by Amy Spalding
“I’m good,” I say. I think it should be illegal to pay double digits for freaking juice. “I’ll get a coffee next door.”
“I bet you’re curious,” he says while we’re exiting The Juice and walking into Kaldi. “What is Jax up to? Burgers sound intriguing!”
“That doesn’t sound like my inner monologue at all,” I say before ordering a blended mocha from the barista who seems like he’s trying too hard to look like Che Guevara. “Oh wait! I like coffee now. Regular coffee.”
“So … just a coffee?” the barista asks.
“You heard the lady,” Jax says. “Get her a coffee!”
He does, and then I spend a few minutes getting the coffee to the same consistency as yesterday. I think of Jordi when I taste it, and I know that I should probably hate the competition, but I smile anyway.
“Cool fruity shorts,” Jax says.
“Is that sarcastic?” I ask as we sit down at a little table with our beverages.
“Do I seem sarcastic?” He grins, and I have to admit that I’m not sure Jax is even capable of sarcasm. “So have you heard of the Best Blank?”
“I have not.”
“It’s my dad’s thing,” he says. “It’s an app. Kind of like Yelp but instead of reviewing places, it’s all about finding the best stuff. So if you’re in New York and you want the best lobster, it’ll tell you where to find it.”
“Okay,” I say. “Could it tell me the best overpriced juice in Atwater Village?”
“Yup,” he says. “It will, at least. Dad’s still working out all the kinks, getting investors, all that. So he needs some people testing it this summer, and I volunteered for burgers.”
“Why am I involved in this?” I ask.
“Uh, because you’re cool and we’ll have fun eating a shitload of burgers and ranking them?” He shrugs. “Also, I need girl advice and you’re my best possible source.”
I laugh aloud. “That cannot be true.”
“You’re a girl and you date girls. You have all the girl knowledge someone could possess.”
“I’m a girl, sure,” I say. “And in some magical dreamland, maybe I’d date girls. But in this one, the one we’re actually living in? I just get crushes on celebrities and then one real girl who turned out to be straight. You should really, really not be taking any advice from me.”
“Which celebrities?” he asks. “Last week I had this really weird sex dream about—”
“No,” I say. “I do not need to know how that sentence ends.”
“But you’ll eat burgers with me?” he asks.
“I seriously don’t understand why you’re asking me.”
“Friends-in-law!” he says. “Seriously, doesn’t it bum you out sometimes? Last summer I totally would have gotten Trevor in on this. Now he’s tied up with Maliah sixty percent of the time and then the other forty he’s talking about eating right so he’s ready for next season.”
“I’m sure you have other friends,” I say.
“Yeah, and so do you, and you’re still here with me in your fruity shorts.”
He grins, and I realize he’s right. I could have made plans with Brooke or Zoe. And instead I’m here.
“C’mon,” he says. “Did I mention my dad’s company pays for everything?”
“You didn’t, and … fine.”
“You’ll do it?” He holds up his hand for a high-five. “Hell yeah.”
“I have an internship Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays,” I say. “So I can’t just eat burgers nonstop. Also, I’m not planning on having a heart attack at seventeen, so I really cannot eat burgers nonstop.”
“We’ll get it worked out.” He holds up his juice and tips the last of the bottle into his mouth. “We can start today. You in?”
I may have already hit my Jax limit today, but the only burger I can get at home is full of pins and eyeliner. It’s not hard to make the decision.
That’s the thing about Jax; somehow, he, a guy I barely know, already feels like a forgone conclusion.
We walk to the Morrison, even though Jax has his BMW. It seems ridiculous to me to drive less than a mile, especially in June when it’s still fairly cool out. L.A. might have the reputation for being summery year-round, but usually the heat is still ramping up when June rolls in. Clouds and light fog hug the city, especially early in the day, and this is so predictable that it has a name: June Gloom. It might not be cheery, but it’s good to take advantage before the brutal heat of August and onward envelops us.
“You should learn to drive,” Jax tells me as we walk inside. The Morrison is technically a sports bar, but since they serve food, you don’t have to be twenty-one to get in. “L.A. sucks without a car.”
