“I don’t know.” I smile slightly. “I guess?”
He leans back, staring at the ceiling. “I think they’re good together.”
“Oh, well, yeah. I just mean the fact that they’re making out in front of us. It’s like watching your parents make out, you know?”
He laughs. “Sort of.”
I sneak another glance at them. They seem so separate from this room. Like they’re on a piece of driftwood, floating. And I feel so lonely, all of a sudden.
Maybe I should reach for Will’s hand or scoot closer or say something uncareful. I could do that, I think.
But then my phone buzzes.
I shouldn’t check it. Not right now. It’s just a text. Probably from Abby. Or from Olivia, who’s still in Pennsylvania with Evan Schulmeister.
I will not be vag-blocked by Evan Schulmeister.
It buzzes again, and I lose my train of thought.
“Anyway, I should probably find Max,” Will says, patting my arm quickly, before hoisting himself up. “You’re okay, right?”
“Yeah. Definitely.” I nod.
It’s funny. I feel less disappointed than I thought I would.
As soon as Will walks away, I peek at my phone.
It’s Reid.
I guess I kind of had a feeling.
So I’m sitting here with Douglas outside of Medieval Madness
And this place is an orgy.
Wait, Douglas would like me to clarify that Medieval Madness is not an orgy. King Street is an orgy.
I lean back into the cushions and giggle quietly. That is hilarious, I write, because I’m at an orgy, too.
He responds right away. Oh, really?
But it’s a classy orgy. Mostly kissing/groping.
And texting . . . he writes.
Which makes me blush. I’m not sure why. And texting.
I really love texting, he writes.
Me too.
Three dots. He’s typing something. I glance up, and it’s funny—I feel sort of invisible. There’s this party happening all around me, and I’m entirely separate. I’m a total ice cube. But in a good way.
You know what would suck about living in the Middle Ages? he writes finally.
The bubonic plague? I reply.
Yes. But also. No texting.
Three dots. He’s typing something else.
But imagine if there WAS texting in the Middle Ages.
I smile. Oh, you’re really thinking about this, I write back.
Yes.
So, what would medieval people have texted?
Three dots.
Chaucer quotes. Codpiece selfies.
Yeah. Holy shit. This boy is funny over text.
I can totally see you sending a codpiece selfie to Queen Elizabeth, I write.
Wrong time period, but yes. G-d yes.
AND HE DOES THE JEWISH THING WITH GOD’S NAME. FUCK.
That’s cute.
Step it up, Molly.
“Elizabeth. R U a virgin? Luv Reid” I type.
He writes back immediately. “Nope.” Winky-face emoji.
Uh, wasn’t she the virgin queen?
Not if I’d been alive, he writes.
Sorry, but who is this boy? Because I’m pretty sure he’s flirting. And I did not realize Reid Wertheim knew how to flirt.
I bite back a smile.
And I’m about to write back something very uncareful when Cassie collapses on the couch beside me. “There you are! Hey. Okay. Guess what.” She leans her head on my shoulder and smiles up at me. “You, Molly Adele, get the Lexus tonight!”
I just look at her.
“Why are you making the Molly Face, Molly Face?” She giggles.
“Okay, how drunk are you?”
“Just a little,” she says, and sighs. “Molly.” She nuzzles into the crook of my neck. “You always smell so flowery.”
I laugh. “It’s our shampoo. You literally use the same kind. From the same bottle.”
“Yeah, but I don’t smell it on myself. Anyway.” She pokes my arm. “Aren’t you excited? You get to drive Mina’s Lexus.”
“I’m not driving Mina’s Lexus.”
“Okay, well . . . ,” she says, and I start to reply, but she covers my mouth. “No, hear me out. So I know Mina wasn’t going to drink, but we ended up playing Kings, and she’s not drunk, but she’s like a little bit drunk, so we’re just going to play it really safe and crash here. So, if you want to drive it home, you totally can. We just need you to pick us up here tomorrow morning.”
“Okay, that’s not—”
“And park on the street, just so Nadine and Patty don’t get freaked out, okay?”
