I SPEND THURSDAY FLOATING THROUGH classes in a fog. I barely say a word at lunch, and I don’t linger after the bell rings. I don’t look for Simon and Nick on Friday morning. I don’t lurk by the lockers. I just duck into the library, staking claim to a computer. Typing without thinking.
Simon finds me anyway. “Oh, hey! What are you working on?” He scoots a chair next to me.
“The Treaty of Vienna.”
“Amazing,” he says, and I can actually hear him grinning.
“Okay, why are you so cheery?” I turn to face him—and my mouth falls open. “Simon.”
His shirt. It’s crisp and bright purple, totally plain except for three white letters: NYU.
“This isn’t an April Fools’ thing, right? You got in?”
“I got in!”
“Simon!” I punch his arm. “Why didn’t you text me?”
“I wanted to surprise you.”
“Does Bram know?”
He beams, nodding.
“Oh my God, Simon. You guys are going to be in New York together.”
“I know!”
“You’re going to live in New York!”
“That’s so weird, right?” He rolls his chair closer. Then he exhales and laughs all at once, eyes bright behind his glasses.
“I mean, you’re literally going to be right in Manhattan. I can’t even process this.”
“I know.”
“Do you realize that living in New York is like one step away from being famous?” I say.
“Right.”
“I’m serious. You better not forget about me.”
“Um, I’m going to stalk you online a thousand times a day.”
“That seems like a good way to spend your time.”
He laughs. “Whatever. You know we’re going to visit you and Abby at Georgia, right?”
“Right.”
“I still can’t believe you guys are road tripping together. If you guys end up as roommates, I swear to God.”
I pause. “You swear to God what?”
“I don’t know. I swear to God I will smile approvingly.”
“Is that a threat?”
He smiles. “I just really like the idea of you guys being friends.”
Something tugs in my chest. I feel strangely offbeat.
I try to shake off the feeling. “So, are you still going on your college tour, or is that kind of moot now?”
The first period bell rings, and Simon stands, tugging the straps of his backpack. “No, I’m going. My mom wants me to visit the last few schools before I make my choice.” He shrugs. “But whatever. It’ll be fun. Okay, I need to find Abby and switch our phones back.”
“You switched phones?” I fall into step beside him. “Why?”
“She’s sending herself pictures. See?”
He holds up Abby’s phone, with its Rifle floral phone case—and sure enough, there’s a massive text thread of photos. Mostly Simon and Abby, but I’m in a few of them, too. To be honest, I didn’t know some of these pictures existed. Like one of Abby, Bram, and me, half asleep on Mr. Wise’s couch after the AP Lit exam last year. We’re all shoeless, in T-shirts and pajama pants. Basically, exams happened, and everyone promptly stopped giving a shit. I kind of like how I look in the picture, though. My hair’s loose and rumpled, and I’m literally yawning, but all three of us look soft-eyed and sleepy and happy.
“She’s going to make a collage for her future dorm room,” Simon says. “I should do that.” He taps into her pictures.
I fall into step beside him as he swipes through him. “I look so drunk in this one,” he says. And then, a moment later. “Nick needs to learn how to open his eyes in pictures.” I peer at the screen, and my stomach twists softly. It’s just a random couple selfie—not even a new one, because it’s clearly taken at play rehearsal. Classic Nick and Abby picture: Abby smiling sweetly with her head slightly tilted, and Nick looking like he just got punched.
“I’m kind of worried about Nick and Abby,” Simon says after a moment.
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah, they’re not . . . wow,” he says suddenly, holding up the phone. “Did you draw this?”
I freeze.
“It’s beautiful,” he adds, and my heart thuds in my chest.
Because—okay. Holy shit.
I can’t seem to form words. I just stare at the phone.
Abby still has the picture, a year and a half later. It’s in her album of favorites. I don’t know what that means. Or if it even means anything. My mind’s in a knot.
“When did you draw that?” Simon asks.
I feel my cheeks burn. “Last year.”
Junior year. I’d come home from Morgan’s sleepover, feeling too big for my skin. And no matter what I tried, I couldn’t shake the feeling. So, I pulled out my sketchpad and drew without a plan. Two girls on their stomachs, peering at a cell phone. All soft lines and curves and overlapping limbs. I colored us in with pencils—the brown of Abby’s skin, the pink of my cheeks, the dark red of my hair. I drew like I was in a trance. It felt like I’d pinned my heart to the page.
