by Amy Spalding
“Abby.” Jordi slides her arm around me and squeezes me, and I can’t believe the words are actually out of me. “You know that’s bullshit, don’t you?”
I nod through my tears. “Sure. I’m happy enough. And being pretty’s … it’s not my goal anyway. And it’s not about my size.”
“Shut up,” she says but with a smile. “You’re beautiful.”
“You shut up,” I say, laughing even though my nose is all snotty and I’m sure I’ve smeared mascara down half my face and Jordi just called me beautiful. I don’t want to think about it—about anything.
I don’t even decide to do it.
I just do it.
I lean in and kiss her.
CHAPTER 11
I convince Maliah to add another person to the carload home and also to leave in time to get Jordi home at a semi-reasonable hour. It’s a tight fit. Jordi’s in the middle, but only sort of, because Mini Cooper backseats barely have middles, and one of Jordi’s legs is propped up over mine. It’s ostensibly to save space for Zoe on the other side, but also we spent an indeterminate amount of time kissing on the floor of Denny Nuckles’s parents’ bathroom and it doesn’t feel fair not to be touching at all right now.
Jordi threads her fingers through mine, and I think of how only minutes earlier her hands held my face the way her hands hold cameras. There’s strength and concentration in her grip.
She just had me in her grip.
“Where am I going?” Maliah asks. “I have no idea where Jordi lives.”
“Just down the street from me,” I say. “On Glenfeliz.”
I think Maliah sighs in a huffy manner but I don’t care because Jordi’s head is on my shoulder. Jordi’s head is on my shoulder. Her hair is soft against my jawline.
“I feel like you have to pull back on pushing Jax on Gaby,” Brooke tells me from the front seat. “You need a new tactic. Or—and I’m saying this with love—Jax needs a better hype woman.”
“Is Jax even real?” Jordi asks.
“Oh, he’s real,” Brooke says. “A real piece of work.”
We all laugh because it sounds like something someone’s mom would say. Also because it’s true.
“You can pull over here,” Jordi directs Maliah just as I have a genius idea.
“Mal,” I say, “switch shirts with Jordi. Your parents won’t notice it smells like beer.”
Maliah’s parents are both doctors, and when they’re home, they sleep like the dead.
“What? No.”
“You don’t have to,” Jordi says.
“You’re the only one who’s the same size,” I say. “Please.”
Maliah huffs a bit more but takes off her seatbelt and maneuvers out of her lacy white shirt before tossing it behind her.
“Close your eyes,” Jordi tells me, and I obey even though I want to peek. I’d do anything Jordi asked. “Okay. You’re safe.”
I climb out of the car so she can get out.
“Thanks for the ride,” she tells Maliah.
Maliah slips into the beer-stained tank top. “It’s fine.”
“I’ll have your shirt dry-cleaned and give it to Abby to give you.”
“God, it’s from Forever 21. Just get it back to Abbs.”
“Text me tomorrow,” Jordi tells me as I get back into the car.
“I don’t have your number!”
“Well, get it.” She leans in and smiles. “Kidding. I’ll message you.”
“Okay. Good night.”
“Good night, Abby.” She closes the door and waves as Maliah peels out.
“Oh my god,” Brooke says.
“Oh my god, Abby!” Zoe leans over and pokes my leg. “Hours ago you said no one is gay at all and now you have a girlfriend.”
“She just hooked up at a party,” Maliah says quickly. “She doesn’t have a girlfriend.”
“Mal,” I say. “I think it’s more than that.”
“I told you to be careful,” she says. “She’s going to corrupt you.”
“She can corrupt me all she wants,” I say, like I’m a new person who goes around saying everything I think on purpose. “I want to be corrupted.”
Zoe giggles. “You have it bad.”
Maliah parks in front of my house. “See you.”
My best friend loves honesty and details, and so I know the right thing to do right now is to lay some of this out for her. If she knew more about Jordi, and if she knew more about how I felt about Jordi, maybe she wouldn’t be barely bothering to make eye contact with me.
