by Dahlia Adler
“Obviously I’m still applying to Columbia,” says Shannon, “but I can’t not consider the Sorbonne, especially after spending the summer in Paris. I’ll apply to Brown too, but I mean, Providence? Really?”
Kiki rolls her eyes into her Coke. She drinks like seven cups of it a day, even after our science lab where we watched it take the rust off a nail. “Brown’s a great school, Shan. I would apply there if they had a forensic science program, or a journalism major.”
“Are you sure you want to center your early decision around something you might not even want to do in a couple of years? What if you change your mind and you’re stuck at a third-rate school because it has the best forensics program?” Shannon says “forensics” as if it means Kiki wants to study toe fungus.
Kiki sighs. “Not every school that isn’t an Ivy or in Paris is a third-rate school, for your information, and yes, I’m sure. But if I change my mind, I can always transfer. And anyway, how do you know you’ll always want to study art history? What if you decide you don’t wanna be a museum curator or gallery owner?”
I watch Shannon and Kiki volley back and forth with fascination. They have nothing in common except that they’ve both known what they want to do forever, and so they take each other more seriously than anyone else can possibly take either of them. Even watching them clash over it, I know they’re playing devil’s advocate with each other, making the other one sure she’s firm in her choice, because this is just how they do things.
We’re a weird crew and we know it: Shannon and her perfect hair and oodles of money, who never misses a party but is still such a mom, into finer things like art and French culture but also totally our group caretaker; Kiki with her mystery obsessions and gothic fashion sense, not to mention total disinterest in dating (despite the rest of us being boy-crazy), who is always the one to remember the little details that matter and gives the most thoughtful gifts as a result; Gia with her narrow interests of Tommy, cheerleading, and making memories, but whose loyalty and focus make her utterly indispensable; and me, who’s always up for trying anything and soaking in everybody else, happy to be the guinea pig or test audience for everything from Shannon’s glittery eyeliner to Gia’s newest choreography.
If we hadn’t gone to school together our entire lives and made friends back when we had everything in common because our entire lives were My Little Pony, Dead Man’s Float competitions in Kiki’s pool, and getting our parents to take us out for ice cream, we might not have anything to do with each other. But we’ve kept at it and made it work, and now we are a scary and awesome force of mutual support, and I love that about us.
Even in their bitchiest moments, they’ve never genuinely torn me down for anything. Would that stay true if they knew about Jasmine? Would they look at me differently? Treat me differently?
And was Jasmine serious about coming to the Clementine Walker event? I’m not sure I can handle knowing she’s in the room if Clementine reads one of her more … risqué scenes. Maybe I should bring Chase, share one of my interests with him, given how many football games I’ve attended. Maybe those scenes will work on him just as well.
Anyway, it’s not like Jasmine would’ve ever touched her books before I recommended them, and she ended up reading four. They’re good. Maybe Chase will give one a shot. He’s not the kind of guy who’s, like, “Ew, romance novels are for girls.” At least, I don’t think he is, though I can’t imagine him adding reading on top of schoolwork and football and college applications. It was different with Jasmine. We were free during the summer, and she was already reading at least a book a week, if not more.
It was different with Jasmine, for sure.
Chapter Ten
THEN
“Okay, not that I’m creeping on your reading choices or anything, but I’m pretty sure every single book I’ve seen you read this summer that wasn’t one of my recommendations has been by that woman.”
I look up from Make Me a Catch to Jasmine standing over my hammock, her long waves swept into a ponytail. It’s been three days since we made out, and we haven’t talked about it once—we just got up the next morning and proceeded to the next shoot as if nothing had happened, then spent the afternoon at the beach with Keisha, Carter, and the others. I haven’t seen her since breakfast this morning. She’d disappeared into her room immediately to do some photo-editing work, and I hadn’t expected to see her until dinner. She isn’t avoiding me, I don’t think, and I’m not avoiding her, but we aren’t going out of our way to spend time alone. In fact, this is the first time I’ve seen her in days without a camera in her hand and a bag of gear in mine.
