Huh?
Right then, two younger girls appear in front of me, both wearing Shawn Mendes shirts.
One of them gawks at me. “Oh my God, it’s him!”
The other bounces up and down. “It’s T.J.!”
Suddenly even more girls surround me, talking and pointing their phones my way. What in the hell is going on? Did I suddenly transform into Shawn Mendes?
Someone jostles my beer and it spills onto my boots with a splash.
I jerk my head around looking for my brother. He and his friends are standing there like deer in the headlights, shocked by the attention I’m getting. Then Chris raises his beer cup and says, “Oh my God, it’s T.J.!”
My brother and his friends crack up.
More girls hurry over. Some are in high school, or maybe even college. Tyler’s mouth is gaping open. He holds his phone up in my direction. Is he recording me for his secret T-Bonezzz account?
As I’m trying to figure out what’s happening, I hear girls saying “Twitter” and “hashtag” and “such a cute picture.”
“This is really your night, Teej,” Chris calls out. “Can you play wingman for me next?”
“He’s my wingman,” Tyler retorts. “We’re gettin’ hula girl tattoos.”
I pray that once Tyler’s sober, he’s forgotten about his tattoo plans. Or at least come up with something better than a hula girl.
Mike pushes through the crowd surrounding me and holds up his phone. “Is this her? The one you’re looking for?”
A picture of Mari and me fills his screen. My heart races at the sight of her cute glasses and that bouncy curly brown hair.
Does that say ten thousand retweets?! I scan the Twitter caption to discover she’s searching for me too. She’s looking for me!
I throw my fist toward the sky and yell, “Wooo!”
The crowd of girls around me whoops too.
I turn on my phone screen to find Ethan texted me back: The girl in that tweet. Mari? Who is she?
I’ll have to text him later. For now, I need to find her.
The girls circle me, all talking at once.
A middle schooler wearing a Shawn Mendes shirt snaps at me: “What are you waiting for?”
“Let’s go find Mari!” another says.
A girl raises an imaginary sword like we’re going to war. “C’mon!”
And suddenly I find myself being bustled away from Tyler by a sea of Shawn Mendes fans.
Mari
My phone buzzes.
And buzzes. And buzzes again. Everybody, their mom, and their grandma—especially the grandmas—has retweeted Sierra’s tweet, and I’m getting all the notifications. Sierra has been retweeted more than eleven thousand times and liked twenty-four thousand times. In less than an hour.
I think it’s because Chrissy Teigen—Chrissy fucking Teigen—retweeted it. It’s hard to sort out all the responses, because so many people have been responding and interacting with other people on the thread—mostly arguing over whether I’m good enough for T.J. I can’t believe how many people think I need to ditch my glasses and get contacts already. Assholes.
I use my thumb to scroll and scroll through the tweets. Even if he does see Sierra’s tweet and reach out to me, will I see his response in all this noise?
While Sierra dances with Megan, I scan hundreds of messages.
That’s when I see it.
Kitten_45: Found him!
Along with her message, there’s a picture of T.J. standing with Tyler. They’re drinking and laughing together. I scan the background to see if I can figure out where they are, but there’s nothing discerning about their location: they’re in a crowd at Lollapalooza.
I write back: Where did you see him?
But Kitten doesn’t respond.
Another message pops up.
TandraM2005: We have TJ at back of Rosalía concert!
This feels like finding a clue in a treasure hunt. “Sierra! Megan! C’mon!”
With the girls on my heels, we make our way through the crowd pushing our way around people. Someone steps on my foot, but I ignore the pain and keep going.
“Mari! Mari!”
A bunch of girls are chanting my name, as if I’m famous. This is the strangest thing that’s ever happened to me. I follow murmurs of my name until I come across a crowd of girls surrounding a guy. A very cute guy.
There he is. T.J.
My eyes find his, and he breaks into a big smile. I sprint his way, zigzagging around people. When I reach him, he throws himself into my arms.
People cheer for us so loudly you’d think I was Rosalía herself.
He squeezes and lifts me up, turning me in a circle. At first I’m tense, because I don’t know him all that well, and it’s a little strange he’s holding me so tight. But at the same time, we make complete sense: my body’s tingling all over. It feels just right.
“I’m so, so sorry,” he says.
“For what?” I say into his ear, so he can hear me over the music.
He gently lowers me to the ground but doesn’t release his hold on me. “I let you go. Your hand—I couldn’t hold on.”
I touch his arm. “It’s okay, we found each other.”
“Are you all right?” He steps back to examine me. His eyes catch on my bandaged elbow. His fingers gently touch the edge of it. “You’re hurt.”
“It’s nothing serious.”
He begins to grin. “I’m so glad Sierra took that picture of us… But in case I lose you again, I have some questions. What’s your phone number? What’s your IG handle? And is your name Marigold?”
T.J.
“Marigold?”
She looks at me like I have tentacles.
“No. It’s just Mari. Mari with an I. Mari Morgan.”
“Oh. I’m T.J. Clark.”
“Marigold?” she exclaims.
I shrug. “I tried all sorts of names when I was searching online. I couldn’t find you.”
