The place had a little bit of everything. It was always a coffee shop and an ice cream store with some of the best soft serve I’d ever tasted. There was a different flavor each day, and you could add this chocolate sauce that made me want to lick my bowl. The ice cream was popular even in the dead of winter in Michigan. But the third section of The Melting toP changed based on the owner’s ideas or what was popular at the time. Once it had been a cereal bar with like thirty-seven types of cereal and ten kinds of milk. Another time, it was a make-your-own-grilled-cheese bar, with more fillings than could possibly fit between two pieces of bread. A couple of summers ago, it was a s’mores bar, and the place almost burned down. Currently, it was a pancake bar, which made the whole place smell sweet, like syrup.
Sufficiently distracted, I turned my attention back to my essay. Then I decided I didn’t like the last three words I’d written, so I deleted them, along with the three before that for good measure. I was giving an “I’m never going to finish this essay” sigh when I saw Jackson sit down at a table a few feet away from mine, a giant bowl of soft serve in his hands. I hadn’t even seen him come in.
“Jackson,” I said.
When he looked up, his eyes went wide, like he wasn’t expecting to see me there. For a second, he hesitated. The slightly panicked look on his face as he walked over was definitely the look of someone who regretted a kiss. Jackson being unhappy to see me was a new low. It stung, but I gritted my teeth against the quick, sharp pain and forced a smile. Pretend it didn’t happen. “Hey.”
“Hey.” He nodded toward my computer. “Busy?”
I glanced at the clock in the corner of my screen. I’d discovered this particular scholarship late in the game, and applications were due in a few hours. “Kind of. This scholarship essay is due soon, but my brain and fingers aren’t cooperating.”
“Maybe a break would help?” Without waiting for my response, he sat down across from me and shoveled a big bite of ice cream into his mouth.
A bite so big I knew exactly what was going to happen. “Probably,” I said, and waited. Three…two…
Jackson dropped his spoon and put one hand to his head. “Ah! Brain freeze.”
I waited for his hand to drop, then asked, “Better?”
“Yeah. Why didn’t you stop me from taking a bite that big?”
“Because the one time I did that, you tried to bite my hand.”
“Oh yeah.” He grinned that one-white-tooth grin. “Sorry. I must have been hungry.”
Okay, grinning was good. We could do this. We could have a normal conversation like before The-Event-That-Must-Not-Be-Named. I nodded toward his bowl. “What flavor is it today?”
“Cherry.” He took a less brain-freeze-inducing bite. “Really good with the chocolate sauce. Man, I missed this place. Want some?”
I shook my head and took a sip from my chai tea latte. It was too delicious to ruin with ice cream. “No, thanks.” Jackson’s hair was damp, and even over all the syrup, I could smell the shampoo and body wash he used at the rink. It smelled clean and a little bit spicy, not like the overly-strong stuff most of our classmates used. But since when was the way Jackson smelled so distracting? “How was practice?”
“Not great. I sucked, and then Coach made the whole team do wind sprints because of it. I’m out of shape.”
I couldn’t resist a jab. “Couldn’t have anything to do with those giant bowls of ice cream you eat, could it?”
He pointed his spoon at me. “I’ll have you know that I burned off every single one of these calories today. Probably even more than that.” Then he took a “take that” bite to prove it.
“You know I’m teasing,” I said.
Silence settled over us. Usually, there weren’t many silences between us, and those that happened were comfortable, but this was decidedly uncomfortable. He took another bite. I took another drink. Ugh, what was this? I didn’t know how to do this. Not with Jackson.
“So,” I said.
At the very same time he said, “Hey.”
Was it my imagination, or did his cheeks turn a little pink? Probably it was leftover pink from the wind sprints.
“Go ahead,” I said.
“How are the college applications going?”
Thankfully, this was something I could talk about. “Good. I’ve applied to Western, Central, Grand Valley, and Saginaw Valley. Now I’m working on some scholarship applications so I’ll actually be able to afford one of those if I do get accepted.”