“I do fine without a car,” I say. “Learning how to drive seems like more trouble than it’s worth. And not everyone’s parents will just buy them a BMW when they turn sixteen.”
“Oh, come on,” he says as we’re led to a booth and given menus. “Making fun of people with BMWs is more clichéd than actually driving one.”
Sadly, I think this is a good point. Also, my mom’s old Honda is sitting in the driveway. Rachel drove it in high school, and now it’s mine, if I want it. Since driving sounds terrifying, though, I don’t want it at all.
“Do you know this girl, Gaby Manzetti?” Jax asks while I’m reading through all my burger options. The Morrison’s menu is extensive. “I think you guys go to the same school.”
“She’s a junior,” I say.
“I’m the age of a junior,” he says. “I skipped a grade. So it’s okay.”
“It’d be okay anyway, it’s only a year,” I say. “And, wait. You? Skipped a grade?”
“Bam,” he says. “I’m smart.”
“Oh, god,” I say.
“Give me your phone,” he says. “I need to put the app on it.”
Against my better judgment, I hand it over. “So are you going out with Gaby?”
“Shit, I wish,” he says. “That’s why I’m glad you’re a girl expert.”
“I don’t know her personally,” I say as he taps on my phone. “I have no pull.”
“I’m not saying you do,” he says. “You’ll know stuff, though. Girl stuff. I’m sure of that.”
“Hmmm.” I take my phone back from him and investigate the newly installed app. “I’m not sure if that’s girl stuff to know,” I say. “Every girl is different.”
I say it with authority because I’m a girl and I have a bunch of friends who are girls. And yet there’s still part of me that feels like a phony expert. Maybe Jax can’t make headway with Gaby, but he’s obviously a guy who normally gets what he wants. I’m too much of a lost cause to even formulate what I want. It’s possible there is some fairly accepted standard for girls in the want division. Maybe there’s girl stuff to know after all.
“Yeah, yeah,” he says. “Every girl’s different.”
“Don’t say that like it’s horrible.”
“Fine,” he says, but with a grin. “C’mon. Let’s order some burgers.”
Best Blank isn’t complicated. You enter the restaurant’s name and what you ordered. Jax assures me that by the time the app actually launches, most of this will auto-fill for you, but even as it stands now, it’s not difficult. You just rate the burger—or whatever else you’re eating—on five scales: taste, quality, service, value, selection. It takes no time at all, and I can totally see how people will want to do this on a regular basis. One thing I’ve learned from blogging is that people love giving their opinions.
“Did your dad invent this?” I ask.
“Sorta,” Jax says. I expect him to elaborate. “Seriously, let me tell you about this dream I had last night. Taylor Swift was—”
“Stop,” I say. “Let’s agree to keep our dreams to ourselves this summer.”
The photoshoot has ended by the time I’m home. While I’m glad not to deal with strangers in our house, it does make it hard to get past Mom and Dad working in the living room.
&
nbsp; “You’re supposed to let us know where you are,” Mom says. “You know that.”
Last year, Rachel would have filled in Mom and Dad for me. I’m still learning how to function as an only child. “Sorry. I was just out with a friend.”
“Maliah?” Mom asks.
“Just this guy,” I say.
Mom and Dad exchange a look. I’m so afraid it’s a look of hope that I escape to my room without another word. I have a post to write about tank tops anyway.
CHAPTER 5
On Wednesday morning, I wear my favorite skirt—printed with peppermint candies in various states of unwrap—with a soft and fitted T-shirt. I pull a loop of beads around my neck—an accessory I recommended in yesterday’s post—and apply lip gloss before heading out.
I’m positive Jordi already has the real job locked down, but style I can handle.
While I’m focusing on untangling my earbuds, a person falls into stride next to me. Our neighborhood is fairly safe these days, but I still find myself on instant Stranger Danger. Mom says it never hurts to be suspicious.
“Hey,” says a familiar voice, and I realize that it’s Jordi. We’ve just passed a slate-gray house. It’s small, like mine, but I think the color makes it much cooler, as does the smooth and polished wooden gate surrounding it.
