The Summer of Jordi Perez (And the Best Burger in Los Angeles)

by Amy Spalding

  The steamer turns on easily, and before long seems to be, well, steaming, so I pick it up and point it at the first wrinkled dress. It seems like real magic to watch the dress smooth out before my eyes, and I tip the steamer just enough to get the last bunched bits of the hem.

  “Aaghh!” I yell. Apparently you aren’t supposed to tip steamers, and now there’s hot water all over my side, hip, and thigh. It’s not hot enough to burn me, but it definitely doesn’t feel good.

  “Hey, are you okay?” Jordi walks into the backroom with her camera in her hands. “We heard you yell.”

  “I’m okay,” I say. “I don’t know how steamers work, I guess. Everyone’s going to think I wet my pants.”

  “You’re not wearing pants,” Jordi points out. “And no one wets their pants in that … direction.”

  “Don’t take a picture of this.”

  The corners of her mouth twitch. “Sure.”

  I manage to get through steaming the rest of the dresses without further steaming myself, and by the time I bring them out to Laine, Jordi’s already taking photos of the sweaters hung against a plain backdrop. I don’t have further orders from Maggie, so I just stay quiet and watch Jordi work. I hear the click click of the shutter, and it feels safe to study her because she’s so focused on the sweaters. It’s hard to believe she’s my age and not a professional.

  Maggie lets us break for lunch once all the new clothes are hung up and inventoried, though Jordi still has photos left to take. While I’m assembling my non-tostada tostadas, Jordi microwaves a Pyrex container of something that makes the whole backroom smell like—and this is no exaggeration—heaven.

  “What’s going on back here?” Maggie asks as she walks into the room. “It smells like—”

  “Heaven,” I say. “I figured it out. It’s definitely like heaven.”

  I don’t even know where I get the things that come out of my mouth. Should that concern me?

  “Leftovers,” Jordi says. “My dad made pollo verde last night.”

  She squeezes in next to me and glances over at my pile of veggies and tempeh on jicama.

  “You’re so lucky,” I say, eyeing her pollo verde. “I think my mom’s morally opposed to making anything that good.”

  “That’s sad,” Jordi says, completely deadpan. I like waiting for her smiles now; they always come eventually. This is only the second day I’ve spent with her, and I know this about her already. I like how in the span of less than a hundred hours you can know a thing about a person.

  Oh my god. I am really doomed.

  After lunch, Jordi goes back to taking photographs, and Maggie brings me to her office for all the social media login information. I have a pretty good following for +style, but I’m excited to contribute to a store’s accounts, where there will be so many more people to hopefully engage with.

  I’m well aware that for some reason people think social media is one of those things, like selfies and reality TV, that’s bringing about the downfall of civilization. But I can’t complain about being able to talk to people all over the country, and even the world, about things that matter to me. I love my friends and I love Rachel, but there are things about me they could never relate to.

  “Sorry,” Maggie says, sorting through a pile of papers on her desk. “I have everything written down somewhere.”

  “It’s okay,” I say, hovering near the doorway.

  “Sit down, Abby,” she says. “It might take me a few.”

  “Sorry,” I say, and she looks up abruptly from her paper-sorting.

  “Don’t apologize,” she says. “That’s my business lesson for you. If you haven’t done anything wrong, don’t apologize.”

  “Oh, okay,” I say, though I’m not sure how that’s a business lesson. Should I ask for more elaboration? Should I just understand this? I was really hoping I’d just be making cool posts on Twitter. That much I am sure I can handle.

  Maggie keeps looking through piles of crap. I wish I could do something to help, but I have at least enough business acumen not to start pilfering through her paperwork.

  “This is embarrassing,” she finally says. “I feel terrible that I’m wasting your time, Abby.”

  “I’m okay,” I say.

  “And I feel bad about the whole …” She shrugs. “I’m thrilled to have you and Jordi here this summer, but I never wanted it to feel like a competition. I hope you two can work together and not feel like you’re fighting it out. You know each other from school, right?”

