by Sara Biren
“Sweet dreams, Blue,” he says. “Text me when you get home safely.”
I nod and repeat his words back to him. “Sweet dreams,” I whisper.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
GABE
I’m restless.
I’ve been restless since Saturday, when Chris took off early to get down to the Twin Cities for the gig. Yesterday, Juniper worked early at the farmers’ market, then had a long shift at the nature center. By the time she got home, it was past dinner and she was tired, she said. So except for Saturday night, when she brought the bucket of chicken, I’ve been alone. Not long ago, I would have relished that time alone. Now, it makes me antsy and nervous.
I’m glad to be back at school and around people again, even if one of those people is the inimitable Chloe Annoying AF.
“Gabe!” she calls to me, waving, as I walk down the hall toward World History. Her ponytail swings wildly. “I’m having a few people over Saturday night for a small party. A bonfire. You have to come.”
This isn’t exactly what I had in mind. “I don’t know, Chloe. I’m not really in the party mood.”
“Did I say party? More like a gathering.” Her eyes grow wide. “Oh my God, that’s right! You’re in treatment, right? And you don’t want to be around alcohol?” She slaps her hand over her mouth.
“Actually, I’m not in treatment. I’m not an addict, no matter what the tabloids like to say. I meant that I’m not really in the mood to be around a bunch of people I don’t know.”
She drops her hand and starts running off her mouth again. “Oh! Is that all? Well, get to know us. Seriously! You’ll be so glad you did.”
This girl is insufferable. I have to think of a way to shut her up and shut her down.
“Well . . .” I draw out the word like I’m thinking about her offer. “I can bring Juniper, right?”
Her eyes grow wide again. She glances around the hallway like she’s looking for the right answer. For sure, she’s going to say no, and then I can get out of it, too. “Of course! Bring her along! The more the merrier, right? What’s your number? I’ll text you the address.”
Well, that backfired. “Text Juniper,” I say. This girl has got to stop trying to get my number.
Juniper storms up to me at lunch, holding out her phone.
“What is going on? Did you tell Chloe Horrible that we’d come to a party at her house Saturday night?”
“Chloe Horrible? Come on, she’s not that bad. And it’s more of a bonfire.”
“It’s more of a bonfire,” she mutters. “What is wrong with you? Why would you subject us to such an experience?”
I grin. She’s mad at me, yes, in her typical Juniper fashion, but she said us and I kinda like it. “What, you don’t like to go to Chloe’s parties?”
“You are the worst.”
“You love it! Who would you argue with if I weren’t around?”
“Me,” Ted pipes in.
“Me,” Amelia follows.
“Oh God, so much me,” Youa adds. “But you should know, Gabe, that Chloe’s parties are the worst. Everyone gets hammered and stupid and someone whose name starts with T and rhymes with Fred ends up buck naked on a picnic table singing ‘Rednecker’ by Hardy. I’m so glad I’ll be at my church retreat this weekend so I won’t have to see that again.”
“That was one time!” Ted roars. ‘God, I wish you people would stop bringing it up, OK? And I don’t drink anymore! I mean, my family is riddled with addicts.” He looks over at me. “No offense.”
“None taken,” I say. “Although one addict doesn’t equal riddled. But I don’t drink for the very same reason. Well, that, and I don’t want to end up drunk and naked on a picnic table singing some horrible country song.”
“Same,” Amelia chimes in, looking pointedly at Ted. “Which is why none of us go to those parties. None of us drink. And watching drunk people act stupid and take selfies to post on Instagram isn’t that much fun.”
If she thinks HRH parties are bad, she should go to an LA club once.
“Listen,” Juniper says. “I will go to this ‘bonfire’ with you, but you have to promise we’ll only stay for one hour. One.”
“Done.”
“Even an hour sounds miserable,” Amelia says.
Juniper turns to her, eyes narrowed. “Well, guess what? Misery loves company. You’re going, too.”
Chloe’s “small gathering” spills out from her backyard to an empty field where a giant bonfire’s flames lick the dark night sky. I’d say the guest count is well past fifty by the time the four of us arrive.
