With Jasmine, I don’t have a list. And I don’t want to follow her anywhere; I want to go everywhere together. I want to do thingswithher. I want us tomakethat list.
My feelings for her are so different from what I thought love was, but does that mean it’s not love? Does that mean itislove?
“God, I don’t know.”
Kiki tugs one of my curls. “I may not have any relationship experience, but I’m pretty sure that’s okay. It is for tonight, at least. Look—you’re Homecoming queen, and ditching Chase would be kinda public and humiliating. I don’t think you’re really looking to do that.”
“Definitely not,” I say quickly, my stomach sinking at the thought. “Chase has been amazing, and he’s having such a good time.”
“Well, you deserve that too. Jasmine is alreadygone—she called an Uber. So, here’s what I think. Let’s finish out the night. Let’s go have fun. No big decisions, no deciding your romantic future, no stress. Just dancing and drinking and having one last big high school night. Tomorrow, you can deal. What do you think?”
I think… it feels like finally taking a breath. “I’m in.”
“Well, that is delightful,” says Kiki, linking her arm through mine, “because I am currently down a date and I could use the company.”
Chapter Twenty-One
“Dealing” starts earlier than I expect it to, because when my mom wakes me up with a dish of pickled cucumbers—her surefire hangover cure—I know I’m in trouble. “Enough sleeping. Eat, Dotchka,” she says, holding it close enough to my nose to make me gag.
“Mama—”
“Don’t ‘Mama’ me when you are still passed out at two in the afternoon the day after a dance at which there isn’t supposed to be any drinking. Now eat.”
I hate to admit it, but they work. “Did you really think there wasn’t going to be any drinking at Homecoming? Besides, none of us were driving—the limo brought me home.”
“At what time?”
I mumble “3:00 a.m.” as quietly as I can, but she catches it anyway.
“Three?! Bozhe moi. Lara. There’s a reason you have a curfew, and I think it’s a pretty generous one—”
“If you wanted me to take the limo and stay safe with my friends, I couldn’t come home until everyone else was,” I point out. In truth, I have no memory of what we were doing until that time, but judging by the gross, fuzzy taste in my mouth, it involved a lot of vodka. “Anyway, I’m home. Safe. And eating pickled cucumbers.” I take another one, as if it’ll make the argument for me.
She raises one of her eyebrows. “I take it you had fun.”
Did I have fun? I know I did all the things that are supposed to be fun. I danced and played drinking games and took a thousand pictures in my tiara.
I also know I avoided fooling around with Chase as much as possible and spent most of the night thinking about Jasmine until I drank enough to stop thinking about anything at all.
“I won queen,” I say instead of answering her question.
“And was that fun?” she asks, because my mother is very smart.
I hug my covers to myself. I want to tell my mom the truth. I want to tell her about Jasmine and how confused I am, and I want her to stroke my hair and call me Larotchka and tell me everything is gonna be okay and to just listen to my heart.
I want to, but I am fucking terrified.
“Of course,” I lie.
My mother always knows when anything less than the truth is falling from my lips; it’s why I have to text if I’m being slightly dishonest about where I’m gonna be. My face shows everything. And I wonder what it’sshowing that’s making her give me that “Oh, honey” look.
But she doesn’t say anything. Just takes my hand.
And I fall apart.
My mother holds me while I cry into her shoulder, not moving even when I’m definitely getting snot all over her shirt. The hair stroking I’d been hoping for happens like clockwork, and I know that I’m running the risk of feeling it for the last time.
I can’t bear that.