“When you get accepted.” But then he frowned. “What about the rest?”
“What do you mean?”
“What about Caltech and Williams College and Harvard and Princeton? What about all those schools you researched with the really good astrophysics programs?”
I toyed with the cardboard Melting toP sleeve on my latte cup. “I researched those back when I was a freshman. Back when I was dreaming. Before I knew better.”
“Knew better than what?”
“Before I knew about things like out-of-state tuition, for example. I wouldn’t be able to get enough scholarships to cover it. My parents haven’t saved that much money. I can’t put that on them. And speaking of my parents, I’ll major in business and I’ll walk out of graduation with a job. I already have an ‘in’ at my dad’s company. It’s steady. Stable. You know the story. My dad majored in sociology, which was interesting, but didn’t lead to a career. He had to start at the bottom and work ridiculously hard the whole way up. He’s doing his best to give me a better start than he had.”
Jackson dropped his spoon and let his chin fall to his chest with his eyes closed, letting out an exaggerated fake snore that made a few people at nearby tables glance over at him.
My cheeks warmed. “Jackson.”
His head snapped back up, and he opened his eyes. “What? Sorry. I fell asleep for a second. What completely boring thing were you talking about? Oh, wait. On second thought, tell me something about astrophysics.”
I frowned. “What?”
“Tell me something astrophysics-y. Anything.”
That was an odd request. Sure, Jackson endured my scientific blathering every once in a while, but he definitely never requested it. I wasn’t about to let an opportunity to talk to someone—anyone—about it go, though. “So I read this article last week about a new way to measure the mass and radius of a star. Before, it would take years and thousands of measurements to figure that out, which is still incredible, but now—”
“There,” he said, without waiting for me to finish my sentence.
I blinked at him. “What?”
“That’s the look. You get this look on your face when you’re talking about space or science or whatever. Like you’re thinking incredibly hard but so ridiculously happy about it.”
He pressed one thumb to my cheek. It was cold from his ice cream bowl. The touch was innocent and quick, but the feel of his skin against mine lingered after he removed his hand.
“You turn this adorable shade of pink. You geek out and love every second of it. That’s what you should study in college. That’s what you should do for a living. Something you love that much.”
Even though I’d just been talking about a highly technical process, every single word had gone missing from my brain. Whatever pink was in my cheeks right then couldn’t be blamed solely on talking about something science-related anymore. What was up with me? No. No, no, no. This couldn’t happen. We were friends. Jackson was bound to touch me. We shared platonic hugs and fist bumps and playful nudges all the time. I hadn’t ever turned to mush because of those touches before, and I couldn’t start then.
I cleared my throat. “So does that mean you should study that bowl of ice cream in college? You look like you’re pretty in love with that, too.”
“If majoring in ice cream was a thing, I’d graduate with honors. Probably get my master’s in it.” He laughed and took another bite. “Maybe even a PhD.”
I chuckled, both knowing he was ri
ght and enjoying the fact that I’d successfully distracted him from talking about me and me from having a complete non-friend-like meltdown. “You’re lucky you’ll be chosen by a team instead of choosing a university.”
“NHL or bust. And there won’t be a bust.”
The thought of Jackson possibly having to move to another state to play for a team made my smile disappear. I really wanted Jackson to accomplish his dreams and be happy. Two days ago, I would have said the separation we had the past year or so while he focused on hockey and I focused on school was natural preparation for that. The kiss might have changed how I felt, but it hadn’t changed our situation.
“And they’ll be lucky to have you,” I said.
“Thanks.” He scraped the last bite of ice cream out of his bowl. “Hey, Malina?”
“Yeah?”
He hesitated a second too long. “What are you doing this weekend?”
I grabbed my phone and checked out my calendar, which was pretty full. “I’m volunteering twice, trying to get more hours in. Plus, I have a few tests next week and a scholarship application due, so most of my time will be spent on that.”
