by Amy Spalding
“Zoe’s gotten cheesier now that she has a boyfriend,” Maliah says. “Much cheesier.”
“He’s not my boyfriend,” Zoe says and blushes. “We’re just talking a lot.”
“And you made out,” Maliah says.
The rest of us practically scream as Zoe hides behind her boba as best she can.
“Are you planning a date without a car?” Brooke asks me.
“With your lady?” Zoe asks, and now it’s me who’s blushing.
“Yes. I thought of everything for our second date—Jordi totally planned the first one—but now I’m rethinking all of it. Is it stupid?”
“What else are you going to do?” Maliah asks. “Have your dad drive you?”
“Oh god, no,” I say. “Ask her to drive? That just seems … I don’t know. Ugh, god, maybe my mom is right about one thing.”
“Actually, using an avocado instead of cheese is also a good tip,” Brooke says. “What? I read her blog to support your family, Abby.”
“Don’t worry,” Zoe says. “Since Jordi really likes you, she’ll be fine with walking. She’ll love walking. I don’t think Brandon can drive, and that’s fine.”
“She’ll make Brooke drive them around on dates,” Maliah says, and we burst into laughter.
“It seems easier to date a girl,” Brooke says.
“I agree.” Zoe sips thoughtfully on her drink. “If you have your period, a girl would understand and bring you tea and chocolate.”
“And you can trade clothes,” Brooke says.
“Trevor gives me chocolate,” Maliah says.
“And Jordi and I don’t exactly wear the same size,” I say. “Or style. You guys make being a lesbian sound like a Hallmark Christmas movie.”
“I’d watch that,” Brooke says.
“I was remembering something from last year,” Zoe says. “We had to do this optic mix project in art class, where we made an image from cutting up other images? It’s sort of hard to explain. Most people’s didn’t look great, but Jordi’s, oh my god. Everyone else just cut out pictures from magazines, but she took a bunch of photos of her own eyes and then made a big image of an eye out of them. I mean, some people thought it was creepy—”
“It sounds creepy,” Maliah says.
“—but it was amazing. I thought Mrs. Avakian was going to lose her mind that a student was that good.”
“Look at her.” Brooke points to me. “She’s beaming with pride.”
“Get it?” Zoe laughs. “Gay pride.”
“You guys are so stupid,” I say, but we’re all laughing. Even with Maliah being such a drag lately, I realize I’m so lucky to have the friends I do. And when I arrive later to pick up Jordi, right away I feel how little it matters that I’m not in a car.
“This is exciting,” Jordi says as I point the way down the street. “Do I get a hint?”
“No way.”
“Damn.” She grins at me, and it’s hard maintaining my composure. She’s wearing a very Jordi outfit today, of course—black jeans and a sort of shimmery black tank and black high tops—and how we look together is something I realize I’m starting to like.
“What did you do today?” I ask. “Exciting stuff?”
“Actually … I sent some info a while back, and it looks like I’m going to have a photography show at Pehrspace in August.”
“Oh my god, Jordi, that’s huge! I didn’t know you were trying to get a show.”
“I didn’t want people to know,” she says. “In case it didn’t work out or go anywhere. But, yeah. It’s happening.”
“I’m so proud of you,” I say, and I worry it’s too much for someone I’ve only been going out with for a couple of weeks. But Jordi focuses her grin on me and leans in to kiss me.
“Thank you, Abby,” she says. “You have to be my date, and you have to wear something extra awesome.”
“It’s a deal,” I say. We’re making plans for August.
“Are we going to Mixto?” Jordi asks as the sign comes into focus. “I love Mixto.”
“Yes, and, good,” I say. “I just realized maybe it was weird to plan to take you to a Mexican place, because you’re … Mexican?”
“Well, my grandparents were all born there, but I’ve been here my whole life, and so have my parents,” she says. “So don’t worry. I love hipster Mexican food.”
“Here’s my secret about this place,” I say. “I’m sort of obsessed with their kale Caesar salad. But please, please, never tell my mom. It would make her way too happy.”
