“Won’t Mom freak if there’s more to do and I’m not out here?” I say. We’ve been all hands on deck since nine this morning.
“She’ll be more frazzled about you not being ready soon. Trust me.” Cari waves me inside. She’s right, again. That happened with her graduation party last year. Mom had a meltdown because Cari’s hair was in curlers an hour and a half before people were supposed to arrive.
I head toward the house, slide open the glass door, and take off my disgustingly damp sandals. The air-conditioning and the cold tile floor revive me. My skin prickles in goose bumps, and I can’t wait for a shower.
Mom’s in the kitchen, cradling her phone between her ear and shoulder as she stands with both her hands on her hips. The “annoyed sugar bowl” pose, as we call it. Mom looks at me, and I point in the direction of the bathroom. She nods, then resumes talking loudly to whoever is on the line.
I run into the bathroom, peel off my sticky clothes, and finally have a minute to breathe. The work is done and the party should be fun. My friends and family will all be here. Everyone, except Paul.
I’ve thought about him way too many times today. I missed being able to message him little things I know would amuse him. Inside jokes and memories just aren’t the same without someone to share them with.
Cari took him out of my iPhotos, but I still have pics on WhatsApp. And it wouldn’t hurt to look.
Okay, it’ll hurt. But I can’t seem to stop myself. I just… I want to be reminded of what it was like to feel happy.
I unlock my phone and there are text notifications. June. Emily. And Paul.
Wait, what?
I do a double take, but I was right. I have a message from Paul Reyes.
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♥Paul ♥
Hope you have a good party
I nearly drop my phone. I hadn’t expected to hear from him today. What does this mean? Why would he message after ignoring me yesterday?
My thoughts spin in a million directions. Is he done needing time and space? He remembered it’s my party and he’s reaching out and that means something. Paul grew up so rejected that he doesn’t put himself out there much. Nothing he does is ever good enough for his parents. He poured himself into sports, the one thing his dad noticed, and took it hard when the football coach started an all-star freshman kicker over him this year. That was why he quit the team he loved. And why this past year has been hard for us. So him texting definitely means something, but what?
Does he wish he were here? Does he regret asking to see other people?
June and Emily would say to ignore him, but I have read receipts on. I shouldn’t leave him waiting for too long for a response, because I wouldn’t want that done to me. Plus, I could spend a year debating what to reply, so I type out what’s in my heart.
Thanks. I miss you
And maybe that’s not the right thing to say. Maybe I should’ve blocked his number like June, Emily, and Cari said to, but that’s not how I am.
I stare at the words—I miss you.
They’re true.
I hit send, then dunk myself in a cold shower. I’ll leave my phone in the bathroom for the rest of today; otherwise, I’ll check it every two minutes waiting for a reply.
CHAPTER TWELVE
It’s evening, there are approximately one million people in our backyard, and it’s my job to welcome all of them. My cheeks hurt from smiling, but I can’t let up any time soon. The party has been going for nearly an hour, and I’ve yet to finish my rounds as I kiss aunties on the cheek and take envelopes they generously though weirdly stick in my palm.
I’m formulating how to write a thank-you note for this, like:
Dear Auntie,
Thanks for the unmarked bills. I will add each one to my shoebox stash. Cheers.
—Jaz
But Cari will know what to actually say. She always does. She’s patiently telling people about her first year of college over and over again. Davey is supposedly welcoming guests too, although it’s with begrudging “hi”s when prompted. Punk.
Everyone compliments my dress, and I’ll admit it makes me feel different. Confident. Like I’m a mini–Korean Greek goddess in a gauzy blue gown. I even catch myself standing with perfect posture in my five-inch heels. The statue pose is more my inability to move in these stilts than newfound grace, but hey, I’ll take it.
“You’re really filling out, honey,” Auntie Lynn says. She’s a friend of the family who’s been in our orbit for as long as I can remember. She could be anything from fifty to eighty years old, and has bright orange hair that’s in that short, permed, AARP style.
“Um, thank you, Auntie Lynn,” I say.
I look up and around, not sure it’s a compliment, and that’s when I see him. It can’t be. I blink hard to lose the mirage, yet he stays in my line of sight. And then I’m positive: Justin Michael Simmons is in my backyard.
My mouth suddenly feels dry, my breath too fast.
“Will you… will you excuse me?” I say.
“Yes, yes, go mingle, you beautiful young thing,” Auntie Lynn says.
“Please let me know if I can bring you anything,” I say. But I’m not looking at her.
I try to walk quickly in my heels (spoiler: I can’t), as if he’ll disappear if I don’t make it in time. But I mean… he might. My heart pounds. Each beat says: Is my old friend here?
He’s different from what I remember. He’s filled out—that’s actually a compliment. Instead of being a very lanky boy, he looks like a man, in khaki pants and a button-down. And he’s gotten taller, which is unfair as he was tall four years ago—he’s just showing off now. His blond hair is still short, but his thick glasses are nowhere to be seen. And he actually has a beard! But with or without a beard, I’d know that face anywhere.
I close the space between us.
“Is it really you?” I say, tapping him on the shoulder.