I should have tucked it away, but I guess I felt brave. We were in the courtyard when I showed her. I used to wait with her there after school when her bus was late. It was September 19—a Friday, the day before my birthday—and the air felt crisp and new. I hadn’t even brought my sketchbook that day, but I’d taken a photo of the drawing on my phone.
“You can’t laugh,” I’d told her. She laughed as soon as I said that. I could barely sit still, my heart was beating so fast. I passed her my phone, and then stared at my knees. She was quiet for a few excruciating moments, and then she turned to me at last.
“Leah.”
I looked up to find her staring at me, silent. Her mouth was twisted up at the corners.
“It’s really rough, obviously.”
“I can’t believe you drew that,” she said. “It’s—wow.”
“It’s nothing.”
But it didn’t feel like nothing. It felt like a love letter. It felt like a question.
“I’m just.” She sighed. “I love it so much. Leah. I’m going to cry.”
“Don’t cry,” I said. I was like an overinflated balloon. Full of air and tension, both anchored and floating. “I’m glad you like it.”
“I love it.” She scooted closer. No one else was in the courtyard. She smelled like vanilla, and her eyelashes were like thick black parentheses. That was it. My brain only had room for those two facts.
Abby’s waiting outside Ms. Livingstone’s classroom, Simon’s phone in hand. I can’t look at her without blushing.
She still has my drawing. She kept it.
“So here’s what I want to know,” Abby says. “How do you find time to take literally three hundred and sixteen selfies with Bieber?”
Simon scoffs. “I make the time.”
“Apparently.”
He makes a face at her. “How do you have time to count my selfies?”
“I don’t even know.” She grins, eyes cutting toward me. “Oh, and Leah.”
She touches my elbow.
“Yup?”
“We need to figure out road trip stuff. Were you going to ride the bus home today?”
I nod carefully.
“Okay, cool.” She smiles. “So, I’ve got my mom’s car, and I was wondering if maybe we could do WaHo after school? Then we can hammer out the plans, and I can drive you home afterward.”
“Um. Yeah.” I swallow. “Sure.”
“Yay! All right, I have to get to calc, but okay—great! I’ll meet you outside the atrium?”
I nod, feeling dazed. I feel Simon studying my face, lips pursed like he’s about to ask me something. God. I don’t want to talk about the drawing. Or Abby. Or the most pointless crush I’ve ever had. I mean, Simon doesn’t even know I’m bisexual. But he keeps looking at me with his Thinker face, nose wrinkled like a bunny’s.
The weird part is, it should be easy to tell him this. Simon, of all people. It’s just that my heart and lungs and pulse don’t seem to realize this.
“Leah?” he says softly.
I swallow the lump in my throat.
He’s quiet for a moment. And then he looks me straight in the eye. “Do I take too many dog selfies?”
See, now I don’t know whether to laugh or choke.
Seven hours later, I’m in Abby Suso’s car.
Her mom’s car. Whatever. I’m in a tiny, enclosed space with Abby, who’s wearing a fucking sundress and tiny moonstone earrings. She hums as she backs out of her parking space.
I feel breathless and unsteady.
“So we’re good to go on the apartment. We can have it whenever we want. My friend will just stay with her boyfriend.”
“Wow. That’s really nice of her.”
“Right? I’ve actually only met her once. She’s actually my cousin’s girlfriend’s friend’s sister.”
I laugh. “What?”
“I know. It’s ridiculous.” She pauses, adjusting the air-conditioning. “She’s my cousin Cassie’s . . . girlfriend Mina’s . . . friend Max’s . . . older sister. Caitlin.”
“And she’s just giving us her apartment next week.”
Abby nods, turning right on Mount Vernon Highway. “We can literally drive up tomorrow if we want.”
“Wow.”
“But I think we should do like Monday through Wednesday, or something, so it won’t be so crazy there. Unless you want to see what campus is like on a Saturday night.”
“Yeah, I’m good.” I lean back against the headrest. “And Monday works. That’s the fourth, right? Today’s the first . . .”
My phone buzzes with a text from Simon. Oh! My inner goddess has a question for you
I stare at the screen. He’s still typing.
WAIT
He types again. We aim to please, Miss Steele
And again. *w-t-f WHAT’S HAPPENING???
I glance sideways at Abby. “I think Simon’s texting me quotes from Fifty Shades of Grey.”
“Hmm,” Abby says. She gets these crinkles by her eyes sometimes—like old people get, but she makes them look young. Abby Suso is singlehandedly reclaiming eye crinkles for our generation.
Simon texts me again. I think someone hacked my virginity
*p-h-o-n-e not my virginity!!!
Why does it say virginity when I type virginity??????
