by Sara Biren
“He’s pretty hot, though,” Amelia chimes in.
“She didn’t mean that kind of hot,” I say.
“He looks miserable sitting over there with his aunt and uncle,” Youa says. She elbows me again. “I know a thing or two about that.”
I bite my bottom lip and think about my plan. Maybe I should ask Gabe to join us. I should be making more of an effort with him. He didn’t come to dinner for shepherd’s pie, but he seemed close to giving in. I’m making progress, right?
I stand up. “Be right back,” I tell my friends.
“Hi, Juniper!” Janie says after I make my way across the bleachers to the next section over. “Enjoying the game?”
“For sure,” I tell her. “Ted’s on fire tonight. Hey, Frank. Hey, Gabe.”
“Hi, kiddo,” Frank responds.
It’s one thing for Gabe to speak to me in class or privately thank me for a ride home, but I’m not sure what to expect now, in public. He could ignore me or give me that trademarked rock star nod of acknowledgment. I’m surprised when he looks directly at me and says, “Hey. What’s up?”
“I, uh, didn’t know you were coming to the game tonight.”
He jabs a thumb in his aunt’s direction. “Janie can be very persuasive.”
I snort. “True story.”
“Well, I wasn’t about to let him sit home alone on a Friday night in that big, empty house,” Janie says.
“Chris still isn’t back yet?” I ask.
“His return has been delayed,” Gabe says indifferently. “He’s not sure when he’ll be back.”
Yikes.
“I thought maybe you’d like to come hang out with me and my friends.” I try to make my voice light and carefree and . . . genuine. “We’re right over there. See, there’s Amelia, who you met the other night, and Youa, who’s in your World History class, and Bunny. You haven’t met Bunny yet.”
Janie chuckles. “That Youa’s one of a kind.”
Gabe opens his mouth to respond but doesn’t get the chance.
“Gabe! I’m so glad you’re here!” I hear the shrill voice before I see her. Chloe Horrible steps up and practically shoves me out of the way. She’s wearing a white, cropped HRH T-shirt and black capri leggings. It’s not even fifty degrees. “You said you weren’t going to the game. You should come sit by us!”
Gabe looks at Chloe and then back to me, almost as if he’s weighing his options and working out the lesser of two evils. He stands up.
“Oh, hey, Chloe,” he says. “Thanks for the invite. I’m actually going to hang out with Juniper and . . . the others. Ready, Blue?”
My eyes widen at the nickname, and I step back as he moves closer to me, then takes my arm. He’s touching me, and I’m more than a little shocked by the prickle of warmth from his grasp.
“Sorry,” he says to Chloe, but he doesn’t sound sorry at all. She pouts and her high ponytail flies up as she whips around and walks back to her friends in the next section.
“Thanks for the save,” he says. “She’s not horrible, necessarily, but she is annoying as fuck.”
Oh, she’s horrible. And annoying as fuck, both.
We make our way over to where the girls are waiting. “Hey,” he says. “How’s it going?”
“You know Amelia,” I say as the pep band blasts “Proud Mary.” “This is Amelia’s cousin Youa, and this is Bunny. Not her real name.”
“If you ever find out what her real name is,” Amelia offers, “whatever you do, don’t call her by it. And don’t ask me what it is, because I will not tell you.”
Bunny waves in our general direction, not taking her eyes off the action on the field.
“She’s not even kidding,” Youa says. “She looks nice and friendly, but she can be vicious if you cross her. Bit of free advice. Here, sit down before someone yells at you. You’re, like, blocking the view.” She yanks Gabe’s arm, and he sits down hard on the metal bleacher in between Youa and Amelia. I sit on Youa’s other side.
“How do you like HRH so far?” Youa asks.
“It’s fine,” Gabe says. “Different.”
“Different how? I mean, besides the obvious weather and celebrity stuff?” Youa smiles.
“Well, I for sure wouldn’t be taking a horticulture class at a music school.”
“Wait, what?” Youa cries. “You went to a school for music?”
Ah, yes, these two are going to hit it off.
“An arts school, yeah,” Gabe says.
