“See ya.” The sensation of his brief touch traveled to my fingertips.
Naomi had the decency to wait until he left before announcing her thoughts. “Oh my God, he totally wants you! You are so lucky.”
ON WEDNESDAY, Naomi insisted on getting a pint of cookie dough ice cream after Justin dropped us off. I hated that he had work. All I’d wanted to do since Monday was make music with both of them.
Naomi kept trying to tickle me as we walked to the grocery store. It made me feel like crawling out of my skin.
“Stop!” I said finally.
Her hands went up. “God, you don’t have to freak out like that.”
“I really hate being tickled.”
She kicked a rock in front of her. “I feel like there’s something you aren’t telling me.”
My heart sped up a little. We got to the end of our street and rounded the corner. “What do you mean?”
She moved a little closer to me. “Well, if you ever want to talk about, you know, whatever, I’m here, okay? You can tell me anything.”
Right then, I wanted to tell her. But the thought of trying to explain everything I wasn’t made me cringe inside. All it would take was for her to hear the term
Naomi decided she wanted rocky road when we walked into the ice cream aisle. She grabbed a pint, studied it, and then put it back. “Actually, cookie dough still sounds better. You like that, right?”
“It’s got chocolate chips in it.”
She rolled her eyes. “Okay, what kind will you eat?”
“I like vanilla.”
She wrinkled her nose at me. “But what do you put on it? Granola? Strawberry sauce?”
“I just eat it plain.”
“Oh my God, no! That’s so boring. I’ll go crazy.”
“Then get whatever. I don’t need to eat it.”
She grabbed a vanilla pint out of the freezer and tossed it in the basket. “No way am I pigging out alone. I’ll just get some chocolate sauce to put on mine.”
I plucked it out. “You shouldn’t grab the first one.”
“Okay,
This wouldn’t be easy to explain. It was just something I had to do. Somewhere along the line I’d convinced myself that the first package on every shelf was contaminated or damaged somehow. The SNRI the psychiatrist prescribed was supposed to help with my more obsessive behaviors, but antidepressants took weeks to start working. “This one was leaking,” I said, shoving it back in the freezer and reaching for the next pint.
She took it from me, shaking her head. “It looked just fine to me.”
“Wait.” I snatched the pint back and scanned it. “You should always check the date on food before you buy it.”
“Drea, it’s ice cream. It doesn’t expire.”
“Yes, it does. See? Right here.”
“Awesome, can we move on now before it melts?”
I nodded and tried to mimic one of her wide smiles. She didn’t grin back that time.
When we got back to my house, I made Naomi go downstairs. If Grandma saw us eating ice cream before dinner, she’d flip out. Not to mention, no food was allowed outside the kitchen.
I had about two spoonfuls before the nausea set in, and I sat against my headboard. The new adhd meds had yet to improve my appetite.
Naomi devoured another bite and squirted chocolate sauce in her mouth. “No wonder you’re so skinny. You never eat.” She sat on my bed and licked the remaining sludge from the spoon.
“I eat. I’m just not hungry right now.”
She took another bite, closing her eyes. I wished I knew what that felt like—to really enjoy something. Grandma’s cooking was horrid, but liking something meant I tolerated it. The texture or spices didn’t make me gag.
Naomi put the ice cream on the floor and scooted next to me, close enough so our shoulders touched. “Want to make out?” she asked with a smile.
“No.”
“Gee”—she leaned harder into me—“tell me how you really feel.”
I moved away so we had a few inches of space between us. “I just did.”
“I was only kidding. You don’t do it for me, either. Can we still be friends?” She giggled.
I looked at her. The sparkles on her eyelids matched her blue irises. “Of course. You want to, right? Be my friend?”
