Read Online Georgia Peaches and Other Forbidden Fruit by Jaye Robin Brown - Free Book Online

help myself. “What about Mary Carlson?”
    Three cocks her head and I immediately regret letting those words out of my mouth, but then she taps her finger against her chin like she’s thinking, not like she can see the crush forming inside me. “If my memory serves me, she was already golfing by then, so I’m thinking probably something golf-themed.”
    Dana would be all over that. I mean, female golfers are kind of like female softball players, you can’t turn around in a circle without bumping into one who loves the ladies. The entire big Palm Springs Dinah weekend, which isnumber one on our future college road trip list, sprung up around a golf tournament. There’s no way Mary Carlson could be one of those golfers.
    Dad’s eyeing me now. “You’re looking forward to this?” A smile follows his question. “That’s good.”
    I must tread carefully. Dad has X-ray vision when it comes to me. And there’s no way I’m letting him renege on the radio show. I shrug. “You know . . . when in Rome.”
    Three laughs. It’s the one thing I really appreciate about her. The sound is melodic and definitely infectious, not the hard donkey bray of Two the Shrew. “That pun.” She shakes her head but it’s nothing more than a friendly tease, and then she stands. “Ice cream? I bought Rocky Road.”
    Dad and I give thumbs-up at the same time, and it’s weird, but this nothing kind of night shines under a new light. He pats the spot Three vacated and I plop next to him for a snuggle. “Thanks, kid.”
    I lift my shoulder under his hand. “No biggie.” I’m not really missing the high drama of Dana and the scene kids. But it’s also important for me to remember—this is big. No straight kid’s dad would have ever asked what he’s asked of me.
    Friday I arrive at school, packed for an overnight, which includes a lemon yellow Kate Spade tote Three insistedI borrow and—Dana would laugh her ass off—soft cotton pajamas in dark purple imprinted with tiny circus elephants. The print did make my torturous choice easier because I knew they’d make B.T.B. happy. Three even foisted slipper socks onto me, fuzzy things with rubber studs on the bottom to keep you from slipping if you’re having an all-girl dance party in Rome, Georgia, on a smoking Friday night. This is surreal and I feel like I’m thirteen again, before I started really figuring out I might not be like all the other girls.
    B.T.B. finds me after school. “You’re coming to my house tonight.”
    â€œI am, B.T.B., but remember Mary Carlson invited me.”
    â€œI know,” he says. “But you can still see my elephant library.”
    â€œLibrary?”
    Gemma, who’s appeared from the other hall, butts in. “Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. He has every elephant book, knickknack, stuffie . . .” At this B.T.B. blushes. “And piece of artwork known to man.” She links her arm through mine. “So tell me about yourself, Atlanta girl. I went online but you’re like nowhere on my social media circuit. Your dad keep you all Amish around that or something?”
    â€œUm, yeah. He says it’s a waste of time.” Thank theLord for small favors like a changed last name and my preference for the old one. I’m Jo Guglielmi or just JoKat on all my profiles, and if Gemma ever cracked my identity this party would be over. Gemma, I sense, is savvy, so might as well let her play the role of leading me into the twenty-first century. “I might be able to finally talk him into it, though.”
    â€œI’m so going to hook you up.” She starts to grab for my phone, which is a problem. I’ll need to delete all those apps and log out, before I let her have her way with it.
    â€œBattery’s totally dead,” I say, stuffing the phone into the tote, which I notice she checks out.