But it doesn’t feel like the time (past midnight) or the place (a tiny car filled with other people), so I just wave and let myself into the house. Mom and Dad must be in bed; the house is silent and dark. There doesn’t seem to be a right thing to do with myself. I pace around our tiny living room, I get a glass of lemonade from the refrigerator, I walk into the backyard and sit on the grass. It’s hard to see stars in Los Angeles—the kind in the sky—because of streetlights and billboards and pollution, but I look for them anyway.
And right at this very moment, for maybe the first time ever, I feel like I’m in my own story.
In the morning, it all feels like a dream. I’m the sidekick. I’m the goober who rambles at work. I am not the one who takes a beautiful girl in her arms and kisses her.
Except that last night, I was.
I grab my phone from my nightstand and see the alerts. It seems as though everyone I’ve ever known wants to talk to me.
Brooke: Tell me everything.
Zoe: Tell me EVERYTHING!!!
Maliah: Don’t forget to get my shirt back for me.
Jax: brgrs? 2day? whut up?
Seriously, why would he take the time to write whut when it’s literally the same amount of effort to type the word correctly?
Most importantly, I know that I didn’t dream anything because there’s an Instagram message from Jordi containing only a number, which I add to my phone immediately.
Hi, I text her.
hey abby, she replies almost immediately. are you free tonight?
I am, but also who cares if I was already? I am now!
Yes! I’m free!
It’s so nice to stop caring about looking cool.
can i take you out? proper date.
I’m finding new records for how quickly I can tell someone yes.
Maliah is maybe not my favorite person right now, but I still text her once I’ve taken a shower and put on my afternoon interim pre-date outfit. Need help with perfect first-date look. Can you come over?
She doesn’t respond right away, but I remind myself that maybe she’s just doing something. Maliah’s allowed to have a life that doesn’t permit constant texting. I suppose. If Rachel were home, I’d get her help, but the truth is I’d still want Maliah here. Some jobs require your best friend. Though of course it’d be nice if my big sister were here, too.
I walk down the hallway and find my parents in the kitchen with an array of recipes spread out on the counter. “Is there breakfast?”
“She finally arises!” Dad says with a biblical intonation to his voice. “There was breakfast a couple hours ago.”
“Why didn’t you get me?” I ask, except that I know why. My sister’s always been an insanely early riser, and she’d be the one to drag me from slumber to the table. Mom and Dad haven’t had to worry about me in ages.
“I can make you something, sweetie,” Mom says.
“I’ll just have a yogurt,” I say, and then take a deep breath as I turn away toward the refrigerator. “So … I have a date tonight. That’s okay, right? I’m seventeen.”
“Of course it’s okay!”
I can hear Mom’s smile even with my head in the fridge in search of the best yogurt varieties left.
“Is it with Jax?” she asks, and I nearly hit my head on the refrigerator’s shelf. “You two have been spending a lot of time together.”
“Mom,” I say, as Dad says, “Norah.”
“What?” s
he asks.
“I told you last year that I’m gay.” It hadn’t been a big speech. It was just weird keeping part of my identity a secret—especially when back then I never could have imagined it would have led to something like kissing the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen at a high school party as if I’m someone cool enough to do things like that … except now there’s a chance I am? So one evening at dinner I’d just said it.
“Well, I didn’t know if you’d still feel that way,” Mom says. “Feelings change.”
“It’s not a feeling,” I say. “It’s … never mind. I don’t know why I bother.”
“I’m sorry,” she says, though in the kind of tone that doesn’t completely feel like an apology. “You’ve just been spending so much time with Jax lately.”
“I could spend all the time in the world with Jax,” I say. “It won’t make me straight.”
“Of course you can go, Abby,” Dad says in his let’s-all-just-get-along voice. “What’s her name?”
“Jordi,” I say, and it turns out that even when I’m extra annoyed with Mom, I can’t speak Jordi’s name without smiling. “I’m taking my yogurt to my room.”