“She’s probably not your thing,” I say, embarrassed to be caught devouring so many romance novels. Shannon flashes through my head with her “guilty pleasures is a stupid concept” mantra, and I sit a little straighter. “But she’s my favorite romance author. She has a new book coming out in September and I’m rereading everything of hers before it comes out.”
“Can I see?” She motions for me to move over in the hammock and I do, aware of every single micro-inch of her bronze skin brushing mine. I hand over the book, refusing to cringe at the hot-pink cover, and she accepts it with a hint of a wicked grin. “Wait, this is a boring scene in an office. Where’s the good stuff?”
“You know romance novels have actual plots, right?” I say dryly. “The characters do real things and have brains and stuff?”
“Oh, I’m teasing. But not about the good stuff.” She keeps a finger where I left off and flips through the rest until she finds something to her satisfaction. “Ah, here we go.
“‘If this is what yardwork does to your body, I need to shake some more leaves from my tree,’ said Zoe, sliding a perfectly manicured red fingernail down the line bisecting Drew’s pecs and following it with her lips.
“‘Baby,’ Drew breathed, ‘I’ll be happy to shake it all for you.’ He lifted her in his strong arms and pressed his mouth to hers, inhaling her like the spicy scent of wood smoke on a crisp autumn morning. But his lips weren’t content simply to taste her mouth. He rolled her so she was beneath him and left kisses all over her cheeks, her throat, her shoulders, that magnificent collarbone, and the velvety soft pillows of her breasts.” Jasmine hands the book back. “You really like that stuff?”
I realize my entire body is clenched tight in reaction to her reading, as if I were trying to stop myself from responding. I relax my limbs, take the book back, and give her an honest answer. “I really do. I’m a sap. I’ve always been a sap. I never got to grow up seeing my parents sneak kisses or grab each other’s butts or whatever it is parents who actually like each other do in movies. Sometimes I think my mom’s sad she never had that too, not even for a little bit like your parents. But it’s not something everyone who wants it gets, even if they’re awesome and put themselves out there. I figure, if I never get it in real life, at least I get it here.” I hold up the book. “The way she writes lets you put yourself in her main characters’ shoes, because they’re not these perfect women; they’re messy and not always perfect-looking and they don’t all have incredible jobs. They struggle with different shit, but find love anyway. And that’s what I want.”
I don’t look at Jasmine until the words finish rushing out of me, and the teasing smile I expect to see is gone. She’s looking at me like … I don’t know, exactly. But she’s taking me seriously and not about to make fun of me for spilling my silly, romantic guts, and I’m grateful.
Her lips do curve again, but there’s no real mocking in their tilt. “So, you put yourself in Zoe’s non-Louboutins, huh? Do we have to find you a Drew to do yardwork?”
My mind flashes to Chase, who definitely has Drew’s defined pecs but I’m pretty sure also has a gardener. I open my mouth to mention him but what comes out instead is, “We’re already shaking leaves here.” I indicate the trees holding up our hammock. “So.”
“Good point. What’s next for Zoe, then?”
And because I am half o
ut of my mind, and her low voice reading the excerpt is ringing in my brain, and though we haven’t talked about it, I can’t get the night of the bonfire out of my head, I say, “Well, you read it.” And I drag my decently manicured green nail down to the edge of her tank top and follow it with a kiss.
I spend the longest second in the world waiting for her reaction, gripping the side of hammock in case she rolls out of it with a quickness and I go flying, but finally, she laughs and says, “I did.”
And she presses her mouth to mine, inhaling me like the spicy scent of wood smoke on a crisp autumn morning.
NOW
The memory is so clear in my head that I can still hear her voice, and I realize a moment later when a tray slaps down next to Shannon that I am literally hearing her voice. “Hey. What’s with the spreadsheet?”