We end up getting the salad, a selection of tacos, and horchata and settle in the back corner of the outdoor dining area. We’re only about a mile from our neighborhood, but being in Silver Lake is just inherently cooler than Atwater Village.
“Hey, Abby,” someone says from behind me. I turn around, and it’s Lyndsey Malone. “Oh, hi, Jordi.”
“Hey,” we say, sort of at the same time.
“Oh, hello, ladies.” Blake Jorgensen walks up to her. “I see you’re enjoying some horchata.” He pronounces it with what I guess he thinks is an authentic accent, and I notice that Jordi is suddenly staring at the table and blinking. I look away because if we make eye contact right now, there’s no chance of not laughing.
“How’s your summer been?” Lyndsey asks.
“Um,” I say, testing my restraint by smiling at Jordi. Neither of us laughs. “Really good.”
“I think our food’s ready,” Lyndsey says. “See you guys around.”
We say good-bye and wait until they’re fully around the corner to laugh. It’s funny how mere weeks ago, this would have killed me. They were holding hands and Blake was making his I’m Very Serious And Never Smile face and Lyndsey looked happy.
But I don’t care. Well, I might care a little. I can still see that Lyndsey is crush-worthy, and no one nice should have to date Blake. But none of it seems like my failing now, and I guess that’s because it never was.
After we’ve finished eating, I direct Jordi across Hyperion Boulevard and a few blocks down to West Silver Lake.
“You don’t mind walking, right? Maybe I should have asked sooner.”
“Not at all.” Jordi lets go of my hand, but since it’s to take out her camera, it doesn’t bother me. “I should have taken a photo of Blake. It would’ve come in handy if I ever needed something to throw darts at.”
“Oh my god,” I say. “That guy’s the worst. How does Lyndsey stand him?”
“He seems smart,” Jordi says. “He either fakes it or is also smart under his layer of …”
“Douchiness?”
“Exactly. She wanted someone smart, and he was close enough.”
“I used to have such a crush on her,” I admit.
“Me too,” Jordi says, which makes me laugh. I don’t even stop when I realize Jordi’s camera’s lens is pointed right at me. The camera has stopped feeling like something separate; it’s an extension of Jordi.
“Where are we going?” she asks me.
“It’s also a surprise,” I say. “Everything’s a surprise. You can’t get any more info out of me than that.”
“You’d be a good spy,” she says.
“What are you talking about? I’d be terrible! I always say way too much. You’d be amazing at it, especially because you’re usually in all-black.”
“You should hear my mom since she met you,” Jordi says. “‘Jordi, see how nice Abby looks because she isn’t afraid to embrace color?’”
I laugh as we turn the corner and Silver Lake Reservoir comes into view. It looks like a lake from far away, but once you’re close, you can see that it’s concrete-lined. When we were younger, it was a regular thing for Dad to take Rachel and me around it at night. About midway through, you can see the Silver Lake Dog Park, and since Mom’s allergies prevented us from having our own dog, it was heaven to spend a little time watching through the fence.
Not that I plan to watch dogs tonight with Jordi. We’re just walking past to get to the o
ther side of Silver Lake Boulevard.
“I love it back here.” Jordi takes pictures of houses cut into the hills. “My parents say it costs more than I realize to live up there, but after college, it’s exactly where I want to end up.”
“My parents always say things like that, too. ‘Abby, you have no idea how much we could get for this little house in today’s market.’”
“Yeah, today’s market.” Jordi laughs. “I hope to god I don’t grow up to care about today’s market.”
“I hope you don’t either.” I gesture to my favorite ice cream shop, Milk. “I hope this is okay. I love this place.”
“It definitely is,” she says. “I love it, too.”
“We love all the same places,” I say. “That feels like a good sign of compatibility.”
Jordi pokes my side as we get into the line stretching out past Milk’s door. “Were you worried about our compatibility levels?”
“Super, super worried.”