  “Uh, sort of.”

  “Ah, here we go!” Maggie pulls out a piece of notebook paper with scribbling on it. “You can use the computer out there. Take a look, get acquainted with the accounts, and then we can talk Friday about any of your initial ideas, okay? And if you want to take more time and wait until next week to chat, that’s okay, too. I don’t want to throw you in before you’re ready.”

  “I’m sure I can be ready by Friday,” I say, not because I’m actually sure, but because Jordi rolled in today with her fancy, shiny, professional camera. I can manage some thoughts about Instagram.

  I spend the rest of the day looking at Lemonberry’s social presence. Considering I’ve followed them everywhere that’s possible since the first time I shopped here, it’s weird there can be surprises. But somehow they have fewer followers than I do and hardly any interaction at all.

  For the first time since I was a daydreaming mess at the noodle restaurant, I feel like I might be able to accomplish something here.

  Maggie finds me a little notebook, and I spend the rest of the day jotting down ideas. Jordi’s still out front taking pictures, so I don’t see her again until the day’s over and we’re heading out together.

  “Where do you live?” Jordi asks.

  “On Brunswick,” I say.

  “Just past me,” she says, like—and I could be making this up and not actually hearing it, to be very fair—like that realization pleases her.

  My phone buzzes in my hand, and I look down to see I’ve missed a lot of texts. The first is from Maliah (You’re free tomorrow … right???), and there’s one from Zoe (Let’s hang out SOON! ), and then the rest are all from Jax and all about going out tonight for more testing of the Best Blank app.

  Jordi nods at my phone. “Everything okay there?”

  My phone buzzes again right there and then. juicy burger on vermont. i can give u a ride. say yes!

  “I guess I have to go eat a burger,” I say to Jordi.

  “So, burgers really are a long story,” she says.

  “It’s just this thing this guy Jax is doing,” I say. “I’m helping him out.”

  “Jax?”

  “Don’t get me started,” I say.

  “Is he your boyfriend?” Jordi asks.

  “Oh god, no,” I say. “I don’t have a boyfriend. I wouldn’t have a boyfriend.”

  “Not one named Jax, at least.”

  We’ve somehow already arrived in front of Jordi’s sleek gate.

  “See you Friday, Abby,” she says. “Have fun with Jax and the burgers.”

  “Have fun with … photography,” I say.

  “Uh, sure.”

  Have fun with photography?? Oh my god.

  CHAPTER 6

  Maliah promises to pick me up at noon for whatever we’re doing on Thursday. Even though, obviously, I’ve been obsessing over everything at Lemonberry, I’m still hoping we’ll go to the Glendale Galleria, which is right next to the outdoor shopping plaza, the Americana. While Maliah and I have very different styles, we’re good at shopping together, and between our different taste and different sizes, we never fight over anything.

  Well, occasionally we fight over jewelry and shoes. That sounds like the most clichéd girl fight ever, but I can’t deny that it’s true. Even so, my shopping trips with Maliah—especially now with Rachel out of town—are some of my favorite times.

  Even if they’re just best friend shopping montages in the love story that is Maliah’s life. I’
ll take what I can get.

  The text that shows up from Maliah at 11:30 is concerning, though.

  We’re leaving now to get you! So we might be early! Be ready!

  “We”? Okay, I’m sure there’s a possibility that she separately contacted Zoe and Brooke. But lately “we” only means one additional person.

  Trevor’s car pulls up, and I take a moment before I leave the house to let my face look as disappointed as I feel. Jax had asked me to hang out and eat burgers today, but I’d turned him down for one-on-one time with Maliah.

  Once I can manage a smile—or at least a neutral expression—I head outside. I start to get into the backseat behind Maliah, but the seat is already taken.

  “Hey!” Jax greets me as I get in from the other side. “We’re hanging out after all. Your dress is cool.”