She takes a step closer, her body flush against mine. “You were looking online for me?”
“There was no way I wouldn’t.” The tips of my boots touch her sneakers. I wrap my arm around her waist. She fits perfectly against me.
Strangers watching squeal and hoot for us.
“I’m sorry we didn’t get to hang out tonight,” she says. “I have to leave soon. Dad wants us home by eleven.”
I inhale a deep breath, pushing her hair behind an ear, then lean down, letting my lips linger on her neck. She shivers in my arms, even though it’s a steaming hot sauna outside.
“I’m sorry too,” I reply. “How long are you in town?”
“I have to go home Sunday night. My flight to Nashville is at seven thirty.”
I pull back to look at her, but keep my arms around her waist. “That’s when I’m taking the bus back to Madison. This sucks. I can’t believe we lost this entire night.”
Should I ask her to hang out again? Is it worth it? When I lost her tonight and we were separated, I felt terrible, and I’d only known her for less than two hours.
How bad would it feel if I spent the weekend getting to know her, only to lose her? She’s leaving for home in two days and I’m going to college in a few weeks. I mean, why get my hopes up that there could be something between us when it will end quickly?
“Want to try again tomorrow?” she asks, before I’ve even made up my mind about what happens next. There are serious barriers between us: I’m going to college and she’s still in high school back in Tennessee.
Besides, Sierra said Mari doesn’t go out with guys.
But the hopeful look on Mari’s face is what gets me. That’s when I decide to go for it.
“We could meet for breakfast,” I say.
She stands taller, balancing up onto her tiptoes.
“And then go to the beach?”
“And then get hula girl tattoos!” a voice says.
I look over my shoulder to find Tyler has arrived, and he’s grinning at me from ear to ear. I return his smile.
And as I lean down to give her another hug, I’ve never felt more alive.
Mari
Unlike earlier today, it’s only Sierra and me in the back of a beige sedan.
It’s being driven by a redheaded woman in her twenties who is totally focused on the busy Friday-night traffic, both hands firmly clutching the steering wheel. She doesn’t even have the radio on.
“This blows,” Sierra mumbles to me. “We should’ve done the rideshare option again.”
“No way, it’s late,” I reply. “Who knows what kind of wackos might get in the car with us?”
“It could be a wacko, but what if it was, like, a princess in disguise?”
“A princess in disguise?”
Sierra sits up straight and talks with her hands. “Yeah, an undercover princess from Sweden who’s in the United States to go to college, and she wants to be normal, so she doesn’t tell anyone she’s a princess. And then she and I meet in the rideshare, just like you and T.J. She doesn’t tell me she’s a princess at first, but over time she begins to trust me and then opens up about who she truly is.”
“And then you get married and become Princess Sierra?”
My stepsister pumps her fist. “Life goals.”
The Ryde rolls to a stop in front of Dad’s Gold Coast apartment building. We climb out and circle through the revolving glass door into the lobby.
“Hey, Jason!” Sierra calls out to the concierge, a guy who looks Dad’s age.
He smiles and nods back at her. “Good evening, Ms. Lavigne.”
Once we’re on the elevator, I let out a long yawn, which makes Sierra yawn, and then we’re both laughing as we spill out onto my dad’s floor. Sierra uses her key fob to unlock the front door to her apartment. Even though it’s my dad’s place, and I want to stay here when I’m in college, I don’t know if I could ever get used to saying “our” apartment. It’s not my home. I have my own room in our duplex back in Tennessee, but without Dad there, it doesn’t feel like home either.
The apartment door swings open, revealing the long hallway with the fancy tiled floors and lush patterned carpet that looks like it came from the Middle East. When I step onto the rug, my dirty sneakers sink gently into it. The air smells faintly of polish and popcorn. This place is fancy yet cozy, and I simultaneously hate and covet it.
Sierra toes her dirty sneakers off, so I do the same, and leave them by the front door.
“Hello?” Leah’s voice calls out.
I take a deep breath. I wish I could go straight to bed, crawl under the covers, and ignore my dad and stepmother, but that won’t fly.
Sierra leads me into the living room, where Dad and Leah are curled up together on the couch watching Iron Man for probably the zillionth time. A bottle of wine, empty glasses, and a half-eaten bowl of popcorn sit on the coffee table.
Sierra grabs a handful of popcorn, flops down next to her mother on the couch, and leans against her side. I stare. I can’t remember the last time I cuddled with my mom. I must’ve been seven or eight? I can’t even imagine simply hugging my parents. It’s not something we do.
“How was the concert, Ladybug?” Dad asks me.
“Good,” I say quietly.
His eyebrows pinch together. “What’s wrong?”
Seeing him happy with his new wife is hard to look at. I’m glad he’s found what he was looking for and that he seems comfortable in this new life, but it sucks he left us behind. Resentment bubbles inside me.
“I’m tired,” I say. “It’s been a long day, with the flight and festival and all.”
Leah gives me a kind smile. “I have the guest room all ready for you.”
The guest room, because God forbid Dad set up a room for me at his place. He’d probably say he hasn’t because I spend very little time here, but maybe I don’t spend time here because I don’t have my own space.
