“Where are we going?” I ask.
“Santa Monica,” Maliah says. “The beach and the pier.”
To be fair, it doesn’t sound horrible. When you live on the Eastside, going down to the beach can take forever, so it doesn’t happen as often as non-L.A. people think. Plus, I know Maliah will have over-prepared. We’ll have beach towels and sunscreen and bottles of water. And thanks to Trevor and Jax, we’ll probably have beers.
God, I’m spending a lot of time with Jax lately.
I’m right about all of it: Maliah lays out two giant towels when we arrive, and Trevor has sneaky beers in a Nordstrom bag. Of course they sit together, which relegates Jax and me to the other towel. I can’t blame him for this; he probably has no idea that I expected a best-friends-only day—that I felt like I needed one. I’m not even sure if a best-friends-only day is something I can expect at seventeen years old.
“We’re going to get snacks,” Maliah calls to us. “Watch our stuff, okay?”
“On it,” Jax says.
Maliah walks off, hand-in-hand, with Trevor. My phone beeps only a moment later. Sorry, Abbs. Jax was in the car when it pulled up. I’ll make it up to you! XOM
“I saw Gaby this morning,” Jax says. “She was getting juice from Juice, too.”
“Congratulations,” I say.
“Man.” Jax hands me a beer from the bag. “She does not find me charming.”
“You can’t expect everyone to,” I say. “Can you?”
“C’mon, Abbs,” he says, and even though Maliah’s the only one of my friends who calls me that, I don’t mind it. “You even find me charming, and you’re all about the ladies, too.”
I sip my beer instead of admitting he’s at least partially right.
“Why do you like her?” I ask.
“What do you mean?”
“What do you mean, what do I mean?” I ask, even though I’m not sure I could put my feelings for Jordi into words. What’s the word for her hands clutching her camera, her slow smile, the angles of her neck and shoulders?
Oh my god, I sound bananas. I feel bananas. Liking someone is nothing but bananas.
“I don’t know. Do I have to have a reason?”
“Yes,” I say. “People want to be liked for real reasons.”
I didn’t even know that was a thing I knew or believed, especially because I can’t imagine what about me anyone would like. It’s not that I’m horrible—I’m definitely not horrible! I just don’t feel special enough. I’m a supporting cast member, not a lead. There’s nothing about me that could sway a girl from disinterest to love, or even to like.
“Do you just like her because she doesn’t find you charming?” I ask, looking out to the ocean. On June afternoons, it’s fairly crowded, but the sound of the waves creates some sort of magical white noise that makes it feel like Jax and I are in our own world.
“Shit,” he says. “I hope not.”
I laugh and sip my beer. Cheap beer is really mostly water. It takes a few of them to get you drunk, so one at a time always feels safe. Right now, Jax feels safe, too.
“This is a dumb question, probably, but … what do you do when you like someone?” I ask. “I mean, I’m positive that she doesn’t like me, but—”
“You stalk her Instagram yet?” Jax asks.
“No …?”
Jax gets out his phone. “What’s her name?”
“No.”
“C’mon.”
“Fine,” I say. “Jordi Perez.”
He types it in. “She’s cute.”
“Too cute?” I ask. “Do you think? For me?”
“Shut the hell up,” he says, still scrolling. “Yes. Hell yes.”
“What?” I’m embarrassed that I didn’t already think to look for Jordi on Instagram. My crush is at least twenty-four hours old at this point. I’ve wasted so many of those hours. “What did you find?”
“She went to a Tegan & Sara show,” he says. “Bam. You’re set.”
“Bam? Lots of people like Tegan & Sara,” I say. “People who aren’t queer. Trust me.”
“I’m calling it,” he says. “You’re in.”
“You’re crazy.” I take his phone from him. Jordi’s profile photo looks like a professional black-and-white photograph, and it’s as if light and shadows clung to all the right places so that the picture is the most absolutely Jordi possible. I barely know her, but I can tell that much.
Oh my god, I have completely lost it. Light and shadows??
“Add her,” Jax says.
“Wouldn’t that be weird?” I ask. “We’re just interns together. We’re not friends.”
“Add her,” he repeats.
“What if she thinks I’m weird?”
He sighs loudly and grabs my phone from me. “What’s your passcode?”
“Uh, no.” But for some reason, I unlock my phone and let him take it.
“Done,” he says after a couple moments. “If she asks you why you added her, you can blame some asshole at the beach and it’ll be true.”
“You’re not an asshole,” I say. “Well, maybe you are. You’re really comfortable with other people’s phones.”
“That is the definition of an asshole, sure.”
I unlace my Converse and dig my bare feet into the sand. I’ll regret it later, considering I wasn’t told about the beach and therefore didn’t bring flip flops, but right now it’s all worth it to feel the warm sand between my toes.
“So what’s your next move?” Jax asks me.
“What do you mean? What was my first move? Oh, adding her on Instagram? Technically I didn’t do that; that was all you.”
“She’s gonna add you back, clearly,” he says. “Then find a recent photo, nothing too old or you look like a creep, and leave a nice comment. Then find another one, and don’t comment or anything, but bring up something similar next time you see her. Like if she takes photos at the park or whatever, mention that you like going to the park or whatever too.”
“This is your big advice on girls?” I ask. “No wonder you need my help.”
“Look, this shit normally works,” he says.
“But not with Gaby.”
“Nope. But normally, oh yeah. You’re right in. I swear on …” He looks around.