  One year ago, Rachel and I took a class at Sew L.A. so we could learn how to make clothes from all of the crazy fabrics you can get at crafts stores. Rachel picked one with mermaids and I chose one with parrots. It turned out we were both terrible at sewing, so our instructor helped us correct our mistakes and strongly advised we take a class on the basics next time instead of heading straight into dress-making territory. That sounded boring, but at least we each got a dress out of it.

  “Only Abbs could make parrots look cool,” Maliah says.

  “You got something against parrots?” Trevor asks her.

  “Well, people act like they can really talk,” she says. “They just mimic. It’s not that impressive.”

  Trevor cracks up. “You think parrots are overrated?”

  I still don’t feel like I know Trevor, really, so it makes me feel good that he’s laughing. He must feel something real for Maliah if he’s amused by her parrot opinions.

  “Where are we going?” I ask.

  “Santa Monica,” Maliah says. “The beach and the pier.”

  To be fair, it doesn’t sound horrible. When you live on the Eastside, going down to the beach can take forever, so it doesn’t happen as often as non-L.A. people think. Plus, I know Maliah will have over-prepared. We’ll have beach towels and sunscreen and bottles of water. And thanks to Trevor and Jax, we’ll probably have beers.

  God, I’m spending a lot of time with Jax lately.

  I’m right about all of it: Maliah lays out two giant towels when we arrive, and Trevor has sneaky beers in a Nordstrom bag. Of course they sit together, which relegates Jax and me to the other towel. I can’t blame him for this; he probably has no idea that I expected a best-friends-only day—that I felt like I needed one. I’m not even sure if a best-friends-only day is something I can expect at seventeen years old.

  “We’re going to get snacks,” Maliah calls to us. “Watch our stuff, okay?”

  “On it,” Jax says.

  Maliah walks off, hand-in-hand, with Trevor. My phone beeps only a moment later. Sorry, Abbs. Jax was in the car when it pulled up. I’ll make it up to you! XOM

  “I saw Gaby this morning,” Jax says. “She was getting juice from Juice, too.”

  “Congratulations,” I say.

  “Man.” Jax hands me a beer from the bag. “She does not find me charming.”

  “You can’t expect everyone to,” I say. “Can you?”

  “C’mon, Abbs,” he says, and even though Maliah’s the only one of my friends who calls me that, I don’t mind it. “You even find me charming, and you’re all about the ladies, too.”

  I sip my beer instead of admitting he’s at least partially right.

  “Why do you like her?” I ask.

  “What do you mean?”

  “What do you mean, what do I mean?” I ask, even though I’m not sure I could put my feelings for Jordi into words. What’s the word for her hands clutching her camera, her slow smile, the angles of her neck and shoulders?

  Oh my god, I sound bananas. I feel bananas. Liking someone is nothing but bananas.

  “I don’t know. Do I have to have a reason?”

  “Yes,” I say. “People want to be liked for real reasons.”

  I didn’t even know that was a thing I knew or believed, especially because I can’t imagine what about me anyone would like. It’s not that I’m horrible—I’m definitely not horrible! I just don’t feel special enough. I’m a supporting cast member, not a lead. There’s nothing about me that could sway a girl from disinterest to love, or even to like.

  “Do you just like her because she doesn’t find you charming?” I ask, looking out to the ocean. On June afternoons, it’s fairly crowded, but the sound of the waves creates some sort of magical white noise that makes it feel like Jax and I are in our own world.

  “Shit,” he says. “I hope not.”

  I laugh and sip my beer. Cheap beer is really mostly water. It takes a few of them to get you drunk, so one at a time always feels safe. Right now, Jax feels safe, too.

  “This is a dumb question, probably, but … what do you do when you like someone?” I ask. “I mean, I’m positive that she doesn’t like me, but—”

  “You stalk her Instagram yet?” Jax asks.

  “No …?”

  Jax gets out his phone. “What’s her name?”

  “No.”

  “C’mon.”

  “Fine,” I say. “Jordi Perez.”

  He types it in. “She’s cute.”

  “Too cute?” I ask. “Do you think? For me?”

