Lucky Girl Page 3

  I’m careful to not look pissed when I shrug. Dave’s always nice about taking me to work, or anywhere else, but it’s starting to get seriously embarrassing being the only person I know who doesn’t have her own car. Obviously not everyone has a cool new Fiat like Maddie got for her birthday, but some old used junker would be fine.

  The last time I brought it up, though, Dave just cheerfully pointed out that I’m making my own money now, so we could discuss a payment plan. I guess he’s right, but if that’s the option, I’d rather walk to DQ and have some money of my own.

  “Is Maddie back?” Ayla asks.

  “Yeah,” I say. “Yesterday.”

  “Wow, good story.”

  “Ayla . . .” Mom’s tone is a warning, but Ayla just makes a face and pours blueberries into a bowl. There’s an awkward silence until Mom asks me, “Did she have fun at her program?”

  “Yeah,” I say again.

  Maddie already texted to say sorry for not hanging out more last night, and I said it was no problem, and neither of us said anything about Cory. So right now I don’t really want to talk about Maddie, because I don’t really know how I feel about any of it.

  “I’m gonna walk,” I say. “I should go.” I make a point of rinsing my plate and putting it in the dishwasher, hoping this will show Mom that I’m not the awful teenager she seems to think I am and make Ayla look a little bad, since she never does dishes. But they’re already looking at Ayla’s eighth-grade supply list and talking about Target, so it’s pretty much a wasted effort.

  Upstairs, I stuff my uniform shirt and hat in my backpack, swipe on some mascara, and grab my iPod. I can hear Dave singing an old Foo Fighters song in the shower, and all second thoughts I might’ve had about not asking him for a ride vanish. Dave is pretty much the best guy for your mom to marry, especially if your own dad left after getting her pregnant in college. But he’s also way more into music than I am, and he thinks it’s a tragedy that I don’t want to listen to his old CDs all the time. He once tried to explain to me how Coldplay apparently used to be cool or edgy or something, and it was the longest conversation of my life.

  But then I walk out the door and the humidity smacks me in the face, reminding me that a car would be a pretty awesome thing to have.

  A mile and a half later and my hair is stuck to my neck, but at least I don’t mind changing into my dry Dairy Queen polo shirt. Pulling my ponytail through the back of the white baseball cap they make us wear, I check my reflection one last time in the tiny office bathroom. Not bad. Not an outfit Selena Gomez would ever wear, obviously, but with my cutoffs I almost look like a perky girl-next-door type.

  Steph Barnes is already behind the counter, cleaning the toppings case. She’s a literary magazine/Tumblr kind of girl, and at Midcity we run in completely different crowds.

  But at work, she cleans. So at work, she is my hero.

  “Hey, Rosie,” she says now, not looking up. “Can you get the front?” She nods toward the wall of windows with the door, where a high counter runs the length of the small store. There are a few stools in here, but most people sit outside at the picnic tables.

  I stifle a groan and grab the washcloth she holds out to me.

  “How’s your last weekend going?” I ask. The Formica I’m wiping down will never really be clean, but it’s satisfying to send the crumbs of old sugar cones raining to the floor.

  “Okay, I guess. At least everyone’s back from their exciting travels.”

  There’s a hint of bitterness in her voice that makes me turn. She shrugs.

  “Didn’t your friend Maddie go to Spain?”

  “Yeah,” I say. “You know a lot of people who went away, too?”

  She shrugs again, and I wonder why she brought it up if it’s such a sore subject.

  The door opens and our first customers of the day come in—about fifteen little girls in soccer uniforms, basically tiny Maddie clones. Their coach does a double take when he sees me. I pretend I don’t notice. He’s old and it’s gross, but I get that kind of look often enough that I can just block it out.

  For almost an hour it seems like everyone has decided to have soft-serve instead of lunch, and Steph and I don’t say anything to each other except, “She ordered the Blizzard,” and “Hand me those wrappers?” It’s mindless but it keeps you from getting cold, and every time I look up to smile at a new customer, I feel a little jolt of connection. It’s weirdly fun, serving people. Especially serving ice cream, which tends to put people in a good mood.

  When there’s finally a lull, I take out my phone and scroll through my feeds, but no one’s doing anything interesting. I already studied all the party photos when I woke up. The only ones with Cory showed him yelling or drinking. Maddie’s in the background in one of them, looking the other way. My genius plan of gifting this boy to my BFF doesn’t feel so awesome anymore, but I’m probably just cranky because I’m at work.

  “So, you were saying about the summer?” I ask Steph, glancing up from Instagram for a second.

  She sighs. “There was this camp I couldn’t go to,” she admits, picking out a red M&M and popping it in her mouth. “This guy I know, not from Midcity, he went. He’s one of those, you know, lives-in-the-neighborhood, our-parents-are-friends people.”

  I nod. Steph lives in a much nicer neighborhood than I do—it’s not within walking distance of this DQ, so she drives here in a pretty new VW—and she talks about her junior high and neighborhood friends a lot.

