Twenty-Five
The anniversary video plays on a screen under a canopy. I drag Carlos up to the front so I can wave to my mom. From her spot by Ms. Romero, she waves back, glancing at Carlos curiously.
Jiang did an amazing job, weaving together photos and music that effortlessly portray the past fifteen years in reverse. Dad’s eyes look shinier than usual when the final slide lingers on the screen—one of him and Miss Emmaline way back in the day when they shared an office. Mom, Kendra, and three-year-old me are in the background. Miss Emmaline looked crabby back then, too, but Dad is grinning in the photo. He doesn’t have strands of gray hair in that picture, or any crinkle lines around his eyes. It’s easy to picture him as the handsome college guy who won Mom’s heart.
Carlos steps away to join the other interns as the slideshow ends. Mom tackles me with a big hug, wiping a few tears from her eyes as everyone toasts Dad with champagne, and sparkling cider for the interns, under Cal’s watchful eyes.
“This was a fantastic idea,” Mom tells Jiang, who’s joined us. “Thank you for coordinating it.”
Jiang winks at me. “I had a lot of help pulling it all together. Your daughter was a terrific intern this summer.”
“Assistant,” I correct automatically, but Jiang shakes her head.
“You were much more than that.” She grins. “If it weren’t for you and that mannequin attack on Lewis, who knows what would have happened?”
Mom sighs and shakes her head.
“I had a lot of backup.” I glance at Brian and the interns, who are taking selfies together.
“Yes, but now you’re an Emergent legend.”
Mr. Mantoni commandeers the microphone and treats us to a high-pitched feedback whistle. From across the roof, Trish catches my attention and rolls her eyes. I shrug and grin in solidarity.
“Today’s a special day,” the Manicotti begins. The crowd is chattering, but as his voice booms over the portable speakers, they have no choice but to listen. “We’re thrilled with our scholarship awards and now we get to celebrate Emergent’s fifteenth anniversary.” He pauses to take a sip of champagne. “Twelve years ago, I applied for a job at this small start-up company called Emergent. I interviewed with Rhett at a bakery that’s no longer in business, which is surprising, since I’d never seen a guy put away so many pastries at once.”
The crowd laughs as Mom and I share knowing looks.
“I didn’t know what to think about his company. It was young, and so was he.”
More laughter. Who knew the Manicotti was a comedian?
“But I liked his energy and his ideas. And for some reason, he liked me.”
He smiles at Dad, and Dad grins, a big sloppy one like he’s a human Golden Retriever. I wonder how much champagne he’s had.
“I was at the end of my rope,” Mr. Mantoni says, his voice now serious. “My wife had died of cancer and I was raising my young daughter on my own.” He pauses and rubs his hand over his shiny bald head. “I didn’t know what I was doing, as a dad or in any other area of my life, but I knew I needed to get it together, for Trish.”
I glance at Trish, whose eyes are wide as she stares at her dad.
“Anyway.” Mr. Mantoni clears his throat. His audience is completely quiet, respectfully waiting as he composes himself. “I’d had at least twenty interviews before I met Rhett. But no job offers. I was running out of money. Running out of hope.” He pauses again, taking a deep breath. I glance at Mom, whose eyes are shiny with tears. My own eyes are blinking rapidly, too.
“So after he ate one of everything in the bakery, Rhett offered me a job. And I was able to pay my rent. And take care of Trish. And each year I worked here, my life, and my daughter’s, got easier.” He holds my dad’s gaze, and all the pieces fall into place—why he’s so loyal to my dad, and vice versa. Why he was so tough on Trish here at work. Why he almost lost his mind over the Twitstorm. Why Dad will never fire him, no matter how wacky he is.
Mr. Mantoni wipes a hand across his brow. “Okay, I wasn’t supposed to kill the buzz. Somebody else come up here and talk before I make things worse.” A few people laugh. He glances at my dad again and touches two fingers to his forehead. “Thanks for everything, Mr. K.” He raises his glass in a toast and my dad does the same. Dad looks suspiciously near tears.
Ms. Simmons takes the mic from the Manicotti and starts her own tribute to my dad. She’s funny, too, but I tune her out because I’m watching Trish and her dad. He bends down, and she whispers in his ear. His frown disappears as he smiles down at her, and I turn away because they’re having a private, special moment.
The party goes on for another two hours, and by the time three o’clock rolls around, Dad tells everyone to go home and take Monday off in celebration of the anniversary, and everyone cheers. Yeah, I think I get why his staff is so loyal. Lewis was an anomaly.
After everyone leaves, Mom and Miss Emmaline sit on couches in the lobby, deep in conversation. So basically Miss E likes everyone in my family but me.