I mean p-h-o-n-e
“Wait.” I stare Abby down. “Does this have something to do with you using Simon’s phone this morning?”
Abby shrugs, eyes wide. “I don’t know. Does it?”
Holy. Shit.
“You’re a fucking genius, Suso.”
My phone buzzes insistently. LEAH WHY IS THIS HAPPENING??? I swear this isn’t me, it’s my subconscious
WHAT NO STOP, he adds. It’s my a-u-t-o-c-o-r-r-e-c-t We aim to please, Miss Steele HOW DO I FIX THIS
I burst out laughing. “I’m screenshotting this.”
Abby’s lips tug upward. “This is why you don’t lend your phone out on April Fools’ Day, Simon.”
Abby Suso. Who knew she was so evil?
I shake my head. “I’m legit so impressed right now.”
“Thank you.”
“Sent you a screenshot,” I say as we pull into Waffle House.
“YES.” She turns off the car and taps into her texts. “And . . . someone hacked his virginity. I’m dead.”
I rub my cheek, smiling. “I don’t even know how to respond to him.”
“Because it’s too perfect.”
“I want to frame these texts and put them in a museum.”
Abby smiles.
I smile back. It’s like my facial muscles have gone rogue. And now my heart’s banging around my rib cage like a drunk, blindfolded bird.
Yeah. I don’t know why I decided a road trip was reasonable, because I can’t even handle the Waffle House parking lot with this girl. I should have gotten a doctor’s exemption. To Whom It May Concern: In my professional opinion, Leah Catherine Burke should be barred from any and all prolonged interactions with Abigail Nicole Suso, whose middle name she has absolutely no reason to know, but knows anyway.
Of course I fucking know it.
I trail a few steps behind her in the parking lot, feeling foggy. Thank God this girl could converse with a rock, because my brain isn’t working. It just stopped out of nowhere, like a car stalled on the highway.
She’s searching for something on her phone. Abby gestures so much when she talks. Even now, even while actively Googling, she keeps waving her phone emphatically.
“Ah. Okay, here we go,” she says, tilting the screen toward me. “I’m so excited about these.” I think she’s talking about prom shoes.
I peer at the screen. “Are these jellies?” I ask finally.
She beams. “Yes!”
They’re the classiest jellies I’ve ever seen—crosshatched, clear ballet flats, infused with silver glitter. Kind of like what Cinderella would wear if she were a six-year-old sucking a rocket pop by the neighborhood pool.
“They’re really awesome,” I say.
“I hate wearing heels. I’m not doing it. I need to be able to dance.”
A waiter stops by and is instantly spellbound by Abby. Like, she smiles, and he’s done for. It’s kind of gross how fast that tends to happen. We both order waffles, but I’m 50 percent sure he’ll only bring hers. I guess I should be used to this.
The funny thing is, Abby doesn’t even seem to notice. She looks at me, mouth quirked at the corners. “So, you and Garrett . . .”
“That’s not a thing.”
“Why not?” Her eyes narrow. “He definitely likes you.”
God. What do I even say to that? Maybe he does like me. Maybe Garrett and I should be a thing. I’d probably like kissing him. And I like being wanted. I like being the crushee for once.
I mean, he’s sweet. He’s cute. And yes, he’s annoying, but he’s not a bad guy. I should like him. I want to like him.
I change the subject. “So, you and Nick.”
“Me and Nick.” She exhales. It comes out like a sigh.
I wait for her to elaborate, but she doesn’t. She just sits there. Then, a minute later, she smiles brightly and seems to snap back into herself. “Anyway, I’m excited for our trip.”
“I need to give you gas money.”
She shakes her head. “Nope. My parents want to cover that.”
“They don’t have to do that.”
“I’m telling you, they want to.”
My cheeks feel warm. “I should pay for something.”
I mean, I hate not being able to pay for my shit. I’m already getting a ride and a free place to stay. I should cover gas. I know how this works. Of course, I can’t actually afford to cover gas. Because I can’t make money without a job. And I can’t get a job around here without a car. Which is why I need a ride in the first place.
I hate money stuff. I hate it.
“You’re in charge of music,” Abby says. “Just make the most epic road trip playlist of all time.”
“Okay, but I was going to make the second most epic playlist.”
“I don’t want the second most epic. That’s not good enough, Leah.”
It’s like someone’s squeezing my heart, just a little. One tiny pinch. It’s the way she says my name. I’m Lee-uh. And maybe strangers call me Leia, like Star Wars. But when Abby says it, it falls halfway between.
It catches me off guard every single time.