“Yesssss,” Ted says. “Look at that awesome fire.”
“I can’t believe you’re making us do this,” Amelia says.
“Chin up,” I say. “It’s one hour of your life. Think about how many awful Hollywood parties I’ve had to attend.”
“Oh, poor you,” Juniper says. “It must be so terrible to have to mingle with Tom Holland and . . . Selena Gomez.”
“Selena Gomez? That’s the best you can do? I’ve never met either Selena or Tom. I have met Demi Lovato, though. Come on, let’s get this over with.”
“This is your fault, you know,” she says.
I sling my arm around Juniper’s shoulders. “Hang in there, Blue. We can get through this together.”
Juniper bites her bottom lip but doesn’t say a word. We walk toward Chloe, who’s surrounded by a few people I recognize and many that I don’t. Chloe pulls away from the group and practically charges for me, grabbing my arm.
“Gabe!” she shrieks. “You made it!”
“Yeah, hey, Chloe. We can’t stay long.”
“Oh, you will,” she says. “Come say hi to everyone!”
She tugs me away from Juniper, Ted, and Amelia, none of whom make a move to prevent this. Juniper crosses her arms and lifts one eyebrow. I’m beginning to recognize this as her “I told you so” look.
“Have fun!” Amelia says, lifting one hand and wiggling her fingers at me mockingly.
“Look, everyone!” Chloe announces loudly as we walk over to the bonfire. “Look who’s here! Gabe Hudson.”
“Hey,” I say. “How’s it going?”
“Dude!” a guy I recognize from my horticulture class calls. “Did you bring your guitar? Can you sing ‘Burden’ for us?”
“Nah, man, I didn’t bring my guitar.”
“Next time, man, next time.”
“Yeah, for sure.” I nod.
Chloe grabs my arm again and tugs me away. “Come on! We’ve got more people to meet!”
One hour. I glance down at my watch. I can do this for one hour.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
JUNIPER
Chloe Horrible walks around like a queen bee from a KidCo Original Teen Movie, showing off Gabe to all her friends, her arm linked through his. She pets him, smiles up at him adoringly.
I think I’m going to throw up.
Amelia sighs and leans against the side of the pole barn. “I’m bored,” she says.
“Want me to see if they have any Coke?” Ted asks.
“Nah. I’m so bored,” she says again.
Jasper, one of Ted’s football buddies, comes over and offers him a beer. “Hey, Ted, get your ass over here. We want to talk to you about Wednesday night’s game.”
Ted doesn’t take the beer, but he follows Jasper over to a group of guys at a picnic table, all with blue plastic cups.
“I don’t understand how I got here,” Amelia says. “Things are weird since Gabe came to town.”
“You can say that again.” I can’t seem to stop watching Chloe and Gabe. Slowly, Chloe has been inching them away from the bonfire and the crowd. Now, they’re mostly separated from the group, in the shadows. I can’t hear what they’re saying.
Amelia glances at her phone. “Only forty-five more minutes.”
“Is that all?”
I stare at them for another minute or so. Chloe touches him, she laughs, he smiles, even though it’s
not his full, brilliant smile. Still. Is he having a good time? He’s not supposed to be having a good time with Chloe Horrible.
“Let’s go inside,” Amelia says. “At least we won’t have to stare at them.”
She’s got a point. I follow her into the pole barn, where a couple of small tables are set up in the one corner that’s not filled with lawn mowers and utility vehicles and other small equipment. There’s another, longer table tucked against a wall with small bags of chips, water bottles, and a deck of cards. We’ve got the place to ourselves.
“This must be where the losers hang out,” Amelia says.
“I can’t believe no one has found the stash of Cheetos yet.”
“Want to play cards?”
“Sure.”
We sit down and Amelia shuffles the deck. “I could be at home watching The Great British Baking Show right now.”
