My phone vibrates. It’s a text from my mom. “Done. At the corner of 5th and Marlon Brando Lane. Love the street names here.”
I go to Google directions for the address, but then I spot my mom. I wave and whistle loud with my fingers. JuneBug cups her ear. “Dang, girl. Warn me next time.”
“Whatever, gum popper,” I say.
“Hey. Grab some bench for the first time in your life, play-a,” JuneBug says with a giggle. We sit down to wait for my mom.
The three of us walk about four blocks before we get to the corner. There’s a For Sale sign in the yard of a charming-two-story house with a white picket fence and a wrap-around porch. I didn’t know I was holding my breath until mom and I cross the street. The synchronized sequence in which we both run up to the porch is cosmic. I make a mad dash to the backyard that holds a little greenhouse with an oversized She-Shed beside it.
“Mom! Mom! There’s a She-Shed and a greenhouse!” I holler. “It’s what you’ve always wanted!” This has to be a done deal. “Mom, you know what this means! Unless this house has black mold pouring out its ears, I think we’ve found our Utopia!” I’m still yelling, but I don’t care!
I snap a picture of the For Sale sign in the yard to get the Realtor number. We walk around the property a bit more. It’s totally meant for us! Suddenly, I’m Emma Stone in La La Land, dancing for no apparent reason except for pure joy.
I twirl about in the falling leaves, arms open to the sky, singing my heart out because I have Found My Dream. The leaves gently brush my cheeks and tickle my nose as I pirouette through the yard in a Gangster-Squad worthy red dress. The sunlight bounces off my silver combs. I’m all twinkles and sparkles...
“Katie! Katie!”
I stop mid-twirl, hearing the familiar clapping sound. “Dang it, Mom! I hate it when you do that!”
“Well, don’t make me do it then. Snap out of it!”
JuneBug stares at me. “Dang, you are a Trrippp! You’re one of those dream girls, ain’t ya? Got your own little planet thing going on? That’s cool.”
Embarrassment heats my cheeks and I cough. “To say I’m a dreamer is an understatement. I don’t know why, but when my emotions run high, which happens often because as my mom says I am a very feeling person, my imagination goes into like hyperdrive so to speak. The environment becomes distant, and I daydream so vividly, I fade out while I’m still awake.” I speak into the trees.
“Gotcha,” JuneBug answers all casually, as if I’m, like, normal. “Your mom’s on the phone.”
“Yes. I’d like to take a look at a house. Today at three? Great!” Mom hangs up, looking all victorious. “That’s settled. JuneBug, where’s a good place to eat?”
“I’m a fan of anything deep fried. I recommend Doo-bee’s Sandwich shop. They’ve got killer O-rings. It’s about six blocks from here.”
Soon we’re sitting in the cozy diner, chowing down on all kinds of delicious batter-fried rings with a vegetable hiding somewhere in the grease. JuneBug wipes drippage from her chin with the back of her hand. “What’s your game plan for the house?”
My mom frowns. “What do you mean?”
“Well, my Uncle Jack could meet you guys at three to take a look. You know, make sure the foundation is good and all that. He’s kind of a home inspector.”
Mom blushes, and I turn away, slightly annoyed as I answer. “If he’s not too busy.” I mutter.
JuneBug laughs. “I doubt it.” She nudges me. “Besides, he can always make time in his sched for a hottie like your mom.”
I barf a little inside. “JuneBug, stop calling my mom a hottie.”
She snorts and texts furiously away on her phone, before her head pops up. “He’ll do it.” She clears her throat. “But, um, the bank’s not open today, so if you need to talk to someone about a loan…”
Mom lays down her napkin. “I think we’re good there.”
JuneBug’s eyes pop out. “You loaded or something?”
Mom clears her throat uncomfortably. “We are not unfortunate. Luckily, our house in Florida had tripled in value by the time we sold it. However, there are things to consider. I may need a different car in a few years, and Katie has at least four years of college ahead of her.” She turns to me. “I mean, I’m sure you will get some athletic scholarships but..”
I cut her off. “Nope. No sports this year, Mom. I’m turning over a new leaf.”
Her eyes widen. “Really? You’re serious?”