Justin Michael turns and looks down at me. His smile lights up the backyard better than a box full of candles.
“Candy!” he says.
Happiness bursts through my chest at the nickname he gave me when we used to play Pokémon Go together.
“Stardust!” I say, using his.
He leans down to hug me, and I wrap my arms around him. He picks me up and my feet leave the ground. He must be six feet tall now. I smile so wide into his neck that my face hurts. But he’s here. He’s really here with me. I didn’t think I’d ever see him again.
Justin Michael gently places me back on earth.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, slapping his bicep. I can’t believe this is happening. Too many old feelings and memories rush through me—it’s overwhelming in the best way.
“I’m in town for the summer,” he says. He’s picked up a slight Texan accent from his four years in Houston. It’s good on him.
“The whole summer? Really?” I ask. “How?”
“I got an internship with Disney! They’re normally college- level positions, but I had enough credits to land a spot before I start Georgia Tech. And you know there’s no one better to work for than the Mouse.” He smiles and his formerly braced teeth are perfectly straight. “It’s good to be home.”
A warmth fills me because he still considers Winter Park his home. He used to live right next door. I can’t even count how many times we played as kids, but right before freshman year of high school, his mom got a huge promotion. The downside: they had to relocate to the company headquarters in Texas.
On his last day in Florida, we carved “C + S” into the weeping willow tree in his backyard. It’s probably still there. After that, I quit playing Pokémon Go because it wasn’t the same without him.
We’re still smiling when June wanders over. Her brown skin is offset by a white dress. She’s around Davey’s height, with a curtain of long, thick black hair that’s nearly to her waist and bangs that somehow look good despite my warnings she’d regret them.
I smile at June as
she takes my hand. I talked to her when she got here, but as she’s practically family, she was roped into helping with the party and I haven’t seen her since. Emily will be here later. Her dad insisted on taking her to dinner tonight for graduation. She doesn’t see him much since her parents divorced, so she couldn’t get out of it.
“Jaz,” June says.
“June Bug.” I tilt my head toward her and she does the same. We’re finally similar heights since I’m in stilts. “Do you remember Justin Michael?”
Her face breaks into a smile. “Oh my God. I do, but wow, you’ve changed so much!”
“Wait.…” He squints at her, his brown eyes moving rapidly. “June Bug? June Tam? No way!”
His eyes expand with surprise, and suddenly it’s a minireunion. The three of us were inseparable in elementary school, running around playing tag and red light green light, and whatever else we came up with that day. Or, in bad weather, we’d sit and read books in companionable silence.
Things changed in middle school, though. June and Justin didn’t see each other much because he played basketball and she played tennis. Sports became front and center in both their lives, and when one was free, the other was busy, so they drifted apart long before he moved away. I, the unathletic, stayed tight with both of them.
She glances over at me with her eyes wide to say, Wow, he’s gotten hot, and believe me, the change was not lost on me. I telegraph it back to her. She laughs and her laugh is sweet like a wind chime.
Note: Mine is not. Mine is more of an asthmatic trombone.
We stand around for a while, smiling like cheeseballs. It’s weird and wonderful for the three of us to be in my yard. But June shakes her head as if to return to reality. “I’m sorry to interrupt, Jaz, but your mom asked me to get you.”
“Oh. She probably needs help. Okay,” I say. I turn to Justin Michael. “Are you staying for the whole party?”
“I am, but I know your family parties are… busy.” He laughs, and I remember how we used to hide under the tables together when the parties would run long. We’d lie on our backs talking as my aunties would cackle well into the night. More often than not, one or both of us would fall asleep on the cool grass.
“Can we catch up over some boba soon?” he asks.
“I’d love that,” I say. I know I’m smiling like a fool. But, like Pokémon Go, getting bubble tea wasn’t the same after he left. Paul thought tapioca was gross, so we never went, and June doesn’t like tea.
Justin Michael smiles back. “I’ll text you.”
I start walking in the direction June points, and it feels like I’m floating on air. Then I realize this is the first genuine happiness I’ve felt in… a while. Much longer than a week if I’m honest.
As I’m halfway across the dance floor, I realize the surprise of seeing Justin again made me forget why he and I stopped talking in the first place. The memory of his words physically hurts, but I continue toward the house. People can say things they don’t mean and mean things they don’t say. And I hope that’s what happened, because it feels so good to see him again.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
DAVEY’S BICKERING FAMILY GROUP TEXT
MAY 25
Cousin Wesley
Game. Set. Match. Why don’t you all admit defeat now? Team Justin Michael or Team Looooooosers
Cousin Teagan
Seriously. Did you see that smile? It’s game over
Cousin Joe
She hasn’t even met the other two yet
Slow your roll
Aunt Kim
That’s pretty hard to beat. What do the kids say: Take that, L?
Anyone want to double down?
Cousin Wesley
I’m in
Cousin Teagan
You shouldn’t be betting money on this. We’re here to support Jaz
Man, there’s paella and steak, but somehow I smell chicken
Cousin Wylan
Well, I mean the Ventura side can be a little… KFC
Cousin Teagan
$50 on Justin Michael. Put up or shut up, both of you. Preferably shut up
You’re on. She’s headed for Eugene right now
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
It’s twilight when I look for my mom outside. I didn’t find her in the kitchen or rest of the house, so she must be in the yard.
