The seagull immediately flies away.
I laugh again. “Nice try.”
The thought of Jordi liking any girls, much less me, still sounds like fiction. But it’s a good piece of fiction.
When we pile back into Trevor’s car later, I notice I have a new notification on my phone. I know that it means very little that Jordi added me back—not even “very little,” it means nothing at all.
But I still nudge Jax and hold up my phone. He grins and holds out his hand for a high-five.
CHAPTER 7
I have a notification when I open my computer that evening. Well, I have two—Maliah tagged me in a photo she took in Santa Monica, and my hair looks like fancy cotton candy and my dress is vibrant, so I don’t untag myself. But I digress, because the other notification is a direct message from Jordi.
A direct message from Jordi!
don’t bring your sad tostadas tomorrow, abby.
I start typing back immediately. I delete every sentence as it appears on the screen. I won’t ha ha ha! looks deranged. Are you serious??! sounds potentially combative. I don’t know what’s going on but it’s cool you’re thinking of me right now! is just clearly not okay on any level, as I sound both clueless and majorly creepster.
I message Jax instead. Does having a crush always make you feel bonkers? Is it just me? Do you regret talking to me so much? Were you prepared for so many questions? Did you hope it would just be burgers and Gaby?
He messages back right away. feeling bonkers can come w the territory. no regrets, but unprepared 4 sure. ur like a weird onion.
I laugh aloud. A weird onion???
His response is almost instantaneous, as though he was waiting for me to ask. lots of layers of weird. i dig it.
Okay, it’s vaguely possible—and so hypothetical that it doesn’t really matter—that if I liked boys, I might like Jax after all.
The next morning I magically arrive at Jordi’s exactly when she’s walking through her gate.
“Hi,” I say.
“Did you get my message?” she asks. “You didn’t respond.”
“Oh, I …” … was afraid I’d sound unhinged. “Sorry. I did get it, though. There were more leftover faux-stadas, but I left them for my parents.”
“Good girl,” she says and smiles.
I wait for details on the lunch we’re going out to together, or whatever I’m apparently eating instead of piles of sad vegetables and tempeh. We just walk quietly, though.
“Did you have fun at the library?” I ask when I can’t take the silence any longer. Probably it’s only been a few seconds but in certain situations a few seconds can be an eternity.
“That was Tuesday, but we did,” Jordi says, and I realize out of nowhere how desperately I hope that “we” just means her and her brother. Jordi could have a boyfriend. Even if Jordi—miraculously—likes girls, why wouldn’t Jordi already have a girlfriend? How could I be the only person who’s noticed her?
I wish it worked another way in my head. If only I found her silences maddening instead of intriguing. If only I thought it was boring or predictable or silly that she’s in all-black every day, even in the warm June sunshine. If only I didn’t think that whatever she did to end up in juvie wasn’t justified, no matter what it was.
If Jordi had wanted to burn down a building, I believe that structure should have rightfully gone down in flames.
Once we get to the shop, Jordi takes her lunchbag out of her black bag and nudges me. “Dad gave me extra caldo de pollo for you.”
I don’t know what that is, but Jordi’s dad gave her food for me. Jordi’s dad knows I exist. I already love caldo de pollo.
“You’re so lucky your dad cooks,” I say. “I mean, my mom makes …”
“I saw,” Jordi says as we pour our coffees.
“No … well, have you heard of Eat Healthy with Norah?”
“Nope.”
Maggie walks out from the back room. “Oh, no, are we talking about Eat Healthy with Norah? One of my friends is obsessed with her. I, on the other hand, find her incredibly irritating.”
“Me too,” I say with a sigh. “Norah’s my mom.”
“Oh, Abby, I’m sorry,” Maggie says. “I never would have said—”
“It’s really okay,” I say. “Trust me, I understand.”
“So …” Jordi says. “It’s a website?”
“It’s a website, and a segment on the local NBC affiliate, and other shows bring her on as a healthy eating expert all the time. It’s wraps with cucumbers instead of tortillas, and sandwiches with lettuce instead of buns, and a grilled cheese except that the bread is actually made from cauliflower. And everything’s tiny little portions.”
I wonder if I just seem like a fat girl complaining about not getting to eat enough.
But then Jordi’s neutral expression turns into a frown.
“I’m glad I rescued you, then,” she says. “Extra glad, now that I know about the cauliflower.”
“I’m not even sure how you’d make bread out of cauliflower,” Maggie say. “I mean, I understand I could look it up, but I think bread is great.”
“Bread is great,” Jordi and I chorus, and then we exchange a tiny grin. Well, Jordi’s grin is tiny. I’m pretty sure that mine is somehow wider than my face.
Maggie gets Jordi started on downloading her photos from her camera to the computer in the back room before taking me into her office to chat about social media, or at least that’s what I assume we’ll talk about. I have my notebook of ideas ready to go.
“I really am sorry,” she says. “I had no idea she was your mother. I never would have—”
“No, seriously,” I say. “She is incredibly irritating.”
“Anytime you want someone to buy you real bread,” she says, “just say the word.”
“Deal.” I open my notebook. “So I just wrote up some preliminary ideas for different social media platforms, just sort of based off of wanting to get people excited about new arrivals, but also maybe to get more followers?”
As the words come out of my