  “Anyway. I was fine, you know? Until he came back and wouldn’t shut up about it. I don’t think he even liked it as much as he likes knowing I couldn’t be there.”

  “Sounds like a hell of a guy,” I say drily.

  “Oh, yeah. I’m definitely gonna marry him.”

  I laugh, surprised, even though by now I’ve figured out that she can be really funny.

  Then the afternoon crush kicks in, the worst time of day. It’s late enough that the pool kids are coming by, dripping chlorine all over the floor and shouting at us because they have water in their ears. By the time I’ve made my fiftieth chocolate dip cone I feel like I have water in my ears, too, and I’m dying to hide in the bathroom with my phone for a few minutes, when suddenly there are two tall, dark shapes in the doorway, and my stomach goes all fluttery.

  “Rosie Fuller,” Cory booms. He makes my name sound kind of dirty, but in a way that—and yes, I’m embarrassed to admit this—kind of turns me on.

  I hate that I’m blushing, though, because I’m kind of mad—or something?—at Cory. And I really hate that I’m blushing in front of the guy who’s with him: Alex Goode.

  They stride up to the counter like a two-man starting line, practically blocking out the sun with their shoulders. Alex is wearing a Midcity Lions jersey already, and for a second I’m afraid they’re here for some kind of team hazing ritual, making him eat his weight in Butterfinger crumbles or something. But then Cory leans his elbows on the counter and grins at me, and I take another guess—Cory’s showing off for the new local celebrity.

  “What can I get you guys?” I ask. My voice comes out all breathy and flirty, which isn’t really how I feel. But Cory’s eyes flash, so: worth it.

  “You know Alex?” Cory asks. “Alex Goode? He’s on the team this year.”

  I smile at Alex, whose gaze is fixed on the menu over my head like it’s showing porn.

  “We met at the party last night,” I say charmingly.

  But Cory’s already turning to Alex to ask, “I’m starving, bro, you want something?” The new star player just shakes his head.

  “Parfait?” I say to Cory, knowing from the two other times he’s visited me at work what he’s probably going to order. His grin goes from wolfish to triumphant, since obviously I’ve just made him look like a ridiculous stud. Not that there’s anything studly about the word parfait, which I wish I could point out to him right now. But if he wanted to make Alex think he runs this town, having the ice-cream girl remember his “usual”
isn’t the worst way to do it.

  I’m grateful to have an excuse to turn my back to them, pouring vanilla and chocolate syrup and peanuts into one of the plastic parfait cups, making the layers come out even. I’m kind of proud of how much better I am at this than I was a few months ago. Which is maybe kind of pathetic.

  When I hand the cup to Cory and collect his five dollars, he smiles again, and Alex blinks in that intense way of his, and then they leave, and a weird empty feeling opens up between my lungs. The pointlessness of everything I’ve done since school let out hits me: hooking up with a guy who’s more interested in my best friend—and vice versa—and learning how to make his favorite ice cream treat exactly right and . . . that’s it.

  “So weird,” Steph says as soon as we’re alone again.

  “What?”

  “Oh, God. Never mind. It’s—no, it’s nothing.”

  I poke her arm. “Now you have to tell me.”

  She flinches away, shrugging at the same time. “It’s just, you know. That guy. I know he’s a big deal and whatever . . .”

  “Alex?” I guess. Though Cory’s a big deal, too, even if he hasn’t been on the news for anything but football.

  “Yeah.” She laughs nervously. “I’ve just never seen a guy, like, not look at you. I’m sorry, that’s totally weird! I mean, it’s weird that I’m saying anything. But it was unusual to see a guy just . . . not drool on you.”

  I laugh, wishing she would stop looking so anxious. And I wish she wasn’t so right. Cory clearly wanted Alex to be impressed that he can come in here and flirt with me—but Alex didn’t seem impressed at all. Even when I caught him looking at me in the airport . . . I don’t know. I guess he really was looking at the balloons.

  “He’s kind of odd looking, right?” I say.

  Steph frowns. “I don’t know, I just thought he seemed serious. He’s not as classically handsome as Cory, obviously.”

  I’m checking my phone again, but I pause to roll my eyes. “I don’t know. Cory’s a little basic.”

  She scoffs. “Yeah, basically perfect.”

  I don’t reply because I’ve found a new photo on Maddie’s feed—someone else took it, but she reposted. Of her standing with Cory at the party, laughing. It’s . . . cute.

  Suddenly there are noises from the back office, and in a flash Steph and I are both tidying up the counter, the spoons. I grab another washcloth and clean the soft-serve machine.

  “My favorite girls!” Joel comes through the office door with his hands raised, and we laugh in relief.

  “Oh, it’s just you,” I say, tossing my rag in the sink.

  He gives me a mock-offended look, and then we smile at each other in that way that we probably shouldn’t, given that he’s twenty-two and one of the night managers and I’m still in high school. But it makes the empty feeling in my chest disappear completely.

  “You girls hustlin’ that paper?” Joel asks, rubbing his fingers together like a cartoon villain.

