“Sorry,” I say. “It’s just not my thing.”
The kettle whistles loudly and a burst of steam announces the water is ready. Mom slides off her stool. “It should be one of your favorite parts of the job—applying products that offer real-time results. Knowing you’re helping people.”
She pours the boiling water in our mugs and I set my infuser in the water. Instantly, the scent of orange and nettle rises with the steam.
Mom sits again, kicking off her ballet slippers. “What is your favorite part, by the way?”
I wiggle my infuser. “What?”
“Of the job.” She leans over the tea, letting the steam mist her cheeks. She claims it’s good for the skin. It just makes me hot. “What do you love most? I don’t think I’ve ever asked you that.”
I study the swirling leaves. It makes me think of people who read fortunes in tea leaves. To me, they look like wet weeds.
“Josie?” My mom’s voice prods me. “What are you thinking?”
“I’m looking for my future in the tea leaves.”
“And what do you see?”
A pair of angry blue eyes. “Do you think I’m soulless?”
Her eyes widen. “Of course not. Why would you ask that?”
“Because I don’t like applying moisturizer to people’s faces. Because I don’t care that I’m helping them with skin care issues.” I push away the tea, my hand shaking with anger, confusion, and a fear I don’t understand. “What’s wrong with a paycheck? What’s wrong with wanting a career in a business that’s growing, that has a solid client base and a great work environment? What’s wrong with that?”
“Josie!” Mom looks shocked. “What’s going on, honey?”
“Nothing.” I stand, frustrated with myself. I was perfectly happy wanting the things I wanted until Garrett made that stupid comment. Now I feel like somehow it’s not good enough. Or just not…enough. “Sorry, Mom. I’m tired. I’m going to head to bed early.”
“What about your tea?”
“I’ll take it with me.” But somehow, I don’t think this is something that healing herbs are going to fix.
…
I’m still in a bad mood after school on Friday. Mai offered to come with me to the field but I said no. I want to take the pictures and get out of here.
Annette and Garrett are already standing by the backstop. They could be posing for a picture themselves. Garrett’s got one hand against the fence, a fitted blue Henley shoved up his forearms and muscles on display across his shoulders and back. Annette is looking up at him, somehow leaning in and arching back at the same time. He looks like he’s never been happier.
Why not? She probably thinks it’s great he wants to keep playing. She can massage his arm every night and kiss his scars.
Annette sees me then, and she shifts away. I notice a camera bag hanging over one shoulder as she smiles and waves a hand.
I still kind of hate her.
When I reach them, Garrett’s got his hands in his jeans pockets, but I can feel his tension as if we’re tuned to the same station.
“I see you’re wearing my favorite sandals,” he says.
“I live to make you happy.” They’re words we might have said teasingly a week ago, but now they sound flat. Empty. The way I feel. “Where do you want us?” I ask Annette.
“Let’s try it with you guys in the broadcast booth.”
Garrett gestures for me to go first. He’s careful not to touch me as he takes a seat on his stool. I move mine a few inches away, and we get settled while Annette unpacks her camera.
She finally takes a look at us and shakes her head. “You’re too far apart.”
“It’s how we sit when we broadcast,” I say.
“Nope. Garrett, slide closer.”
I hear the stool scrape along the ground, and the hairs on my neck rise to attention.
She takes a look through her viewfinder. “Closer.”
Another scraping sound. The leg of his stool is so close I can see it out of the corner of my eye.
“That’s better.”
Garrett shifts on the stool, and my pulse quickens. “Josie, can you lean right a little? Yep. That’s it.” She lowers her camera to give us a smile. “You guys fit together perfectly.”
No, we don’t.
But I can feel that we do. I roll my shoulders, shaking off the thought that if I just leaned back…
His breath is warm on my cheek, reminding me of the other day in his room. I swear I hear him inhale as if he’s smelling me. Heat shivers down my spine. “Are you done?” I blurt to Annette.
