“Smooth,” Ramona said.
But Dylan just laughed and shook Marley’s hand. “Hi, gay, I’m bisexual.”
“I’ve never been so disappointed to be straight,” Olive said dreamily, shaking Dylan’s hand too.
Dylan tilted her head. “That sentiment might be a sign you’re not.”
Olive’s eyes went wide, and she glanced at Ramona, who justwinked at her as she dished up some pie for Dylan. While Clover Lake was small and packed with heteros, Olive’s circle was overwhelmingly queer—Marley, Ramona, April, and her softball coach Jasmine and her wife, Sarah, who was also Olive’s AP English teacher. Olive had never expressed much interest in any gender other than boys, but this kind of stuff was fluid, Ramona knew full well. She just wanted Olive to be happy, to know herself and be proud of who she was, no matter who that turned out to be.
“Things to ponder,” Marley said softly, nudging Olive’s shoulder, her eyes cast down as she did so, cheeks a little pink.
“Hmm,” Dylan said, looking between the two teens. “Indeed.” Then she took a deep breath and dived into the thick slice of mocha silk pie Ramona had set in front of her. “Anyway, today sucked, and I’d like to forget my own name, thanks.”
“Not much chance of that,” Ramona said.
Dylan groaned again. “Maybe not, but oh my god, this pie.”
“Right?” Marley said. “Owen makes the best pie.”
“I made that one,” Ramona said.
“Did you?” Dylan asked.
Ramona nodded, her cheeks warming, her own eyes locked on Dylan’s. Looking at Dylan was like looking at art—those Pointillism paintings made up of a million tiny dots, so intricate, you could spend hours just staring, getting lost, trying to make sense of how it all came together so perfectly.
She shook her head. Looked away.
“Can you teach me?” Dylan asked.
Ramona looked back at her—dammit, it was hard not to look at someone when they were speaking to you. “Really?”
“I need all the small-town waitress help I can get.”
Ramona felt something in her plummet. She knew Dylan didn’t mean for it to sound so derogatory, but that’s how it hit the center of Ramona’s chest.
Just a waitress.
A sad sack.
“Yeah, sure,” Ramona said, grabbing a towel and wiping down the counter for something to do. “I’ll add it to our list.”
“List?” Olive asked.
“Oh,” Ramona said. “It’s noth—”
“Your sister is helping me be a normal human being,” Dylan said around a mouthful of pie.
Ramona pressed her eyes closed. The last thing she needed was Olive all tangled up in whatever she was doing with Dylan.
“Normal is overrated,” Marley said.
“True,” Dylan said, “but I’d still like to go bowling without attracting every paparazzo on the East Coast just waiting for me to, I don’t know, throw my bowling ball into the vending machine or something.”
Ramona just laughed, but Olive looked suddenly pensive, even tapping her fingers to her lips like she did when she was thinking hard.
Then her eyes went wide.
“No,” Ramona said.
