“Well, go get dressed, okay? I’ll check on her.”
“I’m not really feeling up to it.”
Amy feels my forehead. “You’re not sick?”
“No, just...”
“Jackson?” Dad asks as he comes down the stairs, wearing a deep maroon sweater. “Better get dressed.”
“I’m not...”
“Jasmine’s not feeling well,” he says to Amy. “Cramps.”
I’m pretty sure that’s a lie; now that I think about it, I’m sure it is, because we share a bathroom, and I do notice when the supply of tampons under the sink fluctuates.
I can’t believe she’s playing the period card.
I’m kind of relieved, though.
“I’ll go get dressed,” I say.
I’m honestly relieved to disappear into the back seat of the car as Dad drives us to this Greek place he loves. With no Iranian restaurants in town, he’s decided Greek is the next best thing. I pick at my pastitsio, tuning everything out, until Amy excuses herself for the bathroom and Dad knocks on the table to get my attention.
“Did you and Jasmine have a fight?”
“Yeah.”
“What about?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“If you change your mind...”
How could I explain any of this to him?
It’s dark when we get back home, but the light in my room is on. My notebook’s still open on my bed, all out of sorts—I was working on organizing it this morning—but I’m too exhausted. I stuff everything back in and shove it into my backpack.
After getting ready for bed—Jasmine’s room is already dark, her side of the bathroom locked—I text Liam.
At least now we can be together for real.
Sorry about everything today.
I love you.
It doesn’t take long for him to write back.
Love you
***
Monday morning, I find Dad in the kitchen, in a faded sweatshirt and plaid pajama pants. He’s got the day off.
“Morning,” he says into his coffee. “Jasmine left early. She asked if I could give you a ride.”
“I can take the bus.”
“I don’t mind. Gives us some time together.”