“I put some towels in there,” Leah goes on. “Let me know if you need anything else.”
“May I have some water?”
Her forehead crinkles. “Of course. Feel free to help yourself to anything in the kitchen. Our home is your home.”
Is it though?
“Thanks,” I say.
Sierra climbs to her feet, popping a couple more pieces of popcorn into her mouth. “C’mon. I’ll show you where the glasses are.”
After getting a drink and washing my face, I put on my pajamas. In the guest room, I turn off the overhead light, leaving the small bedside lamp on. I climb into bed. Ugh, of course the sheets would be soft and cool. Does everything around here have to be so goddamned perfect?
I swipe on my phone screen to discover I have hundreds of notifications and texts. I’m too tired to sort through it all tonight. Instead I pull up the picture of T.J. and me from earlier.
I don’t even look like myself. My skin is glowing and my eyes are bright. I look so happy.
When I turn my focus to T.J.’s picture, my heart speeds up simply looking at him. Would a kiss from him lead to spontaneous combustion?
Once I’ve had my fill of staring at him, I flick over to the phone app—something I so rarely use I don’t even keep the icon on my home screen—and tap on Mom’s number. I hold my breath as it dials and rings a few times. Of course it goes to voicemail. She hates talking on the phone as much as I do, but I figured she’d at least want to make sure I arrived okay and that I’ve settled in.
Part of me is pissed she’s avoiding my call; the other is relieved she didn’t pick up. I’d have to tap-dance around talking about Dad and Leah and how happy they seem to be. The last thing I need is for Mom to be even more upset about my visit here than she is already is. Whenever she gets mad at me, my nerves crackle like I’ve been zapped by lightning.
I leave a message: “Hi, Mom, it’s me. I’m at Dad’s, and I’m okay. Call me back when you have a chance.”
Next I flick over to the video messenger and pull up Austin’s name. Today’s been so overwhelming, I want to see his familiar face—someone who understands. I press the button to call him.
He answers, and his face appears on my screen. “Hey, Bud.”
It’s nice to hear him call me Bud. That’s what he’s called me for years. It makes me feel like things could be normal between us again one day. “Hey, yourself.”
In the video, he’s standing outside in the dark, wearing his usual black cowboy hat. Behind him are a roaring bonfire and a bunch of people tailgating on pickup trucks.
“Am I interrupting anything?” I ask.
Austin looks over his shoulder. “Just hanging out at Goose Pond. You having a good time up there in the city?”
I lean back against the pillows in the guest bed. “Yeah, I mean, it’s weird seeing my dad, and it’s awkward staying with him.”
“I’m sorry. You doing okay?”
“Yeah, I’ll be fine,” I reply, because it’s the only thing to say. Isn’t that they way of life? Everything sucks, but you keep on moving.
Austin takes off his cowboy hat to push a hand through his dark hair. He looks away from the screen. Awkward.
Awkward is what our friendship has been like the past couple months. It would be nice to have one not-totally-weird relationship in my life. I need a kitten.
“So you met a guy today?” Austin finally says.
I hesitate before answering. Will my answer make my best friend sad or mad or flat out pissed? “Yeah. His name’s T.J. He was nice.”
“Good.”
Good? What does that mean? How can one little word from Austin nearly give me a coronary?
“You going to see him again?” Austin asks.
Again, Austin musses his hair. He looks down at the ground. The camera wobbles.
“I hope you’ll give him a chance,” Austin says.
“What do you mean?”
He looks up into my eyes. He opens his mouth, then closes it again.
“Yo, Evans, we’re about to start,” a girl calls from off-screen. “We’ve got some ass to kick!”
Austin puts his cowboy hat back on. “I gotta go. We’re playing capture the flag. Talk to you later.”
The screen goes black and a little survey screen pops up with a message: How was the quality of your call?
The video quality was five stars—it was like I was right back there in Tennessee sitting across from him, but the call content was a one. Austin looked so disappointed. And I hate what he said about me giving T.J. a chance. It was clearly a dig about how I didn’t want a relationship with him. He’s still upset about what happened between us, but does he have to knock me down?
What did I do to deserve that?
* * *
It’s after midnight when somebody knocks on the guest room door.
I flop my head on the pillow and pretend to be asleep, but then Sierra pokes her head inside.
She scurries over and plops down on the bed with the popcorn bowl. She must’ve nicked it from her mom. “Tonight was great.”
“It was,” I say quietly. Then I plummeted from this wild adrenaline high, crashing back into the real world.
She holds out the bowl to me. “You sure you’re okay?”
I choose a piece of popcorn and chew it slowly. “Was it weird when my dad moved in with you guys?”
Sierra nods. “Totally. It was always just me and my mom up until then. And suddenly there was this guy around hogging the orange juice and taking up all Mom’s attention… It was annoying at first, but it’s getting better, I guess. David’s helping me try to convince Mom to adopt a dog, which is good. And now he knows never to touch the last cinnamon roll or he’ll face my wrath.”
I glance at Sierra’s face for a second, but then look away. “You’ve never met your dad, right?”
The Pick-Up Page 6