Oh well, can’t win ’em all.
I make my way to Dad’s office to tell him how thrilled I am about the scholarship money. He’s been surrounded by people ever since the announcement and I want one-on-one time with him before he and Mom disappear on another date night. Ms. Romero sweeps me into a hug.
“It’s been quite the experience for you, young lady. I hope you don’t regret a minute of it.”
There are definitely parts I regret, but today was the big payoff—the culmination of a crazy roller coaster of a summer. I couldn’t be happier about the scholarship money. And the rest of it? I wouldn’t change a thing, because it’s true what Dad says—Kristoffs never quit.
“No regrets,” I tell her, and she smiles wide, eyes crinkling. I’ve entered her photo, along with a dozen others, in my Faces of Denver collage contest entry. I don’t even care about winning; I just hope my photos move others to feel what I felt when I took them.
She pats my shoulder as she heads to the door, then stops and turns. “Your dad’s in a meeting, so don’t knock on his door.”
“What? Now?” Why would he be in a meeting after a party, and after sending everyone home early?
Ms. Romero shrugs, an impish smile tugging at her lips. “It shouldn’t last long.” She gestures to a chair. “Why don’t you wait? I know he wants to talk to you.”
I take a seat.
Tonight Carlos and I get to officially be a couple. He told me we’re having a date night, but he disappeared after the flurry of congratulations and goodbyes to the other interns.
Dad’s office door swings open and I glance up, startled to see Carlos and my dad emerge together. Carlos winks at me, then turns to shake my dad’s hand.
“Thanks for everything, Mr. K. I can’t thank you enough.”
My dad nods as he shakes Carlos’s hand, but he looks almost shell-shocked. Carlos tilts his chin as he glides past me. “Meet you at the elevator.”
I blink up at him. “Okay, but I need to talk to my dad first.” I stand up, and my dad and I both watch him leave, though I doubt my dad is scoping out his backside like I am.
My dad coughs and I turn to face him. “What was that about?”
Dad scratches his head, looking puzzled. “I think I just gave him permission to date you.”
“What?! What do you mean permission? Like it’s the 1800s or something?” I can’t believe this. Did my dad figure out our feelings and call Carlos into his office? I’m going to—
“It was his idea,” Dad says, and now his confused look is replaced by something closer to amusement. “He asked for permission to break rule number eight, even though the internship is over.” Dad grins. “He’s something else, that guy. Smart, charming.” His eyes narrow. “Good at winning over bosses and dads. I hope he’s not all talk.”
A blush heats my face as I think about the secret kissing sessions we’ve engaged in on the rooftop when we could escape for a few minutes to ourselves.
“Definitely not all talk,” I say, and Dad’s eyes narrow even more. “And by that I mean he’s the real deal. Not fake, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
Dad sighs and shakes his head. “It was bound to happen sometime. You and some…some…guy.”
I laugh at his morose expression. “Don’t act like he just blew up your Death Star, Vader. He’s on your side. And so am I.”
Dad grins. “You’re not part of the Rebellion anymore?”
“Something like that. I think this summer taught me a lot about enemies turning into allies.” I keep my voice strong even though there’s a lump in my throat. “I love you, Dad. And I love your weird company, too. I can’t believe what you and Cal did.” My eyes blur with tears. “You changed four lives, Dad. Four. They can all get degrees now. They might need small loans but—”
Dad puts a finger to my lips. “You’re the one they should thank, not me. You and Trish.” He shakes his head and blows out a breath. “Sometimes I get so stuck on doing things my way I don’t see other options. You made me see there was another way, Laurel. A better way.”
He wraps me in a hug and I squeeze him tight. “However,” he says into my hair, “next time you have a ‘conflict of interest’ you’d better let your boss know what it is.” He releases me from the hug and ruffles my hair. “You know I want to meet anyone you date, Laurel.”
“I know. But I was afraid you’d disqualify him if you knew he had, um, feelings for me. And we haven’t even had a real date yet.”
Dad cocks an eyebrow. “He showed me the website you designed. Great work, kiddo. But you were obviously seeing each other then.”
“We weren’t.” I shake my head, embarrassed. “I was just stalking him.”
Both of Dad’s eyebrows shoot up.
“Don’t freak out, Vader. He was a gentleman, I promise. We hung out at Comic Con, but that wasn’t a date, either, because he had his little brother with him, and Elijah was there and—”
Dad puts up a hand. “I’m getting the picture. You’ve been pining for each other all summer.” He grumbles under his breath, but I can hear what he says, and I laugh.
“You’re right—Jason was never the one to worry about.”
Dad crosses his arms over his chest. “So how’s the food at his restaurant?”
