“Well, I’ve only been here two days, and I slept most of the first since we took a red-eye,” she says, hesitating a little. “But, uh, to be honest with you? It feels almost like an alternate universe.”
I snort at that generous assessment. “An alternate universe with a lot of cows.”
She nods in agreement, her eyes getting a distant look to them. “A lot of cows.”
My shoulders tense as my former friend group trudges past us, towering ice-cream cones in hand, a reward for sprinting over here. I see Jake and Ryan catch sight of Blake, the two of them slowing down, mouths slightly agape, ice cream slowly dripping down their hands as they gawk at her like she’s a dinosaur that’s been spontaneously dropped into the twenty-first century. Olivia jealously swats at Ryan’s shoulder, but she’s just as busy sizing Blake up.
It’s not every day there’s a new girl in town. And definitely not one who’s as pretty as Blake. I’m just relieved that she’s a distraction from the fact that they’re supposed to be judging me.
The only one not looking at her is Matt.
He glances in my direction for a fraction of a second, his eyes peeking out from underneath the swoopy chocolate-brown hair that my mom always said was so adorable.
All I see now is the hurt and disappointment that’s painted across his face.
I stare after him, feeling pretty awful. Which I absolutely should, since I just broke the heart of the nicest guy in Huckabee.
“What’d you do to him?” Blake asks when they’re out of earshot. I was hoping she wouldn’t notice, but that look packed quite a punch.
“Oh, you know,” I say as I let out a long sigh, trying to keep my voice light. “The usual. We dated. We broke up. We dated. We broke up again.” It’s not a lie. It’s not the whole truth, either.
She whistles, raising her eyebrows in surprise. “You think you’ll get back together again?”
“No. I don’t think that’s going to happen this time.” Three years of making up and breaking up cycle through my mind, Matt always finding a way to make things right again. But now that cycle includes the night of junior prom, and it’s ground everything to a halt. He won’t even talk to me. “I mean, you saw the look he gave me. Pretty obvious he’s going to hate me for all eternity.”
“Really? Hate? I didn’t get that.” Blake bites her lip thoughtfully. “Seemed to me like he isn’t over you. Maybe he’s just waiting for you to talk to him.”
Mercifully, Sam’s oldest daughter, Amber, calls “Next!” from the middle window, so I don’t have to acknowledge the tiny bit of hope fluttering into my stomach at Blake’s words.
Hope that there might be a way I can fix all this.
The full-scoop, front-of-the-line cones come out in the blink of an eye, and I juggle the prize basket to grab ahold of mine, taking a big lick before it starts to melt.
In an instant I’m transported back to summer nights with my mom after bingo and pit stops after tough days of elementary school.
I have to remind my feet to keep moving.
The three picnic tables are already filled, so we start the trek back over to the elementary school, the line of people still waiting eyeing our ice cream longingly.
Blake looks over at me and makes a face, rubbing her temple. “Brain freeze.”
“Put your tongue on the roof of your mouth,” I say, hearing Mom’s voice in my head, telling me the same words hundreds of times. I always used to scarf my cone down in under a minute, writhing in pain after. I take a slow, focused lick, no longer rushing straight into my rainbow-sprinkle-covered twist. Or anything, for that matter. “It works like a charm.”
Within a few seconds she nods, her face impressed, the brain freeze gone as she starts right back in on her cone like nothing happened.
I look past her at the line of people, noticing all the eyes drawn to Blake as we pass. She is something new, and shiny, and beautiful in a town where very little changes. If she feels like Huckabee is from another universe, it’s pretty clear that everyone here feels the same way about her.
I look over to see if she notices the stares she’s getting, but she’s just merrily licking her ice cream. Not a single care in the world other than brain freeze. I can’t help but feel a sudden wave of jealousy at that.
My dad nudges me, and I swing my head around to look up at him. “Still good to pack tomorrow? I brought a couple of boxes home from work.”
I grimace as the for-sale sign outside our house pops into my head, my childhood home soon to be ripped out from under me. Just another reason this summer completely sucks.
“Packing?” Johnny skids to a stop.
“Didn’t I tell you we’re moving?” my dad asks. Guess Dad didn’t mention it in their monthly phone calls.
“You’re kidding!” Johnny exclaims, his eyes wide, looking almost as shocked as I was when my dad told me. A glob of ice cream drips off his cone and lands smack on the pavement below him, somehow managing to steer clear of his shirt. Ah, to not have boobs. “The second I get to town you’re packing up?”
“Not out of Huckabee,” my dad says, pointing his spoon at Johnny as he replies. “Just into something smaller.” “Smaller” was a code word for “cheaper,” but Johnny probably didn’t know that.
“Like he’d ever leave Huckabee,” I whisper to Johnny as my dad “hi”s and “hello”s his way down the long ice-cream line. Our own unofficial mayor.
“I don’t know what I was thinking,” Johnny says with a laugh, turning to say hi to an old classmate.
If Huckabee were the Titanic, my dad would definitely be the captain, saluting proudly as the ship nosedives straight into the ocean.
“We could swing by tomorrow to help you pack for a bit,” Johnny