I look at her. “Cass, I can’t. I had a drink.”
“Okay.” She tilts her head. “Just one drink?”
“Cassie, I’m not driving.”
“I’m just asking.”
“Are you seriously asking me this?” I sit up straight, pulling away from her. “Are you asking me if I’m going to risk my life by driving home after having alcohol for the second time ever, which I’m not even supposed to combine with Zoloft, by the way—”
“Okay.” She laughs, but kind of harshly. “Then why’d you do it?”
“Why did I drink?”
“If you’re not supposed to drink on your meds, why do you keep doing it, Molly?”
“Are you kidding me?” I feel this tightness in my chest and this ache in my cheek, and I realize I’ve been clenching my jaw. “Fuck you.”
It’s the phrase of the night.
Cassie’s eyebrows shoot up. “Whoa.”
“So now you’re going to judge me for drinking? Are you serious? You guys were my ride. And now your big plan is to completely ditch me so you can spend the night making out with your girlfriend, and I get to be your chauffeur?”
Something in her expression seems to snag, and my throat thickens. “And, like, you don’t even care if I’m safe to drive. Just as long as you get your awesome hot night with Mina.”
“Are you joking?” she asks. “You’re seriously going to give me shit for this?”
“Forget it,” I say.
I wish I hadn’t said anything. I don’t want to have this conversation. Not here. Not ever.
“I mean, do you want to talk about this?” Cassie says, scooting closer to me.
“Can we not?” I grip my cup tightly.
“Molly.”
I look up at her, and her eyes are shining. Okay, that throws me. Cassie doesn’t cry. Cassie doesn’t even almost-cry.
“You think I’m ditching you for Mina?”
“What do you think?” It’s something I’d normally never say out loud, but I guess that’s the thing about alcohol.
“Like, you know she’s my girlfriend, right?”
I stare at my knees. I keep picturing Cassie’s lips pressed against Mina’s ear. I can’t stop thinking about that.
“Molly, why are you doing this?”
“You think I’m doing this?” My jaw tightens, because this is what Cassie does. She twists things around and acts like I’m coming at her out of nowhere. As if she hasn’t spent the last few weeks completely absorbed in Mina wonderland.
“Oh my God. Just stop,” she says. “You are so goddamn—”
“Oversensitive, I know.”
She throws her hands up.
And I feel this wave of calmness. I know that’s strange. But even though I hate when she calls me oversensitive, I like that I knew she would. I understand Cassie better than I understand myself. And I don’t think Mina will ever know her like I do.
“I think I’m going to go,” I say.
She leans backward, laughing, hands over her eyes. “So, what? You’re gonna walk to the Metro now?”
I’m suddenly aware that people are looking at us. Not in a blatant way, but there’s some not-so-subtle glancing. People love a shitshow.
I shrug.
“Molly, come on.”
“I mean, what were yo
u thinking?” Now I’m fighting tears. “Like, you just decided to get drunk, and you assumed I’d be able to drive home by myself?”
I cannot cry. I cannot start crying.
“Okay, to be honest? I kind of thought you’d be getting a ride with Will tonight anyway, so . . .”
“Yeah, he’s drunk, too.”
She sighs. “Or crashing here with Will. Molly. Please don’t pretend you don’t understand what I’m talking about.”
“I’m not.” I exhale and rub my forehead. “I’m not hooking up with Will.”
“Yeah, I noticed. Which is why I thought you’d want the fucking Lexus. Look, you want to leave the car? Great. That saves us some hassle tomorrow morning. I just thought you might not want to Metro tonight. Thought I was being nice. But whatever.”
There’s this pause. I look up, and the light seems a little dimmer, and everyone’s a little blurrier around the edges. I catch a glimpse of Max across the room, talking to a girl I don’t recognize, and he’s laughing, and his bangs are clipped back from his face with a plastic barrette.
“And what’s the deal with Reid?” Cassie says, and I almost flinch.
“With Reid?”
She rolls her eyes. “Or not. I don’t know. Just kind of got a vibe the other day on the porch.”
“We’re friends.”
