After a short conversation with Daisy, we leave things on a friendly note. Turns out that she’s in a committed relationship—a good one. She’s going to open mic nights for her singing, which is shocking considering how reserved she was when I met her. And she’s actually getting along with her parents. Even though this is the worst possible timing, part of me is happy I ran into her, a reminder why we started Summer Love. Sometimes it’s hard to see your own life clearly—I should know; I hide better than anyone. And having a friend, even temporary ones like me and Tiny, can give you the push that makes all the difference.
I return to the aisle where I left Ella, but she’s gone. In fact, she’s not in the store at all. I do two laps to make sure, nervous energy buzzing under my ribs. I pull out my phone to call her. She wouldn’t leave, would she? But before I press send, I spot her through the window, leaning against the Jeep with a plastic bag hanging from her wrist.
I step out of the air-conditioning into the hot afternoon sun, my stomach twisting mercilessly. But I don’t immediately try to explain the name issue, knowing that if I compensate too hard, I’ll look guilty.
“Well, Holden Jonah, I got the stuff. You’re welcome,” she says, not attempting to hide the “I’m calling BS” tone in her voice.
Breathe, August. One flinch and you’re sunk. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt our game.”
“Game,” she says, looking askance. “That’s one word for it.”
I tilt my head as though I’m asking a question, not because I’m trying to be obtuse but because my heart is beating a mile a minute and I’m trying to gain control of myself.
She huffs. “I mean, in a way I should thank her. She just outed you as a player who gives girls fake names and then leaves them for some made-up trip to India.”
And that’s all it takes for my inner freak-out to shift into high gear. I take a deep breath, employing the only tactic I know to lower adrenaline. “I never dated Daisy,” I say without hesitation.
She raises a challenging eyebrow at me.
And so I explain, giving her as close to the truth as I dare. “Mia and I hung out with Daisy last summer. She was having a rough time, and we seemed to show up right when she really needed friends. And because of that we all got close kinda fast. But nothing more happened. I never so much as held her hand.”
I don’t know why, but her cheeks blush and she breaks eye contact with me. “I’m not worried about whether you dated her,” she says, and I suddenly understand her embarrassment, because I suspect she was worried about it and doesn’t want me to know that. “I was simply calling you out on the name discrepancy.”
For a flash of a moment, I consider telling her my name is August. But convincing her I’m a giant liar won’t allow me to be the friend she needs right now. So I sigh reluctantly, at both of us. “Think about it. If you had a name like Holden, wouldn’t you sometimes use your middle?”
She eyes me.
“And well, my mom has been on this spiritual self-help kick since my dad left. It’s exhausting. India to join an ashram, Africa to build schools, a yacht trip.” I hold my hands up like I understand it even less than she does. “All I know is that we never stay anywhere long and it sucks.” And even though I’ve done this many times, created a fake life to explain away the details, I feel uncomfortable doing it now. I don’t want to be Holden. In truth, I haven’t really been him. I’ve been August with a fake name and a few useless details. And everything in me is screaming to tell her that.
“Hmmm,” she says, backing off a little.
I nod at the bag on her wrist. “Thanks for getting the stuff, by the way.”
She stares like she’s looking for a crack in my confidence.
“What?”
“Nothing,” she says and drops the analyzing stare. “I guess that all makes sense.”
But I don’t feel relief. Because if everything goes to plan, in a week I’ll be telling Ella that I’m going to live in a yurt in Mongolia; meanwhile I’ll be half an hour away moping with my cat.
I reach past Ella to open the passenger door for her, but she reaches for it, too, and her fingers brush mine. She looks at me and then immediately away, saying a quick thanks and climbing into the Jeep.
As I close the door behind her, warmth spreading along my skin from her accidental touch, I look up at the sky in silent protest. What is wrong with me?
I walk around the Jeep and get in, starting the engine and desperately trying not to think about the star constellation on her cheek or the pink of her lips. Or the way her fingers are balanced on her thigh—
“Are you checking out my legs?” she says with an eyebrow raised and a lilt to her voice.
I clear my throat. “Just checking to make sure you were wearing your seat belt.”
“Ah, yes, Holden Jonah. Safety first.” She laughs at my lame excuse.
I press my palms against the steering wheel, turning out of the parking lot like the back road requires all my attention to navigate it. Are my hands sweating?
Ella puts on her playlist, only this time three songs pass and she doesn’t sing a word. She just stares out her window like there is a problem floating on the wind that she can’t quite grasp.
