“The Sunday flea market,” Sage replies like it’s obvious.
“Awesome.”
I turn to Sage, Huan, and Dev. “Do you want to go look around?”
“We need fish and chips first.” Dev points to a shop with a blindingly yellow door and windows.
We each get a greasy brown bag full of fried fish and fries (er, chips) and my stomach churns with hunger.
“Vinegar and HP Sauce are around the side,” the cashier says.
Huan sticks out his tongue in disgust. Dev, however, is already grabbing a bottle. “Best to eat like the locals,” he says before dousing everything. I eye the thick brown sauce. No thank you. Brits might have the right idea about tea and scones, but I’ll stick to my ketchup any day.
We all squeeze onto a bench and the others start shoveling food into their mouths, but I hesitate. There’s no way I can eat this without getting grease all over my hands, my face, maybe even my clothes. I’d never have eaten something like this in front of Andy or Crystal. She always rolled her eyes when I took more than one smoothie sample during a shift. But god, does it smell good.
“If you’re not eating that, then I’m taking it.” Huan grabs for my bag.
“No.” I jerk it back. “I’m eating it. I was just... smelling it first.”
Dev and Sage launch into a conversation about the city and I take the opportunity to bite into my fish without everyone watching me. Grease and salt and heat burst in my mouth and I forget what I might look like. This is a thousand times better than any fish I’ve had before.
I hear giggling close by and turn to find the two “selfie” girls from the reception standing on the sidewalk to the right of us. They’re pointing at something on their phones. The fish curdles in my stomach. Did they see my greasy face? Omigod, what if they’re posting some gross photo of me right now and I find a million new snide comments about me next time I get online?
I hastily wipe my mouth and chin and turn to the others. “Did you see what those girls were doing? They didn’t, um, take my picture or anything, did they?”
Dev’s eyebrows shoot up. “No. Why would they? You know, one meme doesn’t actually make you famous or anything.”
I duck my head in embarrassment. “I know that. I don’twantpeople taking pictures of me. But last night...” I trail off, feeling dumb even explaining it.
“Nicole and Heather are harmless,” Huan says. “Though they’re a little silly for my taste. Always caught up with whatever the new thing is.” He smirks. “Are you the ‘new thing’?”
I curl my lip. “I hope not.”
“So... what happened at that party? I’m sure there’s more to that story.”
“You all know exactly what happened. Don’t pretend you didn’t watch the video and laugh at me just like everyone else.” I don’t know what else to say. I don’t want to go over every miserable moment of that party again.
Dev and Huan exchange glances, but Sage only sniffs. “I saw it but I didn’t laugh. I was too horrified that Crystal was giving up this trip for that idiot.”
“Absolutely. I don’t get what everyone sees in the guy,” Huan replies. “Yeah, he’s good at basketball, but that’s because he doesn’t care about anything else. He’s the most boring kid at our school.”
“You don’t have to explain it to me,” Dev says between mouthfuls. “I can’t imagine anyone would throw themselves at him that way unless he gave them a reason to do it. He probably got a high from it. I’ve known the kid since elementary and he’s always been a hemorrhoidal asshole.”
I burst out laughing. Huan and Sage join in and we all double over. I’ve never heard a better descriptor for Andy.
Huan shakes his head and slaps Dev on the back. “Nowthat’sa phrase that’s meme-worthy.”
This flea market alone is worth the ticket price to England. Everywhere the four of us turn, there’s some new thing to look at. Locally made goat cheese, every fruit and vegetable grown in England, old CDs and vinyl records, vintage books, perfumed soaps and candles. We’ve only been up and down the first three rowsand I already have a mental list ten items deep of stuff I want to go back and buy.
When we walk past a booth dedicated to Cicely Mary Barker, I almost pee myself with excitement. I’m practically trembling as I touch one of the collectible books. She created these flower fairy drawings that were everything my ten-year-old—okay, fine—my seventeen-year-old self ever wanted. How can you not love adorable girls with wings and petal dresses, sitting inside flowers?
“Did you want to stop?” Dev asks me.
I linger by the notebooks, then shake my head. No need to announce my dorky interests to all of Emberton by parading into classes with school supplies covered in fairies.
Next we stop at a stall where all the merchandise is plastered with the Union Jack flag. I flip through the shirts and Sage and Dev browse the mug collection. Dev’s Cheshire grin is back and I can’t tell if it’s because of the cheap prices or the fact that he and Sage are talking.
I hold up a shirt—I like my men the way I like my tea. Hot and British.—to show the group when something in my peripheral vision catches my attention. To my abject horror, two extremely cute guys are staring at me.
