I turn to ask the volunteer who’s been with me all morning and find Luke instead. He’s holding out the roll of tickets, his face oddly expressionless. “Looking for this?”
“Yeah.” I take it and turn back to Jackson. “Sorry, how many?”
Jackson pulls out a sleek brown leather wallet with his initials stamped on it and unfolds a wad of cash, peeling off a few hundred-dollar bills.
“Let’s do twenty-five.”
“Wow…thank you,” I say, feeling my eyes go wide. “That’s really generous.” I unroll the tickets and rip off a long strip, then hand Jackson his half.
“Happy to help,” Jackson says, running a hand through his golden hair, which somehow falls right back into place. “So, can you hang later? I thought of some new places in Paris to tell you about.”
“She’s not one of the raffle prizes,” Luke snaps, then turns to me. “And you’re late. They need you back there.” He steps around behind me, hovering a little too close, and starts straightening the clipboards even though they’re fine.
“I know,” I say, narrowing my eyes at him. Then I turn to Jackson. “I can’t today. We’re slammed here, but maybe tomorrow?”
“Yeah, that’d be great. I’ll pick you up, we can go to the resort in Chatham, take the boat out after.”
“Sounds good,” I say as I crouch down for my bag and find my water bottle.
“Okay, well, I’ll see you back there,” Jackson says to me. He gives a nod to Luke, who doesn’t return it, then heads over to the waiting area.
“Suck-up,” Luke mutters under his breath.
“Sorry, what?” I ask, sure I’ve heard him wrong.
“Nothing, never mind. Where are the extra pens?”
I push the jar over to him.
“Right here. Did you eat? Are you hangry or something? That was so rude. He just donated a ton of money,” I say.
“You don’t need to act like my mom, Sera. I’m fine.”
“Well, you’re acting like a child, so…” I say, standing there waiting to see if he’ll apologize for being an ass. When he doesn’t, I leave the tent, running into Abbi, who is walking around making sure everyone has water.
“You okay?” Abbi asks, looking over my shoulder toward Luke.
“Yup,” I say, exasperated.
“I though you two were, like, buddy-buddy again.”
“Apparently not.”
“Do you need a mediator?”
“God, no. Thank you, but please butt out.”
“Don’t get snippy with me,” she says, handing me a bottle of water.
“I have a water.” I hold up my refillable and go to take a sip, but it’s empty. I guess I haven’t had enough, which is probably why I’m feeling so crappy. I take the one Abbi is still holding out, muttering a thanks.
“You two need to hash it out sooner rather than later,” she adds.
“Hash what out?” I ask after chugging the whole bottle and taking a second from her.
Abbi just looks at me, eyebrows raised over her sunglasses, like I’m supposed to know exactly what she’s talking about. And of course I do. But I don’t feel like dealing with it right now.
“Thanks for the water,” I say, emphasizing that that’s the only thing that’s been helpful in the last thirty seconds.
