Jordan slaps his hand over my eyes. “Paige, don’t look. It’s a flab show out there.”
I smile and claw at his hand. “I created this ab show. Let me see.”
Jordan and I laugh as he reverses the car and pulls out of the parking lot, rolling up the windows.
I point at him. “Admit it—I totally nailed that one.”
“I can’t believe you, Paige.” He shakes his head. “The things you’ll do.”
“Hardly. Good luck topping that.” I pass his phone back.
Jordan drives around, eventually parking in a spot where we usually find couples. And tonight, a couple is definitely there. Everyone within a five-mile radius can probably hear them—they’re in a full-blown argument.
Jordan grabs the phone too quickly, an unmistakable glint in his eye.
“Jordan, don’t do it,” I say, but his smile only grows.
The windows go down again, and Jordan fast-forwards his song to a prime location for this moment and this couple. Jordin Sparks’s song “Battlefield” blares into the night—the lyrics emphasizing over and over again why love is like a war zone.
The two stop arguing long enough to glare at Jordan with the ire of a thousand angry bees, apparently realizing the song is referring to them. The girl pulls the guy by the hand, and they trudge away as if to finish whatever heated conversation they were having in a more private place.
Jordan swipes furiously at his screen now, chuckling to himself. Seconds later, the chorus of Player’s “Baby Come Back” blares at full volume.
I sink down in my seat. “You are poking the bear, Jordan.”
The girl turns around long enough to shout a few choice words our way, but the music is so loud that we can’t hear it.
Yeah, did I mention that not everyone loves our game?
She turns around, and the couple starts running toward a nearby pavilion like they expect another snarky song to rain down on them at any moment. I wouldn’t put it past Jordan, but he’s laughing so hard he’s got tears in his eyes.
“Paige,” he manages, “please tell me that makes top ten.”
I give up on fighting my smile because as much as I hate making people angry, Jordan’s song choices were on point. I roll my eyes and laugh. “Fine, top ten.”
Jordan does a nerdy little fist pump that would’ve made anyone else look ridiculous, but of course, he just makes it look cool. Then again, when you’ve got a tall, athletic build with toned arms, a firm jawline, and a knockout smile to match, looking cool isn’t difficult.
“Lookout Point?” he asks, wiping his tears away.
“Mmm, yes, please.”
Jordan starts driving toward our favorite spot in Trello Park. We’ve passed some baseball fields and pavilions and started the incline toward Lookout Point when Jordan’s phone alarm buzzes. It must be nine o’clock—the time every night when he checks in on his mom.
Just after our senior year of high school, Jordan’s mom, Sandy—or Mrs. Miller, as I will forever call her—was diagnosed with ovarian cancer. It was a long, difficult battle for both Jordan and his mom, but the process brought them closer than ever. Jordan’s dad died in a small-plane crash when Jordan was three years old, and since Jordan is an only child and there was no other family nearby, he dropped everything for his mom when he found out about her diagnosis. He withdrew from Stanford to go to community college, living at home until he had the financial means to move to his own place several houses down from his mom.
Mrs. Miller is okay now—her cancer is in remission—but she’s one of the unlucky few who struggles with chemotherapy-induced peripheral neuropathy years after treatment, which means she often experiences some form of pain in her arms or legs.
Jordan calls his mom on the car’s speaker phone, but it goes to his mom’s voicemail. He hangs up and calls again.
This time, Mrs. Miller answers. “Can’t a woman ignore a phone call every once in a while?”
“Hey, Mom. Did you take your meds tonight?”
“You mean that plastic container with cute little candies inside? I handed them out to the Girl Scouts earlier today,” she says.
Jordan’s mom is the most sarcastic person on the planet, and I love her.
“Well, did you at least get a box of Thin Mints?” Jordan asks.