“I haven’t started.” She laughs. “You both look like you’re delivering bad news.”
“We’re serious broadcasters.”
She snaps a series of pics, shifting one way and then the other. I hold my breath, which is probably why a few minutes feels like an hour. “Let me check and make sure I’ve got something here.” She turns her back to us, finding some shade to review the photos. “Don’t move,” she adds.
Shit.
A minute passes. Then another. I flash back to the Haunted House at Disneyland where the walls start to press in.
He clears his throat. “Did you video Mai?”
“I did. She asked the same question she did in the car.”
“You want to prepare the answer for that? Or should I?”
“I can do it. I also got her dad on video asking why some baseballs have colored laces.”
“Good.”
I nod stiffly. All of me is stiff as I try not to move. Not to let an inch of me touch an inch of him. It feels like it’s a million degrees in here.
“I tried a few practice questions in the cafeteria. We’ll have to plant some so we can cover the topics we want, but I think it’ll work.”
“Excellent.” I sound like a recording of a robot.
“Can you meet after school on Monday to put them together?”
“I’ve got inventory on Monday.”
“Tuesday we have a game. What about Wednesday?”
My throat is suddenly so tight it actually hurts when I swallow. “I can’t on Wednesday.”
“I mean after your Book Club.”
“I have a date.”
His breath sucks in, and the tension flares between us. My shoulder blades feel like they’re on fire. I don’t care what Annette says. I slide off my stool and move to the doorway. Crossing my arms over my chest, I breathe Garrett-free air.
Annette leans in. “Hang on. Don’t go anywhere. I’ve got one I like but I’m trying to see if I can adjust the lighting.”
“I’m sure whatever you have will be fine.” But she’s already hunched over her camera again.
“A date?” Garrett’s face is unreadable. “With who? That guy at the bookstore?”
“His name is Bryan.”
He leans to his side and rests one hand on the counter, but it’s an awkward movement. Or maybe it’s that I feel awkward. “You guys are dating now?”
“It’s our first date. We’re going to an author event.”
“Oh. Sounds…fun.”
“It does.” I ignore the sarcasm in his voice. “Which is why I said yes.”
“Great.” He stands and shoves his stool under the counter. “Really great.”
“Okay,” Annette says. “I think we’ve got a couple that will work.” She pauses as she looks from Garrett to me, and her smile vanishes. “What’s wrong? What happened?”
“Nothing,” he says.
In near perfect unison, we say, “Everything is great.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
“Should or must?” Mai demands. “I’m taking a vote.”
“I abstain,” Avi says.
“Me too,” Jasmine adds quickly, raising a hand to make sure she’s officially off the hook.
Mai points a finger at me before I can say a word. “No abstentions.”
We’re sitting in the cafeteria, and I’m munching leftover meatloaf in a tortilla. It’s
better than it sounds. The four of us have been eating lunch together since our sophomore year when we bonded during a Walk for the Cure. Circling the school track for six hours can do that. Avi and Jasmine are brains like Mai, and though we don’t do much outside of school, I’m glad they’re both staying in-state for college.
“You first,” Mai says to me. There’s a plea threaded with the demand. The days are flying by. March is now April, and Mai thought she’d be done with her valedictorian speech by now.
I try to ignore the scent of tuna coming from the next table. “You know what I think. You do what you should do and find a career with opportunities and get a job. Dreams are nice, but they don’t pay the bills.”
“They do sometimes.” Avi’s gaze is disapproving through square black frames. “Look at American Idol.”
Jasmine’s pointy chin gets a little pointier. “And even if you don’t end up on a TV show, you can live a dream and make ends meet. My sister works two jobs but she’s managing.”
“She’s in fashion design. That’s a real thing.”
“Who gets to decide what’s ‘real’?” Jasmine is always up for an argument. Her parents really blew the name thing when she was born. Jasmine, in the world of essential oils, is known for its sweet scent and calming properties. Ha.
