food was out of the pots and on the table.
“Friend called” is all I offer as I grab a plate and sit my butt in one of the white plastic chairs, my eyes roving hungrily over the selection. Sausage is an easy choice—you don’t grow up the granddaughter of Tolya Bogdan without kolbasa being one of your major food groups. I glance at my mom and see she had the same idea. Declan is sitting next to her and laughing as he gestures to the other food.
“You’re missing some damn good crawfish,” says Keisha, plucking one from the pile and cracking it openso quickly I can’t even see how she’s doing it. “They don’t make ’em like this in DC. Best part of coming here for the summers.”
“And that’s from someone who doesn’t even eat it right,” says Derek, picking up one of the bright red creepers, twisting it, and—oh God, is he sucking something right out of the shell?
“Drinking the juice is so gross.” Brea wrinkles her nose. “Keisha eats it the normal way.”
“The juice is the best part!” Jasmine protests, and it’s dizzying watching them all attack the pile with different methods. There’s twisting and pulling and cracking and drinking and biting and loud savoring, but I can’t follow any of it; I help myself to the clams instead.
Clearly, I’m not very subtle. “Are you not even gonna try them?” Jasmine asks, eyeing my plate as if it’s got nothing but plain white rice on it.
“I’m good,” I say. I’m not about to admit that I don’t know how to eat them.
“Don’t tell me you’re scared of them like your mom.”
“Hey, leave my mom out of this.” I wave a hand dismissively. “The clams and sausage are delicious.”
Brea sighs. “Sugar, you’re from New York. There’s no crime in being a Yankee who doesn’t know how to eat crawfish. Just admit it.”
My face flames, but the others smirk and eat another one each, building the pile of shells in the bowl in front of us.
Jasmine laughs. “Come on, I’ll show you. Pick one up.”
I watch her fingers as she carefully pries the shell from the fish, mint polish catching the sunlight. I grabone and try to replicate her movements, but I end up squishing it in my hands and shrieking in surprise.
Everyone else cracks up, but Jasmine grins and says, “Okay, let’s at least make sure you get to taste it.” She tips the shell holding the juice into my mouth, and I’m determined not to be grossed out. It actuallyisgood, in fact, especially followed by the fish itself, which she frees and holds for me to eat from her fingertips.
“Fine, that’s good,” I concede, “but I’m clearly not up to cracking them open myself.”
“I’ve got you covered.” Jasmine opens another and feeds it to me the same way, and we laugh as I manage to spill on myself. After a while, we get into a messy rhythm, and I can’t even count how many the five of us eat as the sun sinks below the horizon.
By the time the party dies down and cleanup begins, I feel like a beached whale, but it’s worth it. This might be the most fun I’ve had the entire summer. I miss my friends, but the ones I’ve made here are so awesome, it’s impossible to wish I’d chosen cheer camp with Gia, or be jealous of Shannon’s trip to Paris or Kiki’s to Japan, and I’m certainly no longer wishing I were dusting off shelves at the Book and Bean.
Keisha and Owen even stay to help clean up. Keisha and I are clearing glasses and cans from the table when she says, “You two are cute.”
I cock my head. “Who two?”
Her eyebrow rises all the way up. “Seriously?”
A billion crawfish slosh in my stomach, swimming in apple-flavored wine cooler. I don’t know why, but I want to hear her say it out loud, maybe so I can stop feelingdelusional. But I already played clueless, and to acknowledge that I know who she’s referring to is to acknowledge that I see something too. Which is not an option. I shrug instead.
She rolls her eyes, but lets it go. She’s certainly had enough annoying experience with people trying to pair her up. “Do you think you’ll come back next summer? Or is this a one-time thing for you and your mom?”
It hadn’t occurred to me that we might never do this again. But then, I haven’t really given much thought to this ending, life going back to the status quo. It’s too hard to imagine waking up in a home that isn’t filled with the sound of Jasmine tunelessly humming her favorite indie rock songs, or going to parties where no one’s taking bets on how many drinks it’ll take Owen to challenge someone to a dance-off. (He always loses. He’s a horrible dancer, whereas Jack’s classically trained in ballet, Brea’s so flexible her body moves like liquid, and Keisha’s number one goal after declaring a computer science major her sophomore year is to join the Georgetown step team.)