“Don’t throw out the container there,” Mom says, because she has nothing to say about her gay daughter but plenty about where it’s appropriate to dispose of dairy products. “And remember to bring your spoon back to the kitchen.”
Eating yogurt alone in your bedroom, by the way, feels sad even when you’re about to have your first date with your dream girl.
Maliah stops by a couple hours later without having responded to my texts. I’m so happy to see her I don’t even bring it up.
“I want to start by saying that I still don’t approve of this,” she says once we’re back in my room. “And I don’t think you need my assistance. You have the best style of anyone I know. But I’m your friend and I’m going to help you pick out what you’re wearing.”
“You’re wrong about Jordi,” I say. “She never went to juvie and she’s a really good person.”
Maliah sighs and sits down on my bed. “I know you have this weird, sad fantasy that you’re going to die alone, but that doesn’t mean you have to date just anyone who comes along.”
“Mal, I like her,” I say. “A lot. I just hadn’t told you because …”
“‘Because’?”
“Because of exactly this. Because you have something against her.” I want to say that I’m too annoyed to flip through my closet, but I’m not sure there’s a level of annoyance high enough for that to actually be the case. “Anyway, before it didn’t matter. I thought it was impossible.”
“I didn’t come over here to listen to you to insult yourself,” she says. “Wear the dress that looks like tie-dye and your pink wedges. Everything goes with your hair and you’ll look really soft and pretty.”
“Ooh, that’s good.” I pull the dress out of my closet. “I haven’t worn this to work yet.”
Maliah gets up to sift through my jewelry box. “Don’t wear any complicated necklaces.”
“Do you think it’s too much look?” I ask, and she finally laughs.
“No, you dork, you just don’t want to make it harder to access your neck.”
“Oh! That’s actually good advice.”
“Don’t say actually! All my advice is good.” Maliah takes out my strand of white ceramic beads I found for dirt cheap at a yard sale. “Can I borrow this?”
“Sure.”
She slips them over her head and examines herself in the mirror. “How’d Norah take it? The big date?”
“I think she’s still out there hoping I’m secretly dating Jax.”
Maliah laughs. “Gross. You and Jax would have the ugliest babies.”
“Maliah!”
She fluffs her hair. “What? It’s true. I can see things like that. You both have round, pale faces. Your baby would look like the moon.”
“What about me and Jordi?”
“That’s not scientifically possible.” She walks to my doorway. “I have to get home. Mom and Dad are making me go to this boring benefit tonight. Some disease needs money.”
“Sorry. Have fun?”
“Sure.” She rolls her eyes. “And, yes. In a more technologically advanced world, you and Jordi Perez would have cute babies.”
CHAPTER 12
The doorbell rings at seven sharp.
“Punctual,” Dad says. “That’s good in business, and it’s good in relationships, too.”
“Dad, that’s the weirdest thing you could say right now. Please don’t say anything like that in front of her.”
I walk past him to open the door, but he stops me.
“Let me do this. It’s a dad job.”
I’m not sure that’s true but I let him. And then Jordi Perez is standing in my doorway. She’s wearing a slouchy gray T-shirt with black jeans, and—a detail that makes my style-craving heart explode—suspenders.
And, strangely enough, she’s holding a basket of tomatoes.
“Hi,” Dad says. “Jordi? Come on in.”
She steps inside and glances around until we make eye contact and then looks back to Dad. “Hi, Mr. Ives. I, uh, I know this is weird but my parents insisted I brought these tomatoes. We have plants and there’s just been this … overflow of tomatoes. I’m sorry, this is—”
“It’s great, my wife and I love homegrown tomatoes.” Dad takes the basket from her as Mom walks into the front room. “Norah, Jordi brought us tomatoes from her garden.”
“Thank you,” Mom says and then looks to me. “She’s actually pretty.”
Oh my god.
Dad looks toward the front window. “What are you driving?”
“My dad’s Prius,” Jordi says. “It just had an oil change.”