He nodded. “Oh, yeah. Right.”
“Why?” I asked. “What are you up to?”
“Nothing,” he said quickly. Too quickly. “I mean, lots of things. No game, but practices and work outs, and I convinced Miller to do some extra training with me.”
That was weird. Why had he asked about my weekend when he was busy with hockey? This post-kiss awkwardness needed to go away. And fast.
I swallowed the last sip of my chai, which was cold but still sweet. Since it was obvious I wasn’t going to get work done, I closed my laptop. “I should probably go home and work on this since I can’t seem to concentrate here.” Meaning, I needed some distance from Jackson.
He nodded. “I should probably go home and see if my mom went grocery shopping. I grabbed food with a couple of the guys, but I’m feeling a second dinner night.”
Despite the awkwardness, I couldn’t help but smile as we packed up our stuff. “You know, for some people, one dinner plus a giant serving of ice cream is more than enough.”
He nodded toward the pancake bar as we walked toward the exit. “Hey, be proud that I’m not grabbing pancakes on the way out. Maybe second dinner will include vegetables.”
I laughed and shivered as we walked into the dark, cold night. I took my mom’s car keys out of my pocket. “See you tomorrow?”
“No. Teacher work day, remember?”
What was that cringe-worthy feeling somewhere near my stomach? Was it really disappointment over not seeing Jackson? Even after this mostly awkward interaction? I needed to get a grip. Immediately. “Oh, yeah. I forgot.”
“Coach somehow found out and scheduled extra practice for those of us who have the day off.”
“That was nice of him.”
“So nice.”
We stood there, staring at each other. He seemed to be looking for something in my expression, and the intensity there freaked me out a little. Once again, heat crept into my cheeks. If we were dating—which we were not—I imagined this was when he’d kiss me good night.
Why, oh why did I suddenly like the idea?
Nope. Not going down that rabbit hole. I tried to focus on reality. On the fact that my best friend wasn’t acting like my best friend anymore. Before the other night, he’d have at least hugged me. That didn’t seem to be an option anymore.
“Well, have fun,” I said awkwardly, “and I guess I’ll see you when I see you?”
“Yeah. See you,” Jackson echoed.
I tried to ignore how swoony I felt when he watched me walk away.
At home, my concentration on essays wasn’t any better. Every time I tried to focus, my mind drifted to Jackson. Which sent me straight back to the kiss. He wasn’t the first guy to kiss me. I’d had the same boyfriend all of freshman year, until he cheated on me with some girl he met at summer camp. While I was with that guy, the kissing was fine. It was good. But it wasn’t great. That kiss with Jackson? It was great. Did it shock me? Yes. Did I freak out after? Yes. But it made me feel like all those kisses with my first boyfriend were the equivalent of kissing a warm piece of bologna.
At this rate of distraction, I was going to have a maximum of two and a half sentences to turn in when this essay was due at midnight. Fantastic. I picked up my phone and opened my messages to Izzy. If there was one person I could count on to get my mind off a guy, it was her, mostly because she had never been and would never be interested in guys. Maybe some girls would miss having a straight friend they could drool over guys with, but I wouldn’t trade my best friend for the world. I thumbed out a new message to her.
Me: What are you up to?
Izzy: Working on a scholarship application. I think this one wants a blood sample, a full-length novel, and two of my eyelashes.
I smiled when I read her response. Unlike Jackson, Izzy also understood the need for and importance of scholarships. She was big into fashion, and was incredibly talented with her designs, but design schools weren’t cheap.
Me: Same here. No eyelash requests yet, though. Want to come work here? Mine is due tonight, and I need help focusing.
Izzy: Yes please! Be right over.
I set the phone down and turned back to the computer. This particular application had a choice of writing prompts to respond to. Originally, I’d chosen the “what makes you different” prompt and planned to talk about my Hawaiian heritage. But so far, I only had five words: Hawaii is a beautiful place.