Jordi’s dressed similarly to how she was on Monday; today she’s in a long draped black shirt over black leggings and the same short black boots. She looks thoughtful, professional, the kind of girl you’d want as your intern. Maliah’s rumors couldn’t be true, except that there’s something else about Jordi. I’m sure there’s something different about her beyond the haircut. She looks tough, or tougher, at least. I imagine her punching someone, but someone who deserves it.
“I like your Christmas skirt,” she says as we walk off toward the shop.
“It’s not a Christmas skirt,” I say, looking down at it. “Wait, is it? Are peppermints seasonal? I thought they were year-round.”
“Maybe so.” She pauses her Jordi pause before I get another smile. Each one feels like a reward I’ve earned.
Oh, no.
Oh, no.
I couldn’t like Jordi, could I?
Oh, no.
“What’d you do on your day off?” she asks me, and suddenly it’s as though I’m walking way too fast for a normal person. I slow down. Now I feel like I’m walking too slow, but when I speed up it’s like I’ve lost the ability to judge what normal walking speed is.
“Are you okay?”
“Oh, fine, sure.” I try to match my pace with hers. Why is this so difficult? “I ate burgers. It’s a long story.”
“Burgers can be a long story?” she asks.
“I mean, anything can be, I guess,” I say. “Under the right circumstances?”
“Sure.”
“What about you?” I ask as we turn onto Glendale Boulevard. A breeze lifts her hair off her neck and I think about its gentle curve and, oh no, oh no.
“I took my little brother to the library,” she says.
Immediately it seems right that Jordi is someone’s big sister, but then that feels like the most ridiculous thought that could come over a person.
I don’t like this at all.
Today, Maggie walks up to Lemonberry as we do and lets us in right away. Next to Jordi, I can’t help but worry I look too bright, too big, too literally candy-coated, but Maggie smiles at me. She looks just as disheveled as Monday, but I can see in her eyes that something’s different today. I think something’s better.
“Great skirt,” Maggie tells me. “Vintage?”
“Thanks! It’s old but I’m not sure it’s old enough to be vintage. I got it off eBay.” I glance at Jordi and bite back going into more of my internet shopping techniques. When it’s only you and an adult, it feels safe to share lots of yourself and all of your enthusiasm. It’s weird how the truth can feel so fake in front of someone your own age, though.
“You can both head to the back,” Maggie says. “I’ll catch up in a minute.”
We walk to the back room, and Jordi reaches into the black bag still strapped across her, takes out a lunch bag, and leans past me to shove it into the refrigerator. I scan the open spaces to figure out if there’s a spot for my bag. I’m sure my tostadas will survive until lunchtime if they don’t fit.
“Be bolder, Abby,” Jordi tells me, and grabs my bag from me to shove it in next to hers. It feels like something metaphorically romantic is happening, seeing our lunch bags leaning against each other, but then I realize I am thinking—metaphor or no metaphor—about refrigerated fabric bags, and I let it go.
I let Jordi get coffee first so that I can copy how she mixes hers. It isn’t like a crush thing; it’s just that, even after Kaldi yesterday, pouring myself coffee seems like way too adult an activity for me. And maybe I don’t even have a crush; maybe Jordi’s just really cool. I mean, Jordi is really cool, so why can’t that be it? That’s probably it.
“Why are you staring at me?” Jordi asks.
Oh my god. “No reason.”
She smiles. “You’re staring at me for no reason?”
“I’m trying to learn how to mix coffee.”
Jordi takes another mug out of the cabinet and takes care of everything before passing it to me. It feels like such a warm gesture—not just literally—that I can’t help grinning at her and taking a huge sip.
“Oh my god!” It’s the second time this week that I spit out a mouthful of coffee. “It’s so—”
“Hot?”
“It’s really hot.”
Having a crush makes you an idiot.
“Jordi!” Maggie pops in from the front. “Grab the camera and come on out. We have a few new boxes arriving from the other designers we carry, and I’d love you to take a stab at photographing them.”
