I grin at her. “Love the shirt. I heard they’re gonna tour for their new album.”
Zoey’s eyes widen. “You like the Snarky Carcasses?”
“What’s not to like about an all-girl punk-cover band?” I love them when I’m a dude, but rarely listen to them when I’m a girl. “Their version of ‘I Wanna Be Sedated’ is one of my favorites.” Chewbarka finds a spot near my left shoulder that seems to make her feel secure.
“That song rules,” Zoey says. “My band’s been working on it but we suck.”
A warm trickle goes down my shirt. I shift Chewbarka to hide it. “What kind of music do you guys play?”
“Punk. We’re not good, but boy, we’re loud. We’re called Tyrannosaurus Rocks. We’re practicing tonight, if you wanna come watch.”
“Seriously? I’d love that.” The band name’s a little on the nose for punk, but it would be awesome to check them out. I try to get my phone out without dropping Chewbarka, but I drop the phone.
A tall blonde woman in a short skirt comes around the shelf carrying a giant bag of dog food. She’s followed by a towheaded kid in a soccer uniform. The kid looks like he’s about eight and the woman looks like Zoey if Zoey did CrossFit twelve days a week. “For god’s sake, I’ve been looking everywhere,” she says to Zoey. “We don’t have time for you to flirt with boys. Alan’s game starts in ten minutes. Let’s go.”
My face burns. I shift Chewbarka again.
“Mom, god! Ashley’s a girl.”
I cringe and then try to hide it with a fake smile.
“Sorry,” Zoey’s mom says like she’s not. “Now, kiddo.”
Zoey picks up my phone and hands it to me. “Mom, can she come to band practice tonight?”
“As long as she can get a ride. I’m done being a taxi.”
“I’ll ask my mom.” I open my contacts with a shaking hand. “Zoey, put your number in?”
“Yep.” Zoey types it in and hands my phone back. “Text me and I’ll give you the address and time and stuff. See ya!” She follows her mom and brother to the checkout line.
I yank the hair band loose the second they’re out of sight. Chewbarka licks my neck like she’s saying thanks for keeping her safe from big, scary Rex. We lurk in the clearance aisle till I hear Zoey and her family leave. Then I pay for my treat and head back to the tent, wondering how Sam from Rainbow Alliance reacts when someone’s mom assumes their gender. Probably a lot better than I just did.
Maybe I should see if they give lessons. In dealing with other people. In being confident.
I call Griffey while I’m walking and ask if he knows Zoey. He doesn’t, which isn’t surprising since Oakmont’s so huge. “Hey, so why’d you ask me to cover for you?” he asks.
I explain about Daniel getting stuck with Chewbarka and needing help, and about me fighting with Mom and staying in the tent. “Oh, and you and I are out Frisbee-golfing if my mom texts you,” I tell him. I doubt she will, but better play it safe.
“Wow, so you’ve got a thing with Daniel now.” He pauses long enough for me to realize he’s about to ask the question I don’t want to answer. “Are you gonna tell him?”
“No!” I practically shout. But then I hesitate. “I mean . . . not yet. I don’t know. I think, like, things aren’t that far yet. Like, I like him, like I like-like him, but I’m just, like—”
His laugh cuts me off. “Can you cram more ‘likes’ into one sentence?”
“Shut your trap, turd huffer. You sound stupid too when you talk about Jacob.”
“Ugh, I know. It’s like my IQ drops twenty points when I’m around him.”
“I just wish I knew more about Daniel. At least with Tyler I knew his family was a bratty pack of hell-raisers, so I should’ve seen it coming how stuff turned out.” Not that your family sucking means you suck too, but in his case, it was definitely a clue. I totally should’ve listened to Camille. And Booper. And Mom.
“Do you follow Daniel on Insta?”
“No, what’s his account?”
“It’s called The_Ugly_Twinn, with underscores and two n’s. It’s not a meme account like everyone else has. It’s like legit good photography. I don’t think he’s posted in a while, though.”
“I’ll look it up. I’m at the tent, I gotta deal with the dog. I’ll call you tonight and tell you about lunch with my dad and how the band thing goes.”
“Cool.” He sounds disappointed, like he was hoping to hang out. “Good luck with your dad. Later, tater hater.”
In the tent, I attempt to tie my wrinkled Imagine Dragons T-shirt around Chewbarka like a diaper. It doesn’t really work, and I don’t want her to pee all over my shirt even though I’m no longer the raging Imagine Dragons fan I used to be. I take her outside and we curl up on my dry but still-stanky sleeping bag in the sun. I put on some wistful, sad music that looks like silk blowing in the wind, then open Insta to search for Daniel’s account. I haven’t opened the app since the day of The Tyler Disaster, when I made my account private to everyone except Griffey. There’s one new notification on the last selfie I posted, a comment from Griff that says Miss your face on here xoxoxo.
I search for The_Ugly_Twinn. It shows up right away, and my breath catches. Daniel’s pictures are lovely and lonely: a sunset with a single cloud catching the light. An empty field of golden grass under a heavy gray sky. A flower being sucked into a flooding creek. A dead tree with one leaf still stuck to a branch. A tarnished silver teapot sitting beside a road with a bunch of fast-food trash. A cracked snail shell nestled into a bed of moss.
I could take a hundred pictures of a snail shell on moss and it would look like I just snapped it with