“I just mean that there are actual careers in fashion design,” I say.
“There are careers in art and theatre,” she retorts.
“But do they pay the rent?”
“So you find roommates. You take odd jobs. You make it work.”
Her words take me back to the year after Dad left. I was so lost when he took off. So hurt I couldn’t face it for a long time. Maybe that’s why it affected me so much when I realized Mom was worried about losing the house. How could I stand to lose one more thing? Jasmine’s words stick because they’re the truth. You do what you have to do. You make it work. But having been through it, I never want to go through it again. I take a long pull on my drink and nod at Jasmine. “You’re right. I’m just saying I don’t want to live that way.”
Mai holds up a finger as she takes out her phone. “Wait a second. I want to record this.”
“I’m still abstaining,” Avi says.
I smile, glad to put the dark thoughts behind me. “Chicken.” I’ve barely said the word when it feels as if a shadow passes over me. Except…it doesn’t pass. It stops. There’s an actual shadow hovering over our cafeteria table.
Which is weird because we’re sitting inside.
Jasmine looks up and squawks like a bird.
When I turn, Cooper and Jason are standing there, trays in their hands. Tucker and Anthony aren’t far behind.
“Hey.” Cooper nods with his tray. “Got room?”
Mai’s sitting beside me and immediately gestures to Jasmine and Avi. “Move over.”
“What?” From the shocked surprise in Avi’s eyes, I think it’s pretty impressive he’s managed a syllable. In all the years we’ve been eating together, we’ve never once had four baseball players speak to us, much less want to sit at our table. Their lofty place is normally on the covered patio.
In the time it takes to think this, the guys have already moved in.
Anthony sits next to Mai, Tucker next to him, while Cooper and Jason take the newly vacated spots and Avi and Jasmine shift over, dragging their lunches with them.
“You can’t just squeeze in here. I’ve barely got room,” I say. It’s not a lie. I’ve got one butt cheek off the bench.
“You want to sit on my lap?” Cooper offers.
“Ha.”
Jason rips the paper off a straw and puts it in a carton of chocolate milk. “So what’s it like at the nerd table?”
I kick him in the shin.
“Ow! It’s painful at the nerd table.”
Mai and I both laugh.
“Careful,” Cooper protests. “You don’t want to injure our players. At least wait until we’ve won State.”
“Pretty confident, aren’t you?”
“We’ve got the bats working,” Jason says. “Anthony’s going to have at least ten more home runs. Right, dude?”
“And that’s just next week.” Anthony grins and leans over the table to high five Cooper. I can’t help but notice how close he presses against Mai as he does. How she doesn’t bat an eyelash. Just how much kissing has been going on?
Jason and Anthony start spewing stats while Mai looks on. I go back to my meatloaf burrito, but it’s lost its flavor. I give up when Cooper catches my eye.
“What?” I ask.
“That’s what I’m wondering. What’s up with you two?” His eyes are serious, worried.
“What are you talking about?”
“You and G. Something happen?”
I start wrapping my uneaten lunch, lowering my face to hide the red creeping up my cheeks. “Why would you ask that?”
“G got pissed when I asked him that, too. But then, he’s been in a generally pissed-off mood all week.” His fingers play with the scruff on his chin. “He’s had a shit year, Josie. This broadcasting thing…it was starting to work. Starting to change things for him.”
“It’s still working.”
“You guys were off yesterday in the booth.”
“It happens.”
“Happened last Thursday, too.” He leans closer. “Listen. Garrett’s one of my best buds. And I know we don’t really know each other yet, but I like you, Josie. I like the two of you together.”
I wipe my fingers on my napkin, my stomach going from mix to churn. Cooper seems like a good guy and it’s sweet that he’s so concerned about a friend, but this isn’t just about broadcasting. Yeah, I’m still hurting over the soulless comment, but the scary truth is I could like Garrett way too much. I already do. I have to protect my heart. “What’s your point?”