“Sounds good,” Dad says.
“Don’t stay out too late, girls,” Mom says.
“Okay,” I say. “Let’s go.”
I rush Jordi outside before things can get any more embarrassing. “I’m so sorry about them.”
“I’m the one who came with produce.” She takes my hand. “Hey.”
“Hey.” I smile at her. In these shoes, I’m a little taller than her. “I’m so glad you asked me out.”
“I’m glad you said yes. Come on. Let’s go.”
I get into the car. “Where are we going?”
“You’ll see,” she says with a smile. “I planned the whole night.”
“I feel bad! That sounds like a lot of work.” I don’t actually feel bad at all. Jordi planned a whole night for us. Who cares if it was a lot of work!
“You can plan our second date then,” she says. “Deal?”
Second date? “Deal.”
She reaches across the console to take my hand again. It seems unfathomable not to be holding hands constantly when now this is a thing we’ve done.
“Give me a hint,” I say. “About tonight.”
“Abby,” she says and laughs. “We’ll be there in about ten minutes. You’ll survive.”
“I might not,” I say. “The suspense might literally kill me, and then you’ll feel horrible.”
“All right,” she says. “If you start displaying any symptoms of death, I’ll fill you in.”
“Was everything okay last night?” I ask. “When you got home? If I can ask?”
“Of course you can ask. And, yeah. It was fine. My mom walked into the living room without her glasses, asked if I had fun, and went back to bed. There’s no way she could have known I had a different shirt on. Oh, and speaking of, Maliah’s shirt’s in my bag. Remember to get it from me.”
“Sorry about her, too,” I say.
“Abby, it’s cool.”
“I can’t believe this is actually happening,” I say, and then I sort of hear myself in my head and laugh. “I know I sound silly, but … I liked you so much.”
Oh my god, is that too much to confess? Do most people know the level of confession appropriate for date one?
“I liked you
too,” she says. “I wanted to kiss you last week.”
“I wanted to kiss you then too,” I say, and then I think about how we haven’t yet kissed today. It’s nearly been twenty-four hours since we’ve kissed. “I kind of want to kiss you right now.”
“Kind of?”
We both laugh, and then we’re at a conveniently red light at San Fernando and Fletcher, and we meet midway over the console. It’s crazy how just yesterday this would have only been fantasy and somehow right now it’s my whole world. My hands in Jordi’s hair, her eyelashes brushing my face, Jordi’s lips, Jordi’s lips, Jordi’s lips.
“Can I have a hint?” I ask as she pulls the car onto the 2 Freeway.
“You’re getting your hopes up too high,” she says. “It won’t be that exciting.”
My face feels tight because all it’s doing is smiling and kissing. My face has never had a better day. “I bet it will be.”
“God,” she says, “you’re cute.”
Neurons must be firing or creating new pathways or whatever happens in my brain; I’ve never before had the sensation of someone else thinking I’m non-platonically cute.
Jordi ends up driving us to Highland Park, which is only a couple neighborhoods northeast, though not somewhere I hang out often. Living in LA without driving isn’t that hard as long as you don’t expect to venture much out of your neighborhood.
But with Jordi, I want to explore the whole city.
“This was always my favorite restaurant,” Jordi tells me once she’s parked and we’re walking down the sidewalk. The street’s lined with restaurants, bars, and old-fashioned shops. I love the feeling of being somewhere so new to me that’s also so close to home. It makes the world feel bursting with possibilities. “Mom and Dad always let us choose where we go out to eat for our birthdays, and I’d always pick this place.”
“That’s so exciting,” I say, and she laughs.
“I’m potentially overselling it. It’s little and it’s not fancy. But I was trying to think of the best place to take you, and I felt like it had to have lots of carbs. So Italian made sense.”
“Yes,” I say, as Jordi holds open the door to a place called Folliero’s.
“Actually, wait.” She gently lets the door close and then takes her camera out of her bag. “Your hair in this light …”