“If it’s okay …” Jordi reaches into her bag and takes out a smaller bag, which turns out to contain a very sleek camera. “I brought my own today.”
“Of course it’s okay! Come on.” Maggie smiles at me. “We’ll get you logged in on all our social media later, okay, Abby? For now, do you want to see the new shipments?”
Do I!
Maggie introduces us to the burgundy-haired employee whose name turns out to be Laine. Even as she’s slicing open giant boxes, her hair is in place, her blue floral dress doesn’t even seem to rumple, and she’s wearing four-inch heels.
“Abby, you can help take off the plastic bags and put everything on hangers,” Maggie tells me. “We might have to steam the wrinkles out of some of these dresses before you take any photos, Jordi. And feel free to use Laine—she models a lot of our looks for us.”
“‘Use’?” Laine laughs. “Thanks, Maggie. That’s flattering.”
I watch Jordi watch Laine through her camera, and I wonder what she’s thinking. And then I wonder what it’s like to be looked at through Jordi’s lens.
Today’s shipment is of two new styles of dresses—a fit and flare dress in blue polka dots and an A-line look in bright pink—and a variety of cardigans. Layering is very important to Los Angeles fashion. The city has a reputation for constant sunshine and warmth, but once the sun is down at night, LA remembers it’s secretly a desert under its newer identity. The cool night air doesn’t care what midday was like.
“Oh, I love this,” I say, even though I was trying to stay quiet and professional like Jordi. A bright fuchsia cardigan is too much for my resolve.
“Try it on!” Laine says.
“Yes,” Maggie says. “I’d love to see it on you.”
“What size?” Laine asks me, because the thing about thin people is they always seem to take sizing really casually. “Medium?”
The other thing about thin people is they always guess low for your size, as if that’s a kindness, or maybe they can’t comprehend a size beyond that. And I wish it didn’t bother me because, honestly, I don’t think there’s something wrong with how I look. And when I do sometimes hate what I see in the mirro
r, it’s never my body. Well, not the size of my body, at least. I worry my nose is weirdly pointy, and I hate how my hair looks without dye, and I find it disturbing that sometimes in photos my posture is just like Mom’s.
I worry about how other people see me, though.
“Probably not a medium,” I say, trying to riffle through the sweaters from the back because that’s usually where the largest sizes are. Cute brands that make fake retro clothes always tend to run small, so it’s a safe bet.
“That’s huge on you,” Maggie says as I pull on the biggest sweater. “You look homeless. I mean, chic, but homeless.”
“Maybe that’s what I was going for,” I say, which makes everyone laugh. Even Jordi.
Ugh, if I thought Jordi was just cool and not—oh, god—hot, I’d probably be able to stop noticing the curve of her upper arms. If I don’t want to have a crush on any more real people, why do I still have one?
The human condition is bullshit.
“Hold still.” Maggie pulls the cardigan off me and checks the tag before exchanging it for another in the pile. This one fits perfectly, even if it clashes disturbingly with my peppermint skirt.
Laine grabs a bright patterned scarf from a display and wraps it around my waist like a belt. I somehow manage to simultaneously clash even more but also look better. “Are you using Abby as a model?”
“No,” I say, and then to make sure everyone knows I know it’s a ridiculous thought, I laugh a bunch.
“Abby’s here to help us out with social media,” Maggie says, thank god. “But that’s a great idea.”
“I’m … really not the model type,” I say, and it feels like it’s for the millionth time even though of course Maggie and Laine are new to me. Maliah’s convinced +style would be even more popular if I didn’t just talk about looks but posted photos of myself wearing them, but the last thing I need are photos of myself out there where anyone could say anything about them. About me.
“Think about it,” Laine says. “I never thought I’d do it either.”
I find it hard to believe that someone who looks like Laine wouldn’t at least think about it, but I let it go because there are more cardigans to unpack. I learn how to check a packing slip as well as add to store inventory in the system. Maggie sends me to the back to steam the blue and white dresses, which I pretend I know how to do.
