“Wait,” I say as her hands grasp my waist, and this new world we’ve entered dissipates. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay,” she says but with a question mark in her voice.
“You’re so tiny,” I say. “I could probably put my hands around your waist. Well, I couldn’t, I have little hands, but someone with big hands could.”
“What are you talking about?” Jordi asks.
“When your hands are there, you know exactly how much space I take up,” I say, and I feel silly and also worried and how did I think I could continue to make out with a girl without thinking about my size?
“You take up the right amount of space,” Jordi says, and her hands are back on my waist. “Don’t say things like that. Please.”
“Okay,” I say, but I feel out of breath and not in a good way.
“Why would I be here right now if I thought something wasn’t right about you, Abby?” she asks. “I’m sorry if your mom’s making you crazy with all of her solutions, but you know that’s not how it really is.”
“I guess.”
“No,” she says and holds my face so that I look right at her. “I mean it.”
“Okay.” I’m not sure if I sound any more convinced, but we start kissing again so I guess Jordi believes me.
Eventually Jordi says we’re at the far end of our timeline, and so she drives through and past Downtown LA to a part of town in a neighborhood I don’t know.
“Have you ever been to Pehrspace?” Jordi asks me as she searches for parking on a narrow, curving street. “I probably missed getting a really good spot because you distracted me.”
“Oh, sorry you’d rather park than get kissed,” I say, and she snorts. “I’ll try not to be hugely offended. And, no, I’ve never been here. Where’s here? What are we doing?”
“You’re really impatient,” Jordi says. “It’s pathetic how cute I think that is.”
She takes another couple turns and finds an open spot on the curb. “Pehrspace is this all-ages art space and venue for bands. Right now there’s a photography show of street style up, so I thought you’d like it.”
“Oh my god yes,” I say, as we walk down the sidewalk. Jordi slides her arm around my waist and I think she’s trying to make a point. Maybe I’m already a little used to it, though. “You’re good at planning dates. You must do it all the time.”
Oh my god, no. Not a thing to say.
“No, I …” Jordi smiles and looks down at her black Vans. “This is, in full honesty, my first date.”
“Mine too!” I almost jump up and down. My wedges keep me from making any more of a fool out of myself. “We’re totally on the same page.”
Jordi looks right up at me. She’s still smiling. “Good.”
We take a turn off the street into a dingy strip mall, and if I didn’t trust Jordi, I’d think I was about to be murdered. But then our destination becomes clear; in the furthermost corner is a crowd of people in a haze of beer and pot and clove cigarettes. It looks like an extended version of Jordi’s crowd from school. I’m a little concerned I’ll stick out in my candy-colored outfit, but two girls stop me on my way in to ask where my dress came from.
(I try not to sound too enthusiastic about my internet shopping habits, but it turns out I can only dial that back so much.)
“Hey, Jordi,” the guy in the front room greets her. “You can just go on back.”
“What about Abby?” Jordi holds up a five-dollar bill. “I’ll pay for her.”
The guy stamps our hands, and I follow Jordi into the next room, which isn’t as crowded as it was outside. The walls contain photos of people downtown, of all ages, in outfits ranging from shredded jeans and old T-shirts to sparkly handmade gowns. The subjects are young and old, white and brown and black, conventionally beautiful and just normal.
“I get what you were saying about having defined style,” Jordi says. “Some of these people just do, even if I’ve never seen them before. You can tell.”
“This is amazing,” I tell her. “I’m so glad you knew about this.”
“Do you want to stay for a while?” she asks. “Some local bands are playing.”
“Are they good?” I ask. “Should we?”
“Let’s stay for the first one,” she says. “I think you’ll like them.”
I’m pretty sure that Jordi is just trapped in some kind of first date fog that makes me seem cooler than I am, but then kids our age are setting up their instruments and launching into a song that sounds like a fuzzed out hissy version of something I’d listen to. The sound pounds in my chest, and I can’t tell the bass drum apart from my thudding heart.
CHAPTER 13
My beeping phone wakes me on Sunday morning, even though I could lie in bed dreaming about Jordi for potentially an infinite amount of time. The texts are all from Jax, and I realize I haven’t responded to him since before yesterday. Whut up abbz it starts, and by now has turned into r u dead? I reply with the news that I am still in fact among the living, and we quickly make plans.
After getting ready, I wave good-bye to Mom and Dad while calling out the vaguest information about Jax and lunch on my way out of the house. Jax’s BMW is in the driveway, and it’s funny how happy I am to see him. The morning after Maliah’s first date with Trevor, Maliah and I walked to the restaurant called Home, which we normally avoided because the wait to get in was so epic. But standing in the line outside didn’t even matter because there was so much to discuss. I always figured it would be
