Allie Jo
Even though it’s daytime, the porch behind Dad’s office is shady enough to invite mosquitoes, and they’re needling the heck out of me. I swat one on my shin and my own blood smears on my leg. Blech. I flick the mosquito off and wipe my hand on my shorts.
Sophie’s fingers fly over her knitting needles; if she goes any faster, smoke will come off them.
“Have you seen Chase today?” she asks, eyes on her knitting.
I push the glider back and we sway under the fan. “He went somewhere with his dad.” Then I tell her about him working for me yesterday and how he is now an employee but still has two days left of probation.
She steals a glance at me. “What do you think of him?”
“Well, he’s a pretty good worker, and he’d be even better with two arms, but—” I look at her face. “Oh!” I say. “You mean, what do I think of him, right?”
She bites her lip and grins.
A smile plays on my mouth. “Okay …” I wonder if I should tell her that I think he likes her too, which I’m almost positive he does, but since I haven’t discussed it with him, it’s sort of a secret. “Yeah, he’s pretty cool.”
“And cute!” she bursts out. We both laugh for a moment before getting lost in thought.
One thing I love about this porch is that the jacaranda tree has decorated the ground with orchid petals. Dark green azalea bushes encircle the trunk, but they already bloomed in spring; now they’re setting their buds for next year.
“Eew!” Sophie snatches her feet up onto the swing.
I inspect the floorboards. “Just a lizard. They don’t bite.” He starts his lizard push-ups.
“What’s he doing?”
She seems so grossed out. It makes me think of Melanie and her trick and I laugh out loud. “He’s showing off, like this is his territory.”
I slam one foot onto the floor and he scurries away. They’re especially gross if you accidentally snap off their tail and the tail just wiggles on its own while the lizard escapes. I’m careful not to catch the tail under my heel.
“Yuck,” Sophie says, then leans over and inspects my scarf. “Good job.”
“Thanks.” I glance over at hers, which is a good foot longer than mine. “I’ve just been kind of busy.” With Tara. Suddenly, I’m aching to tell her about Tara, how pretty she is and how wise she seems. But I know how to keep a secret. Instead, I say, “We’re getting ready for Taste of Hope.”
She takes on a look of recognition. “Oh! You mean that big festival on July Fourth?”
“Yeah!” I’m pleased she knows about it.
“I can’t wait to go! It sounds like fun!”
She knits without looking. I watch as a whole row comes out of nowhere.
“You know,” I say, considering her speed, “I’ve got to help assemble favors for The Meriwether.” I get a big boost in my allowance because there’s so much work to do. Usually, Dad lets me pay the boys to help, but having people around my age to help with the work is even better. So I say very casually, “I could use another employee.”
She stops knitting. “You mean me? I would get paid?”
Enthusiasm is a quality I like in my employees. “You could help me hand them out at Taste of Hope too.”
All the restaurants and boutiques around here have booths where they give stuff away. It’s fun because The Meriwether puts up a booth and I get to pass out free samples of our food. We also have brochures, but I like passing out the food better because when you hand someone a flyer, they don’t really care, but when you hand them some food, they are always happy.
Sophie’s whole face lights up. “That sounds like fun!”
“It is!” I tell her how we’ll get to wear waitress uniforms and have our hair all fancy, and we’ll still get to go around and get stuff from the other booths. “People come from all over the country for this,” I say. “Everyone turns out.”
“I wonder if Chase will go,” she says.
I’m glad I don’t like a boy. It seems to control all your thoughts.
The glider sways back and forth. Absentmindedly, I say, “I wonder where his mom is.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, first he told me she was visiting other people; then he told me she was gone, like disappeared or something.”
Sophie stops knitting. “Disappeared? Like, what do you mean?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. He sort of got mad at me when I tried to ask him.” It can’t be good, though. And it sinks in now that maybe this was a secret. Me and my big mouth.