Strawberry Fields smoothie. “All done?” I ask, grabbing their sticky glasses, and wiping up the mess they made with an old, damp rag.
And then, for some inexplicable reason, like some kind of ESP moment or something, I happen to look up and gaze out the window, at the exact same moment that Jaci, Holly, Claire, and
Sloane
walk by.
Oh, my God!
I think, as I stand there, staring at Sloane, waiting for her to peer inside and wave at me. I mean, she knows I work every Friday night, so why else would they be here?
But just as I’m wondering if my mom will let me leave early so I can go hang out with them, I watch in shock as she just breezes right by. With absolutely no intention of stopping, waving, or giving any indication that she’s in any way affiliated with New Day Organics, or me.
She just laughs at something Jaci said, tosses her hair behind her shoulder, and strolls right past, without so much as a single glance.
“Ahem, excuse me? Miss? I said we’d like two cups of the Let It Be green tea.”
I glance at the woman who is now rolling her eyes and shaking her head, then I gaze out the window again. Watching Sloane laugh and joke with her cool new friends with such comfort and ease, it’s like she’s been hanging with them forever.
Six
On Saturday morning I call Sloane. And when she doesn’t answer her cell, I call the house line.
“Yes?” the maid answers in tentative English.
“Hi, um, is Sloane there?” I ask, hoping she can understand me.
“Yes?” she says again, leaving me unsure if that’s “yes, she’s there,” or if we’re actually, like, starting this whole process all over again.
So this time I rephrase it. “Can I speak to Sloane, please?”
“No.” Of this, she sounds certain.
“Okay, but does that mean that she’s there but busy and therefore I can’t speak to her? Or that she’s not home so I can’t speak to her?” I ask, realizing that even I’m a little confused by all that.
But then she goes, “Sloane very busy. She studies. With coach.”
And while I’m trying to figure out what the heck that means, she hangs up.
And I just sit there, phone still in hand, thinking:
Sloane is studying with a coach? Does that mean she has a tutor’? And why didn’t she mention this before? I mean, usually I’m the one who helps her with her homework.
And then like, the second I hang up, it rings. And since I know that it’s Sloane, I go, “Hey, so what’s with the coach? I mean, we’re supposed to be practicing our cheer.”
And then my dad goes, “Okay, but I lost my pom-poms so we’ll have to share.”
I roll my eyes, and laugh. “Very funny,” I say. “I thought you were Sloane.”
“Obviously. So what’s this about a cheer? You trying out for the squad?”
“Yup.” I plop down onto the couch, put my feet on the coffee table, and grab the remote.
“Does your mom know?”
“Affirmative.” I nod, even though he can’t exactly see me.
“Wow, how’d you get that past her?” He says that in a funny way, not a judgmental way. Like in a “you and I both know how she feels about the establishment and cheerleaders definitely fall into that disdainful group” kinda way.
But I just laugh. “Wouldn’t you like to know,” I say, channel-surfing past all kinds of shows I don’t really like.
“So, when are you and Autumn coming to visit?” he asks.
I drop the remote, even though its last stop was some over- the-top religious show, and wonder how I’m gonna answer this. I mean, I like my dad, don’t get me wrong, and he’s actually more like a friend than a dad. You know, kind of cute and irresponsible but highly likable, kind of like Rory Gilmore’s dad. And he’s cool too, with the whole rock star thing and all. But ever since he moved to New York, visiting him is like a total hassle, involving a long-ass flight, and sleeping in a crampedapartment, which can get more than a little awkward when one of his revolving girlfriends
And then, for some inexplicable reason, like some kind of ESP moment or something, I happen to look up and gaze out the window, at the exact same moment that Jaci, Holly, Claire, and
Sloane
walk by.
Oh, my God!
I think, as I stand there, staring at Sloane, waiting for her to peer inside and wave at me. I mean, she knows I work every Friday night, so why else would they be here?
But just as I’m wondering if my mom will let me leave early so I can go hang out with them, I watch in shock as she just breezes right by. With absolutely no intention of stopping, waving, or giving any indication that she’s in any way affiliated with New Day Organics, or me.
She just laughs at something Jaci said, tosses her hair behind her shoulder, and strolls right past, without so much as a single glance.
“Ahem, excuse me? Miss? I said we’d like two cups of the Let It Be green tea.”
I glance at the woman who is now rolling her eyes and shaking her head, then I gaze out the window again. Watching Sloane laugh and joke with her cool new friends with such comfort and ease, it’s like she’s been hanging with them forever.
Six
On Saturday morning I call Sloane. And when she doesn’t answer her cell, I call the house line.
“Yes?” the maid answers in tentative English.
“Hi, um, is Sloane there?” I ask, hoping she can understand me.
“Yes?” she says again, leaving me unsure if that’s “yes, she’s there,” or if we’re actually, like, starting this whole process all over again.
So this time I rephrase it. “Can I speak to Sloane, please?”
“No.” Of this, she sounds certain.
“Okay, but does that mean that she’s there but busy and therefore I can’t speak to her? Or that she’s not home so I can’t speak to her?” I ask, realizing that even I’m a little confused by all that.
But then she goes, “Sloane very busy. She studies. With coach.”
And while I’m trying to figure out what the heck that means, she hangs up.
And I just sit there, phone still in hand, thinking:
Sloane is studying with a coach? Does that mean she has a tutor’? And why didn’t she mention this before? I mean, usually I’m the one who helps her with her homework.
And then like, the second I hang up, it rings. And since I know that it’s Sloane, I go, “Hey, so what’s with the coach? I mean, we’re supposed to be practicing our cheer.”
And then my dad goes, “Okay, but I lost my pom-poms so we’ll have to share.”
I roll my eyes, and laugh. “Very funny,” I say. “I thought you were Sloane.”
“Obviously. So what’s this about a cheer? You trying out for the squad?”
“Yup.” I plop down onto the couch, put my feet on the coffee table, and grab the remote.
“Does your mom know?”
“Affirmative.” I nod, even though he can’t exactly see me.
“Wow, how’d you get that past her?” He says that in a funny way, not a judgmental way. Like in a “you and I both know how she feels about the establishment and cheerleaders definitely fall into that disdainful group” kinda way.
But I just laugh. “Wouldn’t you like to know,” I say, channel-surfing past all kinds of shows I don’t really like.
“So, when are you and Autumn coming to visit?” he asks.
I drop the remote, even though its last stop was some over- the-top religious show, and wonder how I’m gonna answer this. I mean, I like my dad, don’t get me wrong, and he’s actually more like a friend than a dad. You know, kind of cute and irresponsible but highly likable, kind of like Rory Gilmore’s dad. And he’s cool too, with the whole rock star thing and all. But ever since he moved to New York, visiting him is like a total hassle, involving a long-ass flight, and sleeping in a crampedapartment, which can get more than a little awkward when one of his revolving girlfriends
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