Gia may be a little flighty, but she is a master organizer. She turns her laptop to Jasmine so she can see the page with all eight of her chosen colleges listed. “This is where I’m applying,” she says, “and here are deadline dates, which schools use the common app, and—well, stuff like that.”
She swivels her computer back around, but not before Jasmine catches a glimpse of the last column. “What’s DFBC?”
We try really, really hard not to laugh into our food as Gia blushes. “It’s, um, Distance from Boston College. That’s where Tommy’s going. Everyone in his family has gone there for three generations.”
Jasmine catches her jaw drop quickly, but I don’t miss it, and I’m pretty sure Gia doesn’t either. “Oh, that’s, uh … thorough planning.”
“There are a lot of good schools in Boston,” Gia says quickly, dragging her fork around her Cobb salad. “It’s not like I’d be following him there or anything. I’d be lucky to go to BC, or BU, or Tufts, and Shannon’s applying to Harvard and Brown, so she might even be close by.”
Clearly, Gia’s been practicing her justifications on her parents, who think it’s absurd that she wants to go to Boston when she could go to school fifteen minutes away at SUNY Purchase.
My mom says I’m free to go wherever as long as it won’t put me in debt for the rest of my life. And since my dad said he’ll pay for state school, I’ve kinda dragged my feet on looking anywhere else. I can’t imagine what would be worth taking out loans for if I don’t have to. Anyway, I want to major in English, and all schools have English majors, right? So, whatever.
“Where are you applying?” Gia asks her, and I know there’s a vague response coming. Jasmine never really wanted to talk about college, said it was too big a decision to leave subject to other people’s opinions.
But there’s no hesitation when Jasmine says, “I’m pretty set on NYU, especially since my mom is moving to Jersey. But I’ve also been thinking about getting off the East Coast entirely, maybe applying somewhere in Colorado or California. Photography’s a big hobby of mine and I’m definitely planning to study it more in school, so it’d be cool to get some new surroundings.”
I clench my jaw at how readily she just revealed so many personal bits of information, pieces I had to dig halfway to China to get. It’s the first time I’ve heard Jasmine mention her mom since she got to Stratford, and I thought maybe they’d had some sort of falling out, but it sounds like they’re as tight as ever.
As annoyed as I am, though, I’m relieved to hear things between Jasmine and her mom are OK and there isn’t gonna be as much physical distance as I thought. The weekend we spent with Sylvia Halabi was one of my favorites of the whole summer, and I see why she and Jasmine are so tight. She’s cool and effortlessly glamorous, a solid view into what Jasmine will probably look like in thirty years, and an amazing cook. It’s hard to picture her with Jasmine’s more ruggedly handsome and super Irish dad, but beautiful people always seem to find each other, even if a billion things eventually tear them apart.
“Cool,” says Kiki. “NYU’s a great school. Lara’s applying there too—you guys should talk.”
“I’m thinking about applying there,” I correct her, picking at my turkey burger, and it’s true, I am. It’s pretty close to home, I can minor in creative writing, and there are plenty of bookstores around so I can hopefully keep working at one, which would offset the tuition difference a little. I’ve thought about eventually working in publishing and being in the city would be perfect for that. But being at the same school as Jasmine, even if it’s enormous? Doesn’t sound quite as perfect. “I’m also applying to a few SUNYs, and that’s probably where I’ll go.”
“Where’s Chase going?” Gia asks.
I shrug. “Also local, most likely.”
Gia’s eyes light up—she’s such a believer in true love, she’s an even sappier romantic than I am—but Shannon looks at me and laughs. “Wait. You’re not staying local because of him, right? You wouldn’t follow a guy to college.”
I open my mouth to point out that I’ve always planned on staying local, but Gia cuts me off. “Just because she’s not following him doesn’t mean they can’t stay together.” She turns to me as I’m about to take a bite of my burger. “Do you think you guys will keep dating?”