The string lights cast a warm glow on the party as I walk down the deck stairs to the dance floor. (The floor was, fortunately for everyone, installed while I was in the shower.)
Music plays as Blaze, a friend of the family, mixes the tracks. Even though no one is supposed to dance until after dinner, this group is not the type that holds back. So Blaze upped the volume and tempo as some people dance and others cruise the appetizers.
I make my way through some good and some very, very bad moves. And I do mean bad, because Uncle Jimmie is doing the Sprinkler without a hint of irony. Aunt Regina loves him so much, she’s just smiling and dancing like he’s not doing… that.
June and Justin Michael remain where I left them on the other side of the yard, still talking. With June and Emily here and Justin back home, it might just turn out to be a good summer after all. A last hurrah before they all move on without me.
I’m so absorbed with thoughts of the past and future that I stop paying attention to the present. And that’s when it happens: I round the gift table too closely and my left heel catches on the bowed leg. I notice this a millisecond too late, because I’m already falling forward.
It’s like slow motion. I emit a high-pitched squeal as my arms flail out. Somehow, I know everyone here is looking at me. And since it rained earlier and the gift table is at the edge of the yard, I’m about to land in the mud. I know in my bones that no one will forget the time Jaz face-planted while wearing a fancy dress. Because who could forget that?
I close my eyes and brace myself, but before I hit the ground, the air yanks me upright. Only the air is warm and smells like boy. I yelp again, open my eyes, and find myself in the arms of someone I’ve never seen before. His features are both South Asian and white—like Cari, but also not. His hair is black, he looks about my age, and his blue eyes are focused solely on me.
“I got you,” he says.
I hear him, but it’s like I’m underwater. My heart pounds and blood roars in my ears. I must be having an out-of-body experience. I’m actually dead in the mud and an attractive boy ghost is tethered to my spirit.
But, no, pretty sure this is actually happening.
“Um,” I say.
He leans his head down, studying my face. It’s light enough to see that his eyes aren’t just blue… they’re teal, like my dress is supposed to be. His arms link around me, and he smells amazing.
I inhale and my eyes drift closed. I want to sniff his neck.
So there it is: the weirdest thought I could have at this moment.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
For all that’s holy, do NOT say: You smell good.
“Uh…,” I say. The sound lingers in the air, and I wince at myself. Scholarship material right there.
“Let me get you over to a chair,” he says. “You may have twisted your ankle.”
Oh, good. He thinks I’m in physical pain.
“No. No,” I say. “I’m fine. I… I wasn’t looking where I was going. And I’m… I’m just surprised I’m not rolling around in the mud.”
He smiles. “I was pretty sure it was about to happen.”
“But I’m okay, thanks to you. So… um, thank you…”
“Eugene.” His arms leave me as he gestures to his black T-shirt. He’s a few inches taller than I am in my heels, so that makes him five-eight-ish, but with broad shoulders and tattoos that peek out from his short sleeves. He’s not exactly dressed for the party, but I must know him somehow.
“Are you family?” I say.
Yes, there it is, the second most ridiculous thing I can say after: Can I smell you. I know who my family is. I meant to ask wh
y he’s at the party, but there’s no going back now. I stand and wait for his obvious answer while trying not to shrivel and die inside.
He smiles like I’m amusing and not a train wreck. He has one part-time dimple on his right cheek, and I’m staring at it when he says, “No, I’m positive we’re not related.”
The fire of a thousand suns hits my cheeks. “I meant…”
The dimple shows again. “I’m helping Jay.”
“Oh!” I yell. I don’t know why I’m shouting. I swear I’m not normally this… me. But this boy is shorting out all my defenses. “You’re a caterer?”
“Not exactly,” he says. “I delivered desserts from my family’s restaurant.”
I nod because I want to see his dimple again. But then his words sink in. The desserts are from the best restaurant in Florida.
“Wait, your family is Lantern & Jacks?” I say.
He rubs the back of his neck. “Um, yeah.”
I manage to stifle a squeal. Barely. I’ve read so many reviews of L&Js and profiles of its chef/owner Jack Matthews that I know way too much about a restaurant I’ve never been to. I figured Jay still had connections, but I was shocked to see the signature black-and-white dessert boxes on the table since they don’t cater.
People say Chef Matthews is the next Thomas Keller. Which is to say: he’s well on his way to becoming the best chef in the country. And that makes Eugene, Jack’s only child, heir apparent, and, I guess, delivery boy. I already know a stalkery amount about him. For example, he’s Indian on his mom’s side, German/English on his dad’s. I want to ask what it was like to spend a year in Tuscany making bread and pasta with his father, but there’s no way to do that without sounding worthy of a restraining order. And the poor guy is already trapped in the world’s longest awkward silence with me.
“There you are,” Mom says.
I’ve never been so grateful to have my mom interrupt a conversation with a boy. But she looks a little irritated, and I remember I was supposed to find her fifteen minutes ago. She’s been annoyed since Jay showed up late (which, in fairness to my mom, was likely on purpose).
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