“Oh my God, of course,” she says. “Well, don’t feel too bad about not taking any music classes here. Our band and choir programs are dismal. Embarrassing, really. I drive into Fred Lake for all my lessons, and even that’s questionable.”
She launches into an interrogation about his school, his teachers, the classes he took. Even when musicians are on opposite ends of the style spectrum, the foundations are the same.
“Youa, cripes,” Amelia says after a few minutes. “Give the poor guy a break.”
Youa huffs and sticks her tongue out at her cousin. I’m hit with a feeling of gratitude for these friends and contentment for this crisp, fall night in northern Minnesota, for the air pungent with campfire and pine.
Bunny mumbles, “Come on, come on,” and glances nervously at the scoreboard. How are we down by seven? I haven’t been paying attention. We all look to the field as Bucky takes the snap and hands off the ball to Ted, who dodges a couple of tackles and runs it into the end zone.
Bunny and Amelia and Youa all jump up and cheer and hug one another, and I can’t see what’s happening on the field because they’re blocking my view. I can barely hear the PA announcer signal the end of the half. Youa reaches down and pulls Gabe into their celebration. He looks down and smiles at me—a wide, real smile—and something deep inside me flutters. I look away.
“Get your lazy ass up here,” Youa yells and pulls me up into their group hug, and we jump and cheer and act like idiots and I can easily forget about that beautiful smile.
“I have to pee something fierce,” Youa says. “And we’re getting pretzels. Juniper? You coming?”
I shake my head and sit back down.
“Gabe?” Youa asks.
“Nah, I’m good.” He sits, too.
And then Amelia and Youa and Bunny are gone, and the crowd around us thins out, and it’s me and Gabe. He slides closer to me but not close enough to touch.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“I thought it would be weird with everyone else gone if there was this giant, gaping hole between us.”
I laugh. “It was one tiny, Youa-sized hole.”
“She’s got a lot to say for a tiny person.”
“Tiny person, big personality.”
“I can see why you and she are friends.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” My brow furrows.
“Tiny person, big personality,” he echoes. “I like your friends, Blue.”
There’s that nickname again. Chris calls me Juniper Blue after the song, of course, but no one’s ever shortened it to simply Blue before. I like it.
And, despite myself, I like that it’s coming from Gabe.
“Well,” I say, clearing my throat, “if you like them so much, you should definitely come out with us for pizza after the game. It’s tradition. I’m sure Bunny won’t mind giving you a ride home.”
Gabe doesn’t get a chance to respond, because Youa returns, dramatically dropping onto the bleachers next to me.
“Yes, for sure,” she says. “God, the lines were so long. I’ve got an iron bladder. I’ll pee at Pizza Snatch after the game.”
Gabe’s mouth drops open, and then he slams it shut again. “Uh? Pizza Snatch?” he says.
Youa nods. “Best part about driving all the way up here for a game. Mashed potatoes and fried chicken at Pizza Snatch. And pizza, of course, if you’re into that kind of thing.”
“Pizza Ranch,” I clarify, which, come to think of it, doesn’t sound much better. �
�Youa, come on. Don’t be crass.”
“Juniper, come on,” Youa mocks. “Gabe, trust me. You haven’t lived until you’ve feasted at the endless buffet at Pizza Snatch.”
I cringe but Gabe grins and says, “Wouldn’t miss it.”
Chapter Seventeen
GABE
Pizza Snatch is like no other place I’ve ever seen, and that’s saying something, considering I’ve been all over the world and have eaten in some very unusual restaurants.
First of all, they’re playing Christian rock music, which is unexpected, but none of the girls seem to notice or mind. The walls are covered with Western-themed artwork: cowboys, wagon wheels, horseshoes, signs with quotes like “Never squat with your spurs on” and “Never give the devil a ride. He will always want the reins.”
We pay for the “legendary” buffet at the register (it had better be legendary at that price point), the cashier hands us tall plastic cups, and we’re let loose into a wide-open space with two buffets in the center and a drinks station on the perimeter.
“Grab a tray,” Youa says. “I’ll show you how it’s done.”