“Look, I just want you to be happy, okay?” She grabs my drink and takes a swig of it. “And I thought you wanted—okay, this is really warm and gross.” She takes another sip. “I mean, it seemed like things were going really well with Will, but then I look over here and he’s totally gone, and it’s like, okay. I don’t know what’s up. But then something seems to be happening with you and Reid, which is great, fine, whatever—”
I swallow. “Yeah, well, apparently Reid’s not the kind of guy you date. Or have sex with.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Mina said that. She said Reid’s the kind of guy you marry . . .”
She laughs. “God, Molly. You shouldn’t give a shit about what Mina thinks. Look how bad her taste is.” She pats her own chest and grins. “Come on. It’s all so subjective. Like, look at that girl. Purple dress.” She gestures with her chin. “Are you sexually attracted to her?”
I shake my head.
“Okay, well, guess what. I think she’s hella cute, and I would totally have sex with her.”
“I’m sure Mina would be thrilled.”
“Oh my God. I’m just making a point. We like who we like. Who cares if someone else doesn’t get it? That’s a good thing. That’s less competition.”
“I don’t know if I—”
“If you talk yourself out of liking Reid because of your goddamn ego, I will punch you.”
My ego. I don’t have an ego. If I had such a giant ego, why would I have such a hard time believing Reid actually likes me?
Except, if I’m totally honest, I do believe it. Reid likes me. And I like that he likes me. But I’m not used to this game. It’s this totally new way of seeing myself. Like I’m some hazily lit dream girl from a movie. I’ve never been that girl before.
I really like being that girl. So, maybe I am some kind of egomaniac.
There’s just something terrifying about admitting you like someone. In a way, it’s actually easier when there’s no chance of anything happening. But there’s this threshold where things suddenly become possible. And then your cards are on the table. And there you are, wanting, right out in the open.
It’s so many things. It’s everyone knowing you’re attracted to a guy who wears electric-white sneakers. It’s that little twinge of shame you feel when someone thinks he’s not cute. Even though he is cute. He’s actually really fucking adorable. I actually really fucking like him, and none of the other stuff should matter.
I WANT MY NORMALCY BACK.
I feel so undone. It’s like stringing beads and realizing you forgot to knot your thread. I don’t feel like me. I’m not a girl who curses out one boy, pretends to be dating another, and can’t stop thinking about a third.
And I’ve never fought with Cassie so often in my life.
There’s been this carefulness between us all day. She ended up crashing with Mina in Max’s guest room, and Mina’s friend Samar drove me to the Metro. But we haven’t talked about any of it since—not Reid, not my giant ego, and especially not the other thing. The ditching-me-for-Mina thing.
“Hey.” Cassie appears in my doorway as I’m putting away my ribbon garland. “Mina’s here, and Olivia’s working, so we’re going to go keep her company and paint pottery.”
“Great.”
“Thought you might want to come.”
“Okay.” I wind my ribbon garland into careful loops—over my thumb and under my elbow, and back around again. “I don’t want to bust in on your date.”
She laughs flatly. “It’s not a date. Jesus. Olivia is literally going to be there the entire time.”
I don’t reply.
“Okay, I get that you’re feeling really, really sorry for yourself, but I kind of think you might want to come. Have you talked to Olivia recently?”
“No . . .”
“So you don’t know what’s going on with Evan?”
I look up. “What’s going on with Evan?”
“Well, I was hoping you knew. Abby doesn’t know either, but something’s up. She just got back from Philly.” She shrugs. “Anyway, we’re leaving now, so if you’re coming, let’s go.”
I hesitate.
“Okay, look. Don’t come. That’s fine. But I don’t want to hear this shit about me ditching you for Mina.”
“I’ll come,” I say quickly.
It’s like Cassie and I are partners in the world’s most complicated dance. Everything feels really fragile. If I take a wrong step, it could throw us off completely.
Cassie slides into the front seat of Mina’s Lexus, and I take my spot in the back. We spend the whole ride to Silver Spring pointedly not speaking to each other. Which brings out this pressured kind of chattiness in Mina. I remember her saying she talks too much when she’s nervous.