“Can you hold this a second?” She hands me her camera and I cradle it, honestly, more carefully than when I had to hold a baby cousin last year at Christmas. Jordi digs around in her black bag with intense concentration. I envision sewing her something new, but I don’t know how to create what I see in my head. Maybe Maggie can help me, and if not Maggie, the internet.
“Okay,” Jordi says, taking a little black paper bag out of her bigger black bag. “I made this and … I think it turned out okay. But you don’t have to like it. Promise me you won’t say you like it if you don’t.”
I hand the camera back to her and then open the bag. Inside is a bright blue acrylic pendant cut into the shape of a pineapple, hanging on a silver chain. “You made this?”
Jordi nods while I turn the perfect necklace over and over in my hands. “Do you … like it?”
“No,” I say. “I love it. I’m obsessed with it. I want to wear it with everything I own.”
I take off the heart-shaped necklace I’m wearing it, tuck it away in my purse, and start to put on Jordi’s necklace.
“Let me,” she says, and now I hold her camera as she fastens it around my neck. The necklace is cool against my throat, but Jordi’s fingertips are warm. I know we’re in a line for ice cream surrounded by children and older people, but suddenly I want her fingertips all over me.
Obviously I settle for standing in the grass together eating ice cream cones instead.
Jordi, of course, takes photos: the street, the hills, a dog we spot standing on a balcony above. And me, always me. Maybe it should be more distracting, but the photographs are also a record that this is real. And it’s still just a little hard to believe that this is in fact what’s happening to me this summer.
“Okay, I saved the best for last,” I say when our ice cream is a distant memory and Jordi’s camera has been silent for a few minutes. “Hopefully. If you’ve been there before, it won’t be that exciting.”
“I’ve been to Mixto and Milk before,” she says. “They were still exciting.”
We walk back the way we came, but I point us in a slightly different direction once we’re past the Reservoir. I don’t know why it matters so much to me that Jordi hasn’t seen this yet, but my stomach’s clenched in anticipation. I want badly to show her something new.
“Oh my god.” Jordi stares up at the chandeliers suspended from a tree just off Shadowlawn Avenue. “What is this?”
“It’s someone’s home,” I say. “He just did this because it’s beautiful.”
Jordi stares up at the different fixtures hanging from the wide-stretching branches. The golden glow glimmers within the leaves. “It’s incredible.”
I take my change purse out of my bag, because the man who owns the tree and the house installed an old-fashioned parking meter to help pay his electrical bill. I drop in all the coins I have and then Jordi does the same. Since her hands are in her bag, I assume her camera will come back out.
But it doesn’t.
“Not yet,” she says with a knowing smile.
Then we kiss underneath the glow of dozens of lightbulbs shimmering in a tree. And for just this moment, my world is a fairy tale.
CHAPTER 17
Jax texts me early on my next weekday off from the shop to line up burgers for lunch. I’d been hoping to make plans with Maliah or Jordi, but I realize there’s no sense of disappointment waiting outside for Jax instead.
Seriously, weirdest summer ever.
“Met this hot girl last night,” is how he greets me over the inescapable sounds of indie rock dudes yodeling.
“Good for you.” I buckle in. “Where to today?”
“I dunno, Abbs, the whole city’s our playground.”
I side-eye him before opening the note on my phone with a list of burger places. “We haven’t done In-N-Out yet.”
“Bam.” He tears off down the street and we slap each other’s hands trying to maintain control over the car stereo’s volume. “You wanna hear all about this girl?”
“What happened to Gaby?” I ask.
“That was not gonna happen,” he says. “Alas. So I move on.”
“Hmmm,” I say.
“Don’t judge me. We don’t all get the girl we’re after.”
“I was actually thinking that sounded pretty mature,” I say. “So, yeah, tell me about the girl.”
“One, super hot. Two, made a joke at Trevor’s expense so she won me over. Three, talked to me for like the last hour of the party until one of her friends made her take her home. Bam, I’m as good as in.”
