“Ready to go?” she asks, but then she notices Liam standing over me. Her lips quirk, and her cheeks flush, and she reachesfor her hair to play with it before realizing it’s still in a ponytail.
Oh no. I’ve seen this process before.
“Hey.” Suddenly her stride has a lot more hip in it.
“Hey. Jasmine, right? We had APUSH last year.”
“Yeah.” Her eyes slide from Liam’s face to his swimmer’s shoulders to his arms and then back up.
“I was just trying to convince Jackson to put me on his shmoodie list.”
Jasmine laughs. “I’m his own sister and he won’t put me on it. He only makes them for Bowie.”
Jasmine hates shmoodies, for the same reason she hates soup: a firm conviction that food should be eaten and never drunk. But my chest tightens at her jab. Making me sound like a bad guy.
“Fine.” I huff and pull my backpack on. “If you get a part, I’ll add you to the list. Okay?”
Liam beams. “Really?”
I nod and move toward the door, but Jasmine doesn’t follow.
She’s studying Liam, bottom lip curled under the top one. “You need a ride? We’ve got room.”
Liam chuckles and rubs the back of his head, which makes his shirt ride up, showing off the bottom of his abs. Actual abs. I’ve seen them at swim meets before, but never up close.
Jasmine’s looking at me expectantly.
“Huh?”
“I said, let’s go.”
“Oh. Yeah. See you, Liam.”
I push my way out the door.
3
As we walk to the car, Jasmine’s got this dreamy smile, and her head’s bobbing like she’s listening to music only she can hear. Sure signs of a crush.
I’ve had crushes too, of course, though most have been straight guys. Last year, the photos for our Thespians troop were right after the photos for the wrestling team, and let’s just say the parade of guys in singlets was something to behold. But that’s all they are: crushes. They never went anywhere. Not since Cam.
Jasmine’s crush-to-date ratio is in the ninetieth percentile. My sister is always falling in love. Or out of it. As if love is something you can toss around like handfuls of glitter. (Dr. Lochley is adamantly opposed to glitter, which, once introduced to a theatre ecosystem, can never truly be eliminated.)
And Jasmine’s crush-to-love pipeline is extremely efficient. By next week, she and Liam will be holding hands. By October, they’ll be making out in the little alcove by the trophy case that separates the Art wing from the Music wing, like all the other senior couples. By November, she’ll be planning the wedding. It’ll all be awkward and insufferable, especially since I’ll have a front row seat to the whole thing.
But then by December they’ll have a fight and break up. Or drift apart and break up. Slowly start annoying each other and break up. Go off to different colleges, try and fail at the long distance thing and break up.Have terrible sex and break up.And I’ll be left making another list.
I toss my bags in the back of Jasmine’s car and buckle up. She says something to me, but I don’t catch it. Between classes and auditions, my brain is more or less done listening for the day.
“Say again?”
She turns to face me fully. “I said, Liam seems nice.”
“I guess. He’s more Bowie’s friend than mine.”
“Ah.” That tiny smile makes another appearance as Jasmine starts the car.
My sister is a lost cause.