“Can I help?” I offer, which seems to startle her.
“Help?”
“With whatever’s making your eyebrows furrow like that?” I say.
But still she looks out the window. “You can’t fix it. You’re the problem.”
“Ouch. Way harsh, Tai.”
She turns toward me, a laugh bubbling out of her. “Did you just . . . quote Clueless?”
For a split second, I internally groan. That was August again, and not the cool broody August, the nerdy holiday-pajama-wearing version. “Would you think less of me if you knew I watched eighties and nineties rom-coms? ’Cause if so, then I definitely don’t.”
A slow smile forms on her face just as I pull to a stop at an intersection.
We make eye contact, and something passes between us, something intangible and delicate, but I can feel it and I know she can, too, because she suddenly looks sad.
“I’m sorry,” I say reflexively.
“For what?”
“I just . . .” I push my hair back. What am I doing? Why can’t I keep to the script and keep my feelings for this girl in check? I’m supposed to be her friend, nothing more.
“I know,” she says, almost quietly. “That’s the problem.”
And even though she doesn’t name it, everything in me knows what she means.
I exhale, frustrated. Because it doesn’t matter what I feel; I need to be what she needs. And what she needs right now is a friend. So I don’t respond to the thing I know she implied.
She turns toward the open window, but unlike me, she doesn’t drop it. “Hanging out with you has been . . . confusing.”
And now I can feel my heartbeat throughout my entire body.
“You and I talk . . . about everything,” she continues. “Something I didn’t realize I was missing.”
I open my mouth and close it again, conflict coursing through me. Which is when my phone buzzes with a text from Tiny, and I catch the preview before I shove it in my pocket.
Tiny
My already convoluted thoughts tumble over one another. Indignation for Ella. Lack of surprise. Annoyance that Justin doesn’t appreciate the amazing relationship he has. But in the midst of all this, the desperate tether I had on my self-restraint snaps, and I find myself talking when I promised myself I wouldn’t.
“Tell me what you want me to do, and I’ll do it. I want you to be happy,” I say.
She looks at me, her forehead scrunched in confusion. “See, that’s the thing,” she continues. “I hate saying this out loud, because I really don’t want to admit it. But talking to you has made me realize Justin kinda doesn’t give a crap about the things I care about? He likes me, don’t get me wrong, but . . .”
“But he likes himself more?” I suggest, turning into her driveway, wishing the drive were longer.
“Exactly. It’s always about him.”
You have no idea, I think, my frustration once again flaring that her best friend and her boyfriend betrayed her.
I pull to a stop in front of her house, putting the Jeep in park, my whole body buzzing. “If you’re asking me what I think . . .” I say, unlatching my seat belt, which suddenly feels too confining.
“I am.”
“You deserve to be loved.”
She nods, giving it some thought and unlatching her seat belt, as well. For a second, I think maybe she’s going to leave without responding, that maybe I said too much. “Loved as a jelly bean. Not a sexy teardrop.”
This statement shouldn’t make my stomach drop. But it does. And when she makes eye contact and doesn’t look away, that feeling increases tenfold. God, she’s beautiful, and so smart. For a second, I imagine what it’d be like to hold her hand, her slender fingers laced through mine. I picture trailing kisses down her neck, running my fingers lightly across the smooth skin of her arm, raising goose bumps and then kissing them away. And she’s looking at me the same way, her lips parted and her eyes lingering on my mouth.
And somehow we’ve moved closer, both of us leaning toward one another like we’re sharing a secret.
“You asked me what I wanted you to do . . . what would make me happy,” she says, and it’s barely a whisper. “I want you to keep spending time with me.”
And with that simple sentence I forget about the case, about Holden, about everything, and like she’s an undeniable force stronger than gravity, I reach out for her, lightly brushing the star constellation on her cheek with my thumb. She leans into my hand, her eyes momentarily closing. And we’re close, so close that I can feel her breath and smell her peach lip gloss.
Suddenly, a door slams and we both launch apart. And there, standing next to his Porsche, is Ella’s father.
“Shit,” she says and jumps out of the Jeep.
Shit doesn’t even begin to describe it.
“You should probably go,” she says, not able to meet my eyes as she closes the door. And to make matters worse, her dad is staring at me like he might order a hit man. I put the Jeep in reverse, reluctant to drive away from her, but knowing I have no choice.