“The point is that whatever is going on with you and Garrett, you need to figure it out.”
“There’s nothing to figure out.”
“Funny,” Cooper says, but he isn’t smiling. “Garrett said the same thing.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
I’m nervous.
Mai says it’s normal. It’s my first real date, and butterflies are part of the deal. But they’re not butterflies. They’re the size of vultures, circling my stomach in a death spiral.
This is why I should have dated more. I’m seventeen, and my only experiences are a first kiss at age twelve (followed by a squeeze of my breast and a punch to his gut) and a flirtation sophomore year that ended in a kiss so sloppy I felt like I’d rubbed faces with a bulldog. So basically, I’m starting from scratch. I really want this to go well, but how do you impress someone you don’t know well enough to know what they find impressive?
I pull into the Pages & Prose parking lot for the second time today, but it’s dark now. The store name is lit brightly and fairy lights twinkle in the trees. It adds to the sense that tonight is a special occasion. I dry sweaty palms on my jeans and try to psych myself up. I’m going to have a great time! Immediately, I regret my choice of words.
“Great” has been our little buzzword this week. Garrett’s and mine. Along with “giggler,” which is how he likes to refer to Bryan and “jiggler,” which is how I like to refer to the girls I’ve seen hanging all over him.
Has something happened to the world’s supply of bras?
Each time I’ve passed him in the halls—which has been a surprisingly large number of times—he’s had some girl with him. Cassie once. Steph once. Annette twice. Two girls I didn’t know. Funny how he has so many friends who are all pretty girls.
My whole body is tense again just thinking about him. I let out a long breath and “gather my calm,” as Mom would say.
Once I’m out of the truck, I give myself a critical once-over. I have no idea what people wear to an author presentation. I borrowed one of Mom’s flowy blouses to pair with my favorite skinny jeans. My hair is down and I’ve done up my face for a change, not that I think B
ryan is shallow enough to only care about looks. Not like some people who I’m not thinking about.
Bryan is waiting for me by the front doors. He’s dressed the same as I see him every day, but I still find myself looking at him differently. He’s not smart, nerdy, book-loving, origami-making Bryan. He’s Bryan, my date. (I really need to come up with a new nickname for him.)
He hands me another origami made of purple and brown paper and folded into a…into a… I turn it over in my palm. I’m not sure which way is up, so I keep turning it. “Wow,” I say. “This is…” I blink at him. “Thank you.”
He looks from the origami to me, and I know I should say something else. But I have zero idea what it is, other than an oval blob with three possible ears. Or tails. Or snouts.
He saves the awkward pause from getting any worse. “You look really nice.”
I smile. “Better than the dino costume?”
“A close second.” He pulls open the door and gestures me in with a flourish of one hand. “Shall we? I saved us two seats up close.”
There are around forty people in folding chairs. The author, a woman with spiky hair and red glasses, is sipping water behind a podium. Bryan’s hand skims my back as he leads me to our chairs. It’s nice. He’s nice.
I realize this is partly why I said yes. I want to stop thinking about Garrett. Feeling things for Garrett. I want to feel those things for Bryan—for someone I could actually have a future with.
I settle in as the author begins speaking. I’m not sure what to expect, but it’s pretty cool to hear how someone comes up with ideas and makes up an imaginary world. By the time it’s over, I’m already checking out the schedule for who else is coming. Mai would like the author of a book about global warming. And there’s a meditation expert Mom would enjoy. My gaze snags on the author of a series about mysteries in baseball stadiums. Nope. Not going there.
Purposefully, I step closer to Bryan. We’re in the line for an autograph and he smiles when I brush his arm. After the author signs the book, we head to the café and join the line waiting to order at the counter.
“What did she sign in your book?” I ask.
He shows me the title page. In black Sharpie she’s written: Pray for the power of plasma.
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