She deals out a hand of Trash, a game we’ve been playing almost daily since the weekend in eighth grade we spent at her haunted church camp on Snowdrift Lake, and continues. “I could be, I don’t know, washing my hair. Oh! I know! Cleaning the hair out of the shower drain with that plastic snake thing.”
“I get your point, Amelia.”
“No, no, wait. I could be organizing Mom’s spices alphabetically.”
“Wait a minute. Your spices aren’t already alphabetical?”
She rolls her eyes. “Draw a card.”
We play the first round of Trash in silence. Amelia wins by one. I gather up the cards, shuffle, and deal.
“So,” she says as she draws her first card. “You like Gabe.”
“Why do you say that?” I ask, staring intently at the ten face-down cards in front of me while Amelia plays her turn.
“Well,” she says softly, “maybe because as soon as Chloe dragged Gabe away, you stared at them like you hoped a hole would open up in the ground and swallow Chloe whole.”
“No. I didn’t.” I draw a card from the pile in the middle. A queen. No good. Amelia takes her turn and flips up three of her cards in quick succession.
“And I’ve seen how your face gets when you talk about him. Or when someone else is talking about him,” she says. “It’s like all your muscles relax or something. Your eyes get gooey, and one corner of your mouth turns up like you’re trying not to smile but you definitely want to.”
My eyes get gooey?
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say.
“Sure you don’t.” She draws a card and then slaps it into the discard pile, a five. I glance at my cards. The only one I’ve flipped so far, of course, is the five, so I can’t use it. I draw a king and my turn ends. She finishes out the round in a flourish.
“Your deal,” I say as I gather the cards into a neat pile and slide it to her.
She shuffles and deals, then flips an ace and a two before drawing another ace. I pick it up.
“Well, well . . .” I sputter. “What about you? Why are you in here playing cards with me instead of out there with Ted?”
“That’s different,” she says.
“How is it different?” I draw a card, a jack, a freebie. I flip and face three more cards before my turn ends. “How will you know if you don’t ask him? Today is someday.”
“Nice run,” she says. “It just is. And we’re not talking about Ted here. We’re talking about Gabe.”
She draws and then discards the two of hearts. She doesn’t need it, but I still do. I take it from the discard pile.
“Oh, look,” she says. “The two of hearts.”
I glance up to see Ted and Gabe walking into the barn. “Oh, look,” I say. “Maybe now’s your chance.”
“Maybe now’s your chance,” she echoes.
“Chance for what?” Ted asks as they walk up to the table. “What are you doing in here? The party’s out there.”
“This party’s lame,” Amelia says. “Can we go? Is our hour up?”
“That’s the best idea I’ve heard all night,” Gabe says.
“May I remind you,” I say as I stack the cards, “this was your idea.”
“I learned my lesson.”
Ted laughs. “I’ll say.”
“Oh no,” Amelia says. “What did Chloe do?”
Gabe visibly shudders. “I can’t talk about it. Too soon.”
I frown. What did Chloe do? My brain immediately pictures Chloe reaching up on her tiptoes and trying to kiss him. Did she kiss him?
“Come on,” Ted says, “if we sneak out the other door, no one will see us leaving.”
We follow Ted through a maze of various lawn equipment and out the service door in the opposite corner of the pole barn. When we step out into the cool, dark night, I feel like I can freely breathe again for the first time in—I check my phone—forty-two minutes.
“Well, kids,” Ted says as he puts the truck in reverse and backs down Chloe’s long driveway. “Where to?”
“I could go for some Spuds,” Gabe says from the front seat.
“Yes,” Ted shouts. “Got it in one. Uncle Bud’s it is.”
“Only if we get to eat inside. It’s too cold to take our food to the park,” Amelia says.
“It’s Saturday night. Do you honestly think we’re going to get seats inside?”
“You’re related to the owner!” she cries. “Call ahead! Tell them to reserve us a table!”
“I’m not going to abuse my power like that, Lee,” Ted says sincerely.
“OK. Gabe’ll do it. Right, Gabe?”
Gabe snorts.
When we get to Uncle Bud’s, Gabe walks up to Violet at the hostess stand and asks for a table for four. She’s sorting through a stack of menus and doesn’t look up.