Sigh. I hit delete and scrolled through the other essay choices. While I was scrolling, there was a knock on the door. Izzy lived on the next street over, which made hanging out easy since neither of us had our own car.
“It’s Izzy,” I called as I got up. My parents and Tutu were in the living room, watching some police drama they watched every single week.
By the time I got to the front door, my dad had already opened it.
“Hey, Izzy. Lovely hair, as always.”
My family hadn’t seen Izzy since she’d done her hair last weekend. Her natural color was blonde to the point of almost being white, which made it the perfect palette for whatever color she wanted to throw at it. Currently, there were wide sections that started blue up near the roots, and melted into purple and pink toward the tips. The girl would also do really well in cosmetology school if she wanted. She’d tried to dye my hair before, but since I had my mom’s Hawaiian black hair, it didn’t show up. She said I’d have to completely bleach it first, which I wasn’t willing to do.
“Thanks, Mr. Hall,” Izzy said. “Hey, Mrs. Hall. Hi, Tutu. Oh, is that Under Arrest? I just watched last week’s episode with the—”
“The cop who ended up being one of the criminals?” Mom asked. “Yes! That one was so good, and this one’s even better!”
My dad returned to his seat, and the four of them stared at the screen, where a “cop” who was far too gorgeous to be a cop in real life was digging through some evidence.
I let Izzy watch for a second, then cleared my throat loudly. She didn’t look my way, or at least she didn’t until I kicked her leg.
“Ow! What?”
I looked meaningfully toward the kitchen.
“Oh. Right. Scholarships.”
Izzy sat in the seat next to me and opened her computer. The laptop was covered with stickers she’d collected over the past few years. There was even a little Hawaiian flag sticker I’d brought back for her when we took a trip to visit Mom’s family, before Tutu came to live with us.
“I swear, with how much work is required for some of these scholarships and the little amount of money that’s available, we’re earning like four dollars an hour. I did the math. Not even minimum wage. And that’s only if you actually get the scholarship, which isn’t very likely in most cases.”
“You do realize that while you were doing that math, you could have been applying for another scholarship, right?”
She waved my comment off. “What are you working on?”
“An essay. Can’t find a topic I like.”
“Are there any you can recycle from a different application?”
“Not really. They’re mostly weird topics.”
Before Izzy could respond, my phone vibrated on the table. A Snapchat from Jackson. My pulse picked up speed. Exactly what I didn’t need to help my concentration. I put the phone back to sleep without looking at what he’d sent, but I wasn’t quick enough for Izzy.
“Was that from Jackson? Hey, did I see him in the hall today? Is he back in town?”
Yeah, not going there. “Yep.” I pointed at my screen. “Oh, maybe I’ll write about this one. Where I see myself in ten years. I haven’t done one of those yet, but it can’t be that hard, right? I know exactly where I’ll be.”
But Izzy didn’t take the bait. “Whoa, whoa, subject changer. What’s going on? What’s up with that?”
“With what?” Even though I was playing dumb, my cheeks felt like they were on fire. Though the pigment in my skin usually hid a little blush, this wasn’t a little blush.
I was screwed.
“Spill, Blushy McBlusherson. What’s up with Jackson?”
“Nothing,” I said, entirely too quickly. “Nothing. He’s home.”
“…And?”
“That’s all.”
“Oh my gosh, you had sex with him.”
I didn’t think it was possible for my cheeks to get any warmer, but they did. “No! We did not have sex.” I lowered my voice and prayed my family hadn’t heard any of that. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Fine, you didn’t have sex. But you kissed him.”
“No,” I said, but couldn’t look her in the eye when I said it. It wasn’t completely true.
“Okay, I got it, I got it. He kissed you.”
As much as wanted to, I couldn’t disagree. I couldn’t lie to my friend. “Yeah. But it was an accident.”
Tied Up in You Page 4