I take a deep, meditative breath and try to keep my anger and irritation in check. “Yes, Mom. I’m sure I can handle not living and breathing sports like I have my entire life. I’m hoping to work at the cupcake shop, but if that doesn’t work, JuneBug says I could work with her.”
JuneBug’s putting her food away; bite, chew, swallow, slurp. “So you must be some basketball star, huh?”
My fingers tap on the table. “Well, when you’re five-foot-tall in the third grade, what else is there to do?”
JuneBug raises her eyebrows. “That’s cray-cray.”
We walk out feeling fat and happy. Mom turns to me. “I think I’ll head back to the hotel and maybe take a nap. Want to meet at the house at 3?”
My eyebrows raise along with my spirit at this new-found freedom. It’s not that my mom was a warden or anything, but back in Florida, she kept my schedule pretty busy, so I didn’t have much free time. “Sure. Okay.”
JuneBug raises a hand to my mom. “See ya later, Starbright.” JuneBug takes my hand and pulls me around the corner. “Want to go get henna’d up?”
“Excuse me?”
She laughs. “Relax, it’s not permanent. The tattoo shop does henna. It stays on your skin for like six to eight weeks. I’ve always wanted to do it, but I don’t have the nerve to walk in alone.”
I side-eye her. “Yeah, right, JuneBug. Nothing scares you. How much is it?”
“Forty.”
My pile of cash is dwindling fast. “Forty a piece?”
“No. Twenty a piece.”
“Fine. But not where anyone can see it.”
“You want henna on your butt?” JuneBug wrinkles her nose.
“No, you freak. Maybe on my feet.”
She nods. “Oh, yeah. That’s a good idea.”
We walk down to the end of all the business district. There’s nothing left. JuneBug starts down the alley between two brick buildings. About halfway, the sunlight’s lost in the shadows, and I’m officially creeped out. She grabs my hand, shoves open a black door, and gives a nod to the pierced girl at the desk in the sleeves. “Hey, Tiana. Is Frank here?”
The emo girl with colorful sleeves on both arms stares JuneBug down. “You mean your dad?”
“Yeah.”
“Hey, Frank!”
A bald man steps out from behind the curtain, wearing a leather vest, black jeans, and combat boots. He breaks out in a grin. He comes around the counter, picks up JuneBug, and twirls her around. “Hey, June-y.”.
“Frank.”
He puts her down. “What you two doin’ down here?”
I step up. “We’re here for Henna art.”
He gives JuneBug a wary look. “Is that right?”
She nods her head but doesn’t say anything.
Frank turns sideways. “Hey, Johnny! Two for you!”
A young, wiry, guy steps out. His eyeliner eyes stop on JuneBug. “Come on back.” His voice is barely above a whisper.
JuneBug grabs my hand. Her hand trembles as we stumble through the dark room to step behind the curtain. Johnny busies himself, washing his hands. “What do you want, and where do you want it?”
Although his question is innocent enough, I feel invisible as I sit against the wall, waiting my turn. His words are like an old question between the two of them. JuneBug whips off her shoes and socks and sticks out her feet. “I want an apple on one foot and a serpent on the other.”
He throws back his head and laughs. I shiver. “As you wish, June-y.”
I get in my phone, not sure of how I feel or what I want. There’s all kinds of henna patterns on the screen, but none that I want. An idea hits me, and it’s so ridiculous and absurd, I laugh out loud. The two of them look at me like I’m nuts.
JuneBug turns back to Johnny. “She’s an Emma Stone-ite from South Florida.”
He nods and returns to his handiwork.
I doze and smile as I daydream of a certain brown-eyed, wavy haired, dimpled cheek, beautiful boy… “Katydid. It’s your turn.”
My sandals come off. I dip my feet in the water and feel like I’m at an old timey foot-washing church service, with Johnny’s middle East new-agey music playing in the background. He props my feet on his knees. “I want an Olive on my right foot and the letters ER on my left,” I say, as I feel all shy.
JuneBug giggles. “Not too impressed with the hottie behind the counter, huh?”
I stick out my tongue. “Shut up.”
“Hey, Johnny. Put a heart in the middle of that olive,” JuneBug bosses.
His head jerks up. He stares heat across the room. “As long as it’s not your heart.”
JuneBug ducks her head and stares at her phone. I do the same. An hour later, I leave with lighter pockets and a happy heart. Secret crushes and camaraderie have no price tag.