  “Shut the hell up,” he says, still scrolling. “Yes. Hell yes.”

  “What?” I’m embarrassed that I didn’t already think to look for Jordi on Instagram. My crush is at least twenty-four hours old at this point. I’ve wasted so many of those hours. “What did you find?”

  “She went to a Tegan & Sara show,” he says. “Bam. You’re set.”

  “Bam? Lots of people like Tegan & Sara,” I say. “People who aren’t queer. Trust me.”

  “I’m calling it,” he says. “You’re in.”

  “You’re crazy.” I take his phone from him. Jordi’s profile photo looks like a professional black-and-white photograph, and it’s as if light and shadows clung to all the right places so that the picture is the most absolutely Jordi possible. I barely know her, but I can tell that much.

  Oh my god, I have completely lost it. Light and shadows??

  “Add her,” Jax says.

  “Wouldn’t that be weird?” I ask. “We’re just interns together. We’re not friends.”

  “Add her,” he repeats.

  “What if she thinks I’m weird?”

  He sighs loudly and grabs my phone from me. “What’s your passcode?”

  “Uh, no.” But for some reason, I unlock my phone and let him take it.

  “Done,” he says after a couple moments. “If she asks you why you added her, you can blame some asshole at the beach and it’ll be true.”

  “You’re not an asshole,” I say. “Well, maybe you are. You’re really comfortable with other people’s phones.”

  “That is the definition of an asshole, sure.”

  I unlace my Converse and dig my bare feet into the sand. I’ll regret it later, considering I wasn’t told about the beach and therefore didn’t bring flip flops, but right now it’s all worth it to feel the warm sand between my toes.

  “So what’s your next move?” Jax asks me.

  “What do you mean? What was my first move? Oh, adding her on Instagram? Technically I didn’t do that; that was all you.”

  “She’s gonna add you back, clearly,” he says. “Then find a recent photo, nothing too old or you look like a creep, and leave a nice comment. Then find another one, and don’t comment or anything, but bring up something similar next time you see her. Like if she takes photos at the park or whatever, mention that you like going to the park or whatever too.”

  “This is your big advice on girls?” I ask. “No wonder you need my help.”

  “Look, this shit normally works,” he says.

  “But not with Gaby.”

  “Nope. But normally, oh yeah. You’re
right in. I swear on …” He looks around. “That seagull.”

  The seagull immediately flies away.

  I laugh again. “Nice try.”

  The thought of Jordi liking any girls, much less me, still sounds like fiction. But it’s a good piece of fiction.

  When we pile back into Trevor’s car later, I notice I have a new notification on my phone. I know that it means very little that Jordi added me back—not even “very little,” it means nothing at all.

  But I still nudge Jax and hold up my phone. He grins and holds out his hand for a high-five.

  CHAPTER 7

  I have a notification when I open my computer that evening. Well, I have two—Maliah tagged me in a photo she took in Santa Monica, and my hair looks like fancy cotton candy and my dress is vibrant, so I don’t untag myself. But I digress, because the other notification is a direct message from Jordi.

  A direct message from Jordi!

  don’t bring your sad tostadas tomorrow, abby.

  I start typing back immediately. I delete every sentence as it appears on the screen. I won’t ha ha ha! looks deranged. Are you serious??! sounds potentially combative. I don’t know what’s going on but it’s cool you’re thinking of me right now! is just clearly not okay on any level, as I sound both clueless and majorly creepster.

  I message Jax instead. Does having a crush always make you feel bonkers? Is it just me? Do you regret talking to me so much? Were you prepared for so many questions? Did you hope it would just be burgers and Gaby?

  He messages back right away. feeling bonkers can come w the territory. no regrets, but unprepared 4 sure. ur like a weird onion.

  I laugh aloud. A weird onion???

  His response is almost instantaneous, as though he was waiting for me to ask. lots of layers of weird. i dig it.

  Okay, it’s vaguely possible—and so hypothetical that it doesn’t really matter—that if I liked boys, I might like Jax after all.