“Have you guys ever done this before? It’s like they have plates and mugs and everything already made and fired up and ready to be painted. It’s really fun. I mean, I suck at painting, but still. Molly, I think you’d like it.”
“Yeah. I mean, Olivia works there, so . . .”
“Oh. Right,” Mina says. “Duh.” She slows to a stop at a stop sign.
“But it’s been awhile,” I add.
She tucks a lock of dark-purple hair behind her ear. “Yeah, I’m thinking I’m going to do like a penguin design? Like penguins in love? I want to try to make something for your moms as a wedding gift. But only if it turns out okay.”
“You know they’ll love it no matter what,” Cassie says. “They’re obsessed with you.”
“Aww—really?”
“Yeah, I think they’re grateful you didn’t dump me after that night with Grandma.”
Mina giggles, and Cassie turns toward her and smiles. It’s pretty awkward watching this from the backseat. They’re not even being mushy or gross, but there’s this feeling like they’re the adults, and I’m a little kid. I should be in a car seat, holding a sippy cup.
We end up parking on the street a block or two away from the pottery place. I walk half a step behind Mina and Cassie. I’m not talking much. I guess I feel a little self-conscious. So then, of course, the act of talking starts to feel like this huge, impossible thing. I get like this sometimes. I get locked into a cycle of not speaking. It’s like every time I think of something awesome to say, I rehearse it in my head so many times, I forget whether I’ve said it out loud yet. And I think it goes without saying that awesome one-liners are decidedly less awesome when you repeat them by accident. Better not to risk it.
“So I honestly have no idea what we’re about to walk into,” Cassie says, walking backward for a moment like she’s our tour guide.
“Yo
u mean with Evan?”
“Yeah. I don’t know any details. At all. Abby just said something was up.” She shrugs. And then she pushes through the entrance.
The pottery place is quiet for a Saturday, and right away, I see Olivia. She’s actually sitting at one of the tables painting a plate. There are two little girls working on ceramic piggy banks with their mom, but other than that, we have the place to ourselves.
“Oh hey,” Olivia says, without getting up. We walk over to her. And she looks normal. I mean, she’s wearing an awesome purple shirt with a gnome on it, and she doesn’t look like she’s been crying.
“What are you working on?” Mina asks, peering at Olivia’s work in progress.
“Oh, it’s dumb. It’s just something to put up as a display.”
But it’s not. It’s not dumb. I stare at Olivia’s plate, feeling stupidly jealous. God, I always forget how artistic she is. Like, every once in a while, I fool myself into thinking I am, too, but I’m not. Not like this.
Olivia’s plate is stunning. She’s covered the background in the palest green paint, with a thin line of gold around the outer edge. And in the middle, there’s a half-finished dragon, exquisitely detailed, with carefully defined scales.
Reid would flip over this. Holy shit.
“Can I take a picture of this?” I ask.
Olivia looks confused.
“The dragon,” I add. “It’s beautiful.”
“Oh, thanks.”
“I’m serious.”
“I mean, it’s not done, but sure.”
I snap a picture with my phone. Then we settle in at Olivia’s table, and she sets us up with plates and paint and brushes. First, we’re supposed to sponge the plates down with water. Then, Olivia reminds us to do three coats of the background color.
“Look how hardcore she is,” Cassie says. “Don’t even try to skip one of the coats. She will lose her shit.”
Olivia nods. “Shit will be lost.”
It’s like, I’d almost say she was acting normal, except for the fact that I know something’s up with Evan. So now I can’t help but read sadness and heartache into every single paint stroke. I kind of want to just ask her. I can’t believe Cassie hasn’t.
But instead, we work in almost total silence. I cover the full surface of my plate with three coats of white paint, which feels slightly ridiculous. When it dries, I leave the entire middle of the plate white, but fill in tiny colorful flowers around the edges. Mina’s across from me, working on her penguins, leaning forward on her elbow. And Cassie appears to be trying to copy Olivia’s dragon design. It’s not going well.