I follow her as she makes her way around the buffets, loading her plate with fried chicken, mashed potatoes, green beans, macaroni salad, and biscuits.
“What the hell are these pizzas?” I ask, squinting at the signs in front of the pies. “Stampede? Roundup? Where’s the pepperoni?”
“Don’t say hell, Gabe,” Bunny advises from the other side of the buffet. “This is a very godly establishment.”
“I can see that.”
I choose a couple of slices of the Bronco, which appears to be all meat, and the Buffalo Chicken, as well as the mashed potatoes that Youa raved about and some hot wings. I fill up the plastic cup with ice and Coke and follow Amelia into the dining area to a large round table in a corner. Juniper follows after a minute or two, her plate loaded up with salad and a slice of pizza with too many vegetables on it.
“Is there any meat on that pizza?” I ask as she sits down.
“No, why?”
“It’s not pizza if it doesn’t have meat.”
“False,” she says. “I see you don’t have any vegetables anywhere on your plate.” She takes a giant bite, and a huge slice of tomato flaps against her chin. She laughs.
Youa sits down with a sigh, looking at her plate with longing. “Oh my God, it’s been so long,” she says. She digs her fork into the mountain of mashed potatoes and gravy and shovels it into her mouth with a moan. “There is nothing better than the Snatch! All you can eat, baby!”
I like this girl.
“Well, would you look at that,” Bunny says, pointing her straw at Juniper before dunking it into her glass. “Juniper’s eating the exact same thing as last time.”
Youa squints and leans forward over the table for a better look. “And everything’s on her plate in the exact same order.”
Juniper rolls her eyes. “Would you please let it go?”
“Let what go?” I ask. “I don’t get it.”
“I don’t know if you know this about Juniper,” Youa says, “but she’s very set in her ways. She’s been eating the same meal at Pizza Snatch for years. A big ol’ salad and one slice of Tuscan Roma pizza. When she goes back for seconds, it’s for two chicken drumsticks and waffle fries, dipped in barbecue sauce. Dessert? Cherry. Peach only if they’re out of cherry.”
“So what?” Juniper says. “I like what I like.”
“But what about these mashed potatoes?” Youa cries. “Give them a chance, Juniper. You’ll never know if you don’t try.”
Juniper shrugs. “I don’t know. They’re . . . lumpy. They don’t look as good as the mashed potatoes from Happy’s.”
“What’s Happy’s?” I ask.
“This place in Harper’s Mill with the best fried chicken,” Juniper replies.
“Yes,” Youa says. “Don’t even bother suggesting fried chicken from anywhere else.”
“It’s delicious!” Juniper says and laughs. “With the perfect amount of crispiness.”
“Poor Juniper, everyone picking on you,” Amelia says. “Happy’s does have the best fried chicken.”
“But what if the apple dessert pizza is so amazing, it blows your mind?” Youa asks. “You’ll miss out on that your entire life.”
Juniper sighs. “I like what I like,” she says again. “And I like my routine.”
Youa is spot-on about these mashed potatoes. This is the best meal I’ve had all week, except for Janie’s Sunday roast, of course. Maybe I should have taken Juniper up on her offer of shepherd’s pie last night instead of eating cold leftover pizza.
We all go back for another round at the buffet, including dessert pizzas made with various pie fillings and soft-serve ice cream. Youa’s right: Juniper comes back with two drumsticks, a few waffle fries, a tiny dish of barbecue sauce, and one slice of cherry dessert pizza. I stare pointedly at her plate.
“Don’t even,” she warns.
“So, Gabe,” Youa says as she stacks her empty plate with others in the center of the table. “I have some questions for you.”
Bunny groans. “Do you have to do this with every single person you meet?”
This will be interesting. Youa doesn’t wait for me to respond before she launches questions at me like tennis balls from a Spinshot.
“Your house in LA. How close is it to the beach?”
“A few blocks. And we have a pool.”
“You seem like you should have more of a tan. Not a big sun worshipper?”
“Both of my grandmothers had melanoma. One of them ultimately died from it. So I wear sunscreen.”
“Valid point,” she says. “How old were you when you learned to play guitar?”