“Sounds like it.” I wonder what it would be like to be Jax, with all the confidence in the world as far as girls are concerned. Would I have kissed Jordi a week sooner? Does that even matter now, when my life involves kissing Jordi Perez almost every single day as it is?
“So we gotta figure out my next move,” he says.
“‘We gotta’? Aren’t you the expert on next moves?”
“Abbs, what have I been saying? You know I need your girl guidance.”
I watch out the window as the shaded and gated mansions on Los Feliz Boulevard fly past us on our way to Hollywood. It still seems like a miracle I could be someone anyone goes to for girl advice.
“Be nice,” I tell him. “Don’t pull your weird bro stuff on her.”
“I’m always nice,” he says, and I laugh and roll my eyes.
“I’m really not an expert,” I say. “But being nice feels sort of obvious, right?”
He makes a face but I’m fairly certain he agrees.
“It’s weird you can … just get a girlfriend, and still it’s not like anyone swings by to tell you how it’s supposed to go,” I say.
“Some lesbian fairy godmother?” Jax asks.
“Exactly. Instead I’ve just got you and Mal, and you’re hopeless and Mal thinks Jordi’s a criminal.”
“I’ve got great advice,” he says. “Just be nice.”
“It’s weird that Jordi and I are, like, competitors,” I say. “I mean, I still really want to win and get the job and all of that.”
“Yeah, who wouldn’t?”
“Someone nice? I don’t know.”
“You can get the girl and the job, Abbs,” he says, and I feel good for like a half-second before thinking about the fact that these comforting words are coming from my bro friend, spawn of a Silicon Valley app-running man.
And maybe you can get the girl and the job, but can you be nice, too, on top of all of it?
But, also, I don’t really have to dwell on it today. Within a few minutes, we’re in the long, snaking drive-thru line to the Hollywood In-N-Out, and even though it always looks like it’ll take hours to get food, before we know it, we’re parked in the lot scarfing down Animal-style burgers with fries and milkshakes. It’s sort of a stereotype of a California day, but what a great stereotype.
Since I’m wearing semi-responsible shoes (floral patterned Adidas that look perfect with my bright blue dress), and we’re basically over here anyway, I suggest w
alking around the Hollywood Reservoir. Jax whines a little but then agrees, and before long, we’re on the path in Lake Hollywood Park. It’s flatter than the Silver Lake Reservoir, which is a lot closer to my neighborhood, but it’s longer and I know will take us a big chunk of our mid-afternoon. Maliah and I always manage to talk the entire way around, but I feel less urgency to fill every silence with Jax.
I guess I thought that friendship was something you’d always need in one specific way, but it basically goes without saying that my friendship with Jax is nothing like mine with Maliah, and somehow not in a way that makes it worse … or even better. It’s just its own thing.
I come to Lemonberry the next day with my notebook of ideas tucked into my pocket. (All truly great dresses have pockets.) I’ve yet to solve the riddle of being a great girlfriend while landing the job, so in my other pocket is a little Hello Kitty sticker. I found it while attempting to organize a pile of crafty stuff Rachel and I had been accumulating for years now. I’d texted to make sure Rachel didn’t mind the organization, as we used to fall asleep while discussing our grand plans for our collection of fabrics, glitter, stickers, and other items we deemed spectacular enough to save. But her only response was a delayed No, why would I care?
Paige is manning the front of the store, and Maggie’s not in yet, so it’s just Jordi and me in the back room. I resist kissing her (unprofessional), but I do press the sticker into her palm. Her hand is warm and I think about it against mine, or on my body (also unprofessional, if I’m being fair).
She examines it and smiles her slow Jordi smile as Maggie walks in and directly over to her.
“Good morning, girls.”
“Good morning,” I say in my brightest, cheeriest voice (professional?).
“Jordi, we got a couple of new pairs of shoes in yesterday,” she says. “Would you mind taking some shots for the site and for Instagram?”
She, of course, agrees, and heads out to the sales floor. My hand goes into my pocket and clasps around my notepad of ideas.