“It’s about a ten-minute wait,” she says. “That OK?”
Violet’s mid-thirties, with buttery blonde hair in a massive beehive, bright red lips, and rhinestone cat-eye glasses. She’s wearing a pink Uncle Bud’s bowling shirt tied at the waist, her name embroidered above the pocket, jeans rolled to mid-calf, and saddle shoes. I wonder if they sell those bowling shirts. I would rock that outfit.
“Ten minutes is fine,” Gabe replies.
“Name?”
“Abe Froman, Sausage King of Chicago,” he deadpans.
Ted bursts out laughing, and Violet looks up, finally, from Gabe to Ted and back to Gabe. “Oh, is it Gabe? Little Gabey?” She comes around the side of the hostess stand and pulls Gabe into a hug. “Oh my gosh, honey, I haven’t seen you since Leona’s funeral, God bless her. It’s Violet! And aren’t you the spitting image of cousin Chris!”
“Hi, Violet,” Gabe says.
“Now, let me see if I can get you a table right away.”
“No need,” Gabe says. “We can wait. We’ll take a look around the gift shop.”
“You do that, honey, and I’ll call you back as soon as I can.”
“Nice Ferris Bueller reference, Gabe,” Amelia says as we step into the side porch that serves as a gift shop. I browse through a rack of T-shirts and sweatshirts but don’t find a bowling shirt.
“What are you looking for?” Gabe asks as he comes up behind me.
“I want an Uncle Bud’s bowling shirt,” I say. “I don’t see them here, though.”
“How about a giant mug shaped like a stack of pancakes?” he asks, picking up a large ceramic mug from the shelf next to us.
“Those aren’t merely pancakes, Gabe,” I say, “those are Uncle Bud’s World Famous Blueberry Pancakes.”
“So,” he says, setting the mug down, “do you want to talk about the party?”
“What about the party?” I ask.
“You didn’t seem too thrilled that I spent time with Chloe, which, I guess, was the point of us being there.”
“What gives you that idea?” I ask, my cheeks warming.
“You know, your cheeks always turn this cute shade of pink when you’re embarrassed. Like cotton candy.”
Now I’m sure my cheeks are deep red, not cotton candy pink.
“Well,” I say slowly, trying to buy some time, “weren’t you, I don’t know, miserable talking to her? I would have been.”
“You know,” he says, “she’s not that horrible. Annoying—”
“Yes, yes,” I cut him off. “I know. Annoying as fuck.”
“Blue, I don’t think I’ve heard you swear before!” He grins.
“Why are you so nice to her, anyway? You don’t even like her.” I pause. I sound like a toddler. “Do you?”
“I’m not going to go out of my way to be friends with her, if that’s what you’re asking. My whole life, I’ve had to put up with people who are much worse. Shallow, materialistic, manipulative dicks who only want to be friends with me because I can introduce them to Chris or Elise or—shit, one time a guy asked me if I could introduce him to David Bowie, and I was like, you realize he’s dead, right? David fucking Bowie.” He shakes his head.
“I still have to be nice to them,” he continues. “One of the best parts about being here in Minnesota is that I don’t have to constantly worry about the paparazzi or wonder if someone is taking a video of me, I don’t know, having a panic attack in public.” He runs a hand through his messy curls.
“I’m sorry,” I say as I pick at a loose thread at my wrist. “Sometimes I forget that you’re—you know. Famous.”
He leans forward, smiling again. “I wonder, though, if maybe, just maybe, you were a little bit jealous?”
My cheeks go cotton candy pink again. Was I jealous? The truth is, I do want him to have a good time with me, be with me, not Chloe Horrible. Not anyone else.
He’s right. I’m jealous.
I try to cover up my embarrassment. “I wonder,” I mimic, “if maybe, just maybe, someone’s a little conceited?”
He laughs. “You know what, Blue? Don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m thankful every day that I got paired up with you for this project. I don’t know that I could have tolerated anyone else.”