“Hi.”
I slam my locker door shut and jump so high I hit my elbow on the lock. “You scared the crap out of me, Jessa.”
“I have cake mix.” She holds out the grocery bags in her hands like some sort of offering. “I have a lot of cake mix. All the flavors you guys could possibly want for the bake sale and more. I want to help.”
I grab them and shove them into my locker, hating the way the plastic sticks to my skin. Who even gets plastic bags anymore, knowing how bad they are for the environment?
“Thanks,” I say, “but I think Nick’s making them from scratch.” I grab my hot dog suit and head into the changing room, but she follows me. I roll my eyes and shimmy into my leggings. It’s pretty hard to feel like you have the moral high ground when you’re standing in a cami and green tights pulling on a hot dog bun, but I do my best.
“Can we talk?”
“I have to be the hot dog right now, obviously.” I gesture to my suit. “So, no.”
“I need to explain.” She scoots after me, and I hate the way her dress rustles around her. It’s annoying, like pencil tapping during a test is annoying, or someone snapping gum in your ear.
“You don’t actually,” I say, darting past her and heading for the nearest exit. “If you really want to explain it to somebody, you should explain it to Nick.”
“Come on.” She cuts back between me and the door, trapping me inside, and seriously? Seriously? Because I’m already starting to sweat.
“You know there’s a time limit on how long I can be in this suit. Now move.”
“No,” she says, “not until you listen to me.”
I try to elbow her out of the way, but she pushes back and I go flailing into the wall. A princess and a hot dog wrestling in the middle of the park breakroom, and of course I’d be on the losing end. A bunch of people look up, and a group of guys from the ride crew walk in—friggin’ perfect.
Jessa looks a little shocked and offers me her hand. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to.”
I slap it away and push myself upright with what little dignity I can muster. “Just get out of my way.”
I can hear her skirt rustling behind me as I shove open the door and break into a jog. This is stupid because a) this suit weighs roughly a thousand pounds and acts as an insulator, b) it’s probably ninety degrees out here right now, and c) she’s right behind me anyway because of course she can run in heels. I mean, she’s Jessa. Perfect Jessa.
Perfect Jessa who has two people in love with her and probably doesn’t give a crap about either one of them, and because of what, a complicated family life? Is that what Ari was implying? Hello, I’m the poster child for complicated family life and you don’t see me being horrible and . . . oh. Okay, but still, screw this.
I turn around so fast I almost tip over. “What do you want?” I shout, and try to ignore the stunned faces of all the children who have probably never seen a giant hot dog scream at Cinderella before. One bursts into tears, and I immediately feel like the worst. Add it to the list.
Jessa puts her hands on her hips. “I want to explain.”
“It’s eight thousand degrees outside, and I am dressed like a hot dog.” A bead of sweat trails down my face and drips off the tip of my nose before I can wipe it. “Not. The. Time.”
“All right, later, then.”
I drop my head back as far as it goes in this suit; raising my hands in the air at all the poor life choices that led to this moment and at the universe that put me on this planet in the first place. Because, seriously? I mean, seriously?
“Meet me by the castle at the end of your shift,” she says, “or I’ll come find you.” I’m sure she means it in a nice way, like if I can’t get to her she’ll come to me or whatever, but it doesn’t feel nice.
“Whatever,” I say, heading down the path toward the food court. I may be sweaty and miserable now, but the show must go on. Even if it kills me.