chair.
âTomorrow my meltdown will seem funny,â she says, sitting back up in her chair, turning the conversation away from me.
And truth be told, Iâm glad for it. I tell her I agree that tomorrow everything will look different, better, and that if she needs anything, Iâm only a call away.
We sit in comfortable silence for a few minutes before Dakotaâs phone starts to ring. As she talks, I push a napkin around the table and then start tearing the paper into little pieces.
Finally, she chirps into the phone, âIâll be there, save me a spotâ and shoves it into her bag. She abruptly stands and throws her bag on her shoulder. âThat was Aiden.â She takes a long slurp of her Frappuccino. My chest tightens and I stand up, too. âThereâs an audition and heâs going to save me a spot. Itâs for an online ad for the academy. I gotta go, but thanks for the coffeeâwe need to catch up again soon!â She rests her hand on my shoulder when she kisses my cheek.
And after that flurry, sheâs gone. Her half-full Frappuccino remains across from me, mocking my loneliness.
chapter
Eight
T HE ENTIRE WALK HOME I keep thinking:
A. That was weird.
B. I canât stand Aiden and his creepy white hair and long legsâwhat the hell does he want with her, anyway?
C. Heâs probably trying to convert her to the dark sideâbut Iâm onto him!
When I open the apartment door, Iâm met by the thick scent of vanilla. Either Tessa has gone overboard on the body spray again or someone is baking. Iâm praying for baking. The smell of it comforts meâmy childhood home was always full of the sweetest smells of chocolate chip cookies and maple squaresâand I donât really want to be feeling this way about some body spray; the bait-and-switch would be too similar to what I just had with Dakota . . .
I toss my keys onto the wooden entry table and cringe when my Red Wings key chain chips off a flake of the wood. My mom gave me this table when I moved to New York and made me promise that I would take care of it. It was a gift from my grandma, and my mom holds anything associated with her late mother above nearly everything else, particularly since there isnât much leftâespecially after Hardin shattered an entire cabinet of cherished dishes.
My grandma was a lovely woman, my mom tells me. I only have one really strong memory of her, and in it she is anything but lovely. I was about six at the time and she caught me stealing a handful of peanuts from a massive barrel at the grocery store in town. I had a mouth- and pocketful of them in the backseat of her station wagon. I donât remember why I did it, or if I even understood what I was doing, but when she turned around to check on me, she found me cracking open shells and chomping away. When she slammed on her brakes, I choked on part of a shell. She thought I was faking it, which only made her more upset.
I coughed the lodged chunks out of my throat and tried to catch my breath as she busted a U-turn right in the center of the highway, ignored the honks from understandably angry drivers, and drove my butt back to the store. She made me admit what I had done and apologize not only to the clerk, but also to the manager. I was humiliated, but I never stole again.
She passed away when I was in middle school, leaving behind two daughters, who couldnât be more opposite from each other. The rest of my information about her comes from my aunt Reese, who makes it sound like she was a tornado compared to the rest of my calm family. No one messed with anyone with the last name Tucker, my momâs maiden name, lest they had to deal with Grandma Nicolette.
Aunt Reese is a copâs widow with big blond hair, teased and sprayed high enough to hold her abundance of opinions. I always liked being around her and her husband, Keith, before he passed away. She was always
âTomorrow my meltdown will seem funny,â she says, sitting back up in her chair, turning the conversation away from me.
And truth be told, Iâm glad for it. I tell her I agree that tomorrow everything will look different, better, and that if she needs anything, Iâm only a call away.
We sit in comfortable silence for a few minutes before Dakotaâs phone starts to ring. As she talks, I push a napkin around the table and then start tearing the paper into little pieces.
Finally, she chirps into the phone, âIâll be there, save me a spotâ and shoves it into her bag. She abruptly stands and throws her bag on her shoulder. âThat was Aiden.â She takes a long slurp of her Frappuccino. My chest tightens and I stand up, too. âThereâs an audition and heâs going to save me a spot. Itâs for an online ad for the academy. I gotta go, but thanks for the coffeeâwe need to catch up again soon!â She rests her hand on my shoulder when she kisses my cheek.
And after that flurry, sheâs gone. Her half-full Frappuccino remains across from me, mocking my loneliness.
chapter
Eight
T HE ENTIRE WALK HOME I keep thinking:
A. That was weird.
B. I canât stand Aiden and his creepy white hair and long legsâwhat the hell does he want with her, anyway?
C. Heâs probably trying to convert her to the dark sideâbut Iâm onto him!
When I open the apartment door, Iâm met by the thick scent of vanilla. Either Tessa has gone overboard on the body spray again or someone is baking. Iâm praying for baking. The smell of it comforts meâmy childhood home was always full of the sweetest smells of chocolate chip cookies and maple squaresâand I donât really want to be feeling this way about some body spray; the bait-and-switch would be too similar to what I just had with Dakota . . .
I toss my keys onto the wooden entry table and cringe when my Red Wings key chain chips off a flake of the wood. My mom gave me this table when I moved to New York and made me promise that I would take care of it. It was a gift from my grandma, and my mom holds anything associated with her late mother above nearly everything else, particularly since there isnât much leftâespecially after Hardin shattered an entire cabinet of cherished dishes.
My grandma was a lovely woman, my mom tells me. I only have one really strong memory of her, and in it she is anything but lovely. I was about six at the time and she caught me stealing a handful of peanuts from a massive barrel at the grocery store in town. I had a mouth- and pocketful of them in the backseat of her station wagon. I donât remember why I did it, or if I even understood what I was doing, but when she turned around to check on me, she found me cracking open shells and chomping away. When she slammed on her brakes, I choked on part of a shell. She thought I was faking it, which only made her more upset.
I coughed the lodged chunks out of my throat and tried to catch my breath as she busted a U-turn right in the center of the highway, ignored the honks from understandably angry drivers, and drove my butt back to the store. She made me admit what I had done and apologize not only to the clerk, but also to the manager. I was humiliated, but I never stole again.
She passed away when I was in middle school, leaving behind two daughters, who couldnât be more opposite from each other. The rest of my information about her comes from my aunt Reese, who makes it sound like she was a tornado compared to the rest of my calm family. No one messed with anyone with the last name Tucker, my momâs maiden name, lest they had to deal with Grandma Nicolette.
Aunt Reese is a copâs widow with big blond hair, teased and sprayed high enough to hold her abundance of opinions. I always liked being around her and her husband, Keith, before he passed away. She was always
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