“It’s been a week, G,” I say, taking a bite so she won’t immediately shoot back with a follow-up question. “What about you?” I ask after I swallow, though I know the answer. It’s the surest bet to shifting the conversation. “Do you really think you and Tommy will stay together?”
“I know we will.” The look on her face is so simultaneously dreamy and confident, I will Jasmine not to roll her eyes; the rest of us have learned not to.
“That’s really nice,” Jasmine surprises me by saying, and I look up to see her digging through her salad as if the meaning of life is buried underneath.
Encouraged, Gia launches into the Plan, which means describing how she and Tommy will stay in the dorms their first year so they can make friends and stuff, but then get an apartment together in between their two schools, provided she gets in somewhere within twenty-five miles of BC. The rest of us have heard this many, many times, but Jasmine nods and says “that makes sense” at all the right points, leaving us free to finish our food and go over our own plans.
I’ve nearly forgotten Jasmine’s there when a familiar voice says, “This seat taken?”
We all look up to see Chase standing there with Lucas Miller, both of their trays piled high with meat and carbs. There’s only room for one tray between me and Shannon, and before I can say a word, she smiles at Lucas and says, “I think we can squeeze you in.”
“Dude,” Chase protests as Lucas slides his tray between ours.
“Gotta be faster than that at the hot chicks’ table,” Lucas says gleefully, plucking a fry from Kiki’s plate even though he has plenty of his own. She snorts but pushes her tray forward slightly. Kiki’s not immune to a compliment from a hot guy, even if she doesn’t have any interest in dating the ones at our school.
“Tommy doesn’t.” Chase gestures at where his teammate is strolling up to the table, dropping a kiss on Gia’s cheek as he slips in next to her.
“No, Tommy doesn’t. My girl saves me a seat because she likes me.” Gia rests her head on Tommy’s shoulder as he brags. “Maybe you should work on that.”
I wish I could physically pull the smug grin off Tommy’s face as he looks from Chase to me. He’s only teasing, but I still don’t know how to deal with Chase going from fantasy to reality, and I hate him for pointing it out.
“You can have my seat,” Jasmine says, getting up and taking her tray with her. “I have a meeting with the college guidance counselor anyway.”
“You have a meeting about college guidance you didn’t mention even though we were talking about college?” Kiki’s meticulously threaded eyebrow shoots up.
“I didn’t realize my meeting schedule was of general interest,” Jasmine says wryly. “Duly noted for the next meeting of the College Crew.”
It’s Shannon’s turn to snort as Jasmine walks off, but my eyes are on Kiki, even as everyone shifts to make
room and Chase’s warm body slides in next to mine. Kiki is freakishly smart, but more than that, she’s tenacious. If she thinks Jasmine’s being shady, no amount of snark is gonna throw her off.
I pray whatever digging she inevitably does into Jasmine leads in a direction that’s far, far away from me.
* * *
That hope dies in my chest when I see Kiki waiting by my locker at the end of the day. “I know Chase has football practice and Shannon’s at French club tonight, so I figured you’d need a ride home.”
“Don’t you have independent study?” That’s what they call having Kiki help produce the school podcast one night a week. It was the best compromise they could come to, given they were desperate to get her on the newspaper and she wouldn’t budge.
“Changed to tomorrow night. Alex has a dentist appointment.”
How convenient. Thanks, Alex. I hope you don’t need a root canal or anything.
“Lucky me,” I manage. Ordinarily I’d mean it—Kiki drives a vintage Porsche she and her dad worked on for two years, but it’s so small it only comfortably fits one other passenger, so I rarely get to ride in it. But she’s up to something. I can see her detective nose twitching.
Sure enough, the questions begin as soon as she pulls out of her spot. “We’ve barely talked about your summer at the beach,” she says, her trademark round-lensed sunglasses obscuring my ability to read her expression. “Did you really only spend your summer tanning and playing assistant to someone at your mom’s boss’s company?”