“Seven. Chris bought me this amazing Martin acoustic guitar, a special edition for the company’s hundred and seventy-fifth anniversary. They only made a hundred and seventy-five of them. It’s still my favorite guitar.”
“Seven? I had read somewhere that it was ten. You’ve been all over the world. What’s your favorite place?”
“That’s easy. Liverpool.”
“Beatles fan, are you? What’s your favorite Beatles song?”
I shake my head. “How can you even have only one favorite?”
She makes a sound like a buzzer. “False! The correct answer is ‘Let It Be.’”
I laugh.
“What’s it like dating a superstar like Marley Green?”
This one I’m not expecting. My stomach twists and I regret that last slice of Buffalo Chicken pizza. I can’t set down the weight of Marley and the money, not even for one night.
“Ah. Well. Interesting. Never a dull moment.”
“DC or Marvel?”
“DC.”
“Really? Why?”
“Wonder Woman. How is this even a question?”
“See, Youa?” Amelia says. “I am not the only one!”
“What do you think of the Snatch?”
I think I would come back to the Snatch and feast on the legendary buffet every week if it meant I could hang out with these people. The only person missing is Ted. I reach over to Juniper’s plate and take one of her waffle fries. She swats at my hand, but the corner of her mouth twitches.
Is this what real friendship looks like?
Youa and Juniper and I cram into the back seat of Bunny’s SUV after we’ve rolled out of Pizza Snatch. Amelia groans from the front seat that she’s too full, and Bunny says she wishes she hadn’t gone back for a fourth slice of Cactus Bread.
I lean my head against the window and listen to the girls talk about the game and their plans for the weekend. Youa’s making two hundred egg rolls with her mom for an event at their church on Sunday. Bunny’s training for a seventy-mile hike on the Willard Munger State Trail, and then she has an afternoon shift at the drugstore. Juniper works at eight in the morning at the park reserve. I didn’t even know she had a job.
When Bunny drops me off and I walk into that big,
empty house, I can’t help but feel a little lonely. This has been a long week, and I haven’t slept well. I’ve been sleeping upstairs in what was Chris’s childhood bedroom, but I can hear every sound: the house creaking, the furnace sputtering.
It’s late. I should go to bed. Instead, I flip open the cover of the piano in the living room. I’ve had a melody at the back of my mind all day, so I play around with it. It’s slow and a little haunting, and I try to find a way to emulate the lonely howl of the coyotes. I find some notebook paper in the old rolltop desk in the study and scribble down the notes. It’s not quite right, but I don’t want to lose what progress I’ve made. After a while, I give up and play songs I’ve had memorized for years: “Levon” by Elton John, “A Whiter Shade of Pale” by Procol Harum, “Let It Be” and “Fool on the Hill,” and always, Pink Floyd’s “High Hopes.”
I sit at the piano for nearly an hour, then move onto the couch with the Martin and play until my fingers ache. I miss my classes at Barlow. I miss playing out. I miss being in the studio. I miss the excitement of creating something new, something good.
I’m tired by the time I go back upstairs to Chris’s old bedroom. I crack open the windows, and the crisp, chilly air cools down the room quickly. I get back into bed and focus on the night sounds: tree branches rustling, an occasional coyote wail, crickets. I’m relaxed and exhausted and comfortable. I think about the game and pizza with Juniper and her friends. Tonight was . . . fun, I guess. I haven’t had fun like this in a long time. And Juniper seemed different tonight. Softer, somehow. Like maybe we could be friends after all.
Maybe that wouldn’t be so horrible.
Chapter Eighteen
JUNIPER
Saturday morning, I work at the park reserve with a youth group from a church in Fred Lake. I’ve been employed with the park district as a trail guide and a steward for the park’s Adopt-a-Trail program for two years. I take out groups like this two or three times a month in the summer and fall. In addition to basic cleanup and trail grooming, we remove invasive species and sometimes collect seeds for the park system’s nursery. Israel, the forest and conservation specialist, and I have worked with this group before, so we don’t have to spend much time explaining or demonstrating the day’s tasks. Mostly, we supervise the kids, help them identify the various plant life, and answer any questions.