“Fantastic! You’d love it.”
“Excellent. We’ll go there soon. You can introduce me to his family. Since you already know them.”
I blush under his scrutiny, but his eyes are twinkling with mischief.
“Don’t you have your own date night?” I ask Dad.
“Indeed I do.” He grabs his briefcase from a chair and flicks off the overhead lights.
“Good, because I have to go. My suitor awaits, and since you’ve given him permission…”
“Home by midnight.” Dad points a warning finger.
I snap a crisp salute. “Whatever you say, Vader.”
Dad and Mom wave goodbye to me as I cross the lobby to the elevator. Carlos waits, leaning against the wall.
“I can’t believe you asked permission,” I whisper as he presses the elevator button.
He shrugs and wraps his arm around me, pulling me in close. “I figured it was a good strategy.” He slants me a sly grin. “I cleaned out my desk and found this.”
He hands me a crumpled napkin. I open it to discover he completed the list we started at lunch weeks ago, filling in numbers six through ten.
Degrees of Fraternization
1. Introductions
2. Shared Interests
3. Joint Projects. Teamwork.
4. Friendly banter.
5. Nicknames
6. Joke book present
7. Creating a website without being asked
8. Kissing at a park
9. Kissing in a hot sci-fi costume
10. :-)
My cheeks grow hotter as I read each item, but when I get to number ten, I glance up. “What’s number ten?”
He grins down at me. “What it always was—being able to date you for real.”
“Oh.” I hope he can tell how much his answer means to me.
We step into the elevator.
The doors are sliding shut when a wobbly voice calls out to hold the elevator. Carlos shoots his arm into the gap, forcing the doors to bounce open. Miss Emmaline totters into the elevator, narrowing her eyes at me, then beaming at Carlos.
“Thank you, Carlos,” she says, like I wanted to slam the door in her face but he saved the day. I shoot him an exasperated look and I can tell he’s trying not to laugh.
“Hey, Miss Emmaline,” Carlos says as the elevator lurches downward. “What do you get when you cross a snowman with a vampire?” He winks at me, and I vow to make him pay later. Probably with more kissing.
Miss Emmaline looks from Carlos to me, then back to Carlos. “Frostbite.”
My mouth drops open and Carlos blinks in surprise. The elevator jerks to a stop and the doors slide open. Miss Emmaline steps out, then turns to face us, or, more specifically, me.
“I always liked the jokes, Laurel, but you need to work on your delivery.” She glances at Carlos, and her eyes sparkle with humor behind her glasses. “I’m sure Carlos can help you, in between kissing sessions.” She winks at us. “I’m glad you two don’t have to sneak up to the roof anymore.”
As Carlos and I gape at her, she lifts her hand in a wave and walks to her car.
“How did she—”
“She never goes up to the roof—”
We look into each other’s eyes and realization hits us at the same time.
“She’s a super spy,” I whisper. I can’t believe it.
We both come to a halt when we round the corner. The whole gang is waiting. Trish sits on the hood of Carlos’s car, twisting Ashley’s hair into something complicated and pretty. Elijah and Jason are playing hacky sack, laughing and smack-talking. Trish glances up, smirking when she sees us.
“Hit it, maestro,” she calls over her shoulder. Elijah startles, fumbling the hacky sack as he lunges for his phone…which is apparently Bluetooth-connected to the Death Star speaker perched on the roof of Carlos’s car.
“What the—” I begin, but the music blasting from the speaker drowns me out. As the lyrics wash over us, Carlos and I stare at each other, laughing when we recognize the song.
Trish slides off the hood of the car, twirling Ashley around. They dance horribly, awkwardly, like every bad 80s movie I’ve seen. Jason and Elijah join in, laughing.
“Don’t you forget about me!” We all sing at the top of our lungs in synch with the iconic song, ignoring the weird looks from other people headed for their cars.
Jason dance-bounces over to me. “I don’t know how to thank you, Laurel.” His eyes are misty, which makes my throat swell. He side-eyes the anarchist doing the lawn mower dance with Barbie. “And Trish, too. You’re both amazing.”
I look around at my friends. We’re all amazing.
Carlos pulls me into his arms, grinning down at me as the throbbing beat of the song echoes off the garage walls. “Bet you didn’t think your summer would end like this.”
“Never in my wildest—” but I don’t get to finish because Carlos’s lips are devouring mine. Honestly, if a person could earn kissing trophies, he’d have a million. Show-off.
Behind us, our friends whistle and yell. Somebody cranks up the Death Star volume. And as Carlos ratchets up his kissing game, I smile against his lips.
This wacky summer has been best summer of my life.
And it’s not over yet.