  I roll my eyes at his pathetic slang. “We were, but then Steph ate all the M&M’s, so I think we’re back where we started.” I grin at Joel and then at Steph, but she narrows her eyes at me. She did eat some M&M’s, but whatever, so did I, and obviously Joel doesn’t care. Or I guess she’s probably glaring at me because she thinks I shouldn’t flirt with our manager.

  “I’m gonna clock out,” she says, and before I can tell her it was just a joke, she’s disappeared into the office.

  Joel doesn’t seem to notice anything is wrong. He’s got his nose in the cash register, and when he looks up and finds me still standing there, he just smiles again.

  “Go on,” he says lightly. “Go enjoy your soda jerks and your sock hops.”

  I swing my ponytail as I turn away, smiling when I hear Joel laugh. But by the time I’ve clocked out, Steph is halfway across the parking lot already. I wait by the Dumpsters near the back door, watching with envy as she slides into her Volkswagen and literally drives off into the sunset.

  My phone vibrates.

  Movie night? Maddie asks.

  My thumb hovers over the screen. Girls are so hard sometimes. Is Steph actually mad about the stupid M&M’s thing? And maybe I’m supposed to be mad at Maddie for all that flirting with Cory? At least with Cory—with boys—it’s obvious: they want the shiny thing, the pretty thing. And usually the new shiny, pretty thing is even better. But with girls, I really don’t know sometimes.

  Then again, it’s Maddie. Of course I want to see her. And screw it. She can have pretty, shiny Cory. She needs him more than I do. And I need her more than I need him.

  Pick me up in an hour?

  She sends back a screen full of smiley faces and hearts. Which, let’s face it, is the kind of perfect thing that a boy would never do.

  I send back one fist bump and start walking home, smiling again.

  4

  “I CAN’T BELIEVE—it’s—” I look up at Maddie. “You didn’t have to get me anything!”

  “Seriously? I’m basically the worst person ever for not giving it to you as soon as I got back! I just wanted to unpack and wrap it and . . . Are you sure you like it?” She twists her fingers together, looking genuinely worried.

  I smooth the scarf against my legs. It’s a thinly woven silk in a dusky blue. When I move it in the light from Maddie’s bedroom lamps, it almost looks like a very dark aqua color.

  “I thought it would match your eyes,” she says. “And maybe help you forgive me for not only going away for our whole summer, but then coming back and hanging out with your boyfriend.”

  I roll my eyes at her, but my hand clenches a little around the cool fabric. We’re sitting on the floor with a package of Oreos and a bowl of microwave popcorn in front of us, getting ready to have a Pitch Perfect marathon. This is the right time to do the good-friend thing.

  But I just want it to kind of happen. Maybe I could stop texting him and let high school nature take its course. . . .

  Maddie’s still twisting her fingers together, looking nervous. Something loosens in my chest, settles back to where it’s supposed to be. This is us, like always. I’m her Boy Coach.

  I take a deep breath. “Listen, Mads. He’s not my boyfriend. We hooked up a bunch of times, but if you like him, you should go for it.”

  Her eyes light up and I can tell she’s biting the inside of her cheeks to keep from smiling.

  “Oh my God!” I cry. “This is pathetic, for real. If you don’t mind that I’ve already, like, done stuff with him . . .” I’m just teasing her, but for a second the light in her eyes definitely dims.

  “That is awkward, isn’t it?” she says softly. “This whole thing is so stupid. I’m sorry. I don’t know why . . . He doesn’t even play soccer! I’m being a total asshole.”

  Maddie doesn’t swear, ever. Or pre-Spain Maddie didn’t, anyway.

  “Maybe Europe changed you,” I say in a dramatic voice, trying to turn it into a joke.

  “Ugh, I know!” She covers her face with her hands and groans. “I really don’t want to be that girl who goes away and then can’t shut up about it!” Her hands drop and she grabs an Oreo and holds it up, showing me. “You know the truth? I ate these every day. Every day, Rosie! Because they reminded me of home. I had a stash in my room.”

  I smile. “That doesn’t sound so bad. Oreos are delicious.”

  “I know!” she cries, her mouth full of cookie. “But it just made me feel like such a kid, that I needed them. Everyone else there was so sophisticated and smart and just, I don’t know. Grown-up.”

  “You’re sophisticated,” I say. “And the smartest person I know.”

  She uncrosses one leg so she can poke my knee with her toes. “You’re too nice to me. I can’t be a total loser and ask for your blessing with Cory. That’s too much.”

  “Um, okay, well you definitely don’t have my blessing because no one is getting married, right?” We both laugh. “But I do think I should text him and say I’ve moved on. Because I have
.”

  She leans forward. “You have?”

  I open my mouth to say, Of course not! It’s been like twelve hours! then snap it shut again. What’s a little lie between friends? She’s never going to stop beating herself up over this if I don’t give her a solid out. Or at least as solid an out as I can commit to.

  Plus, if I’m being honest, there have totally been guys I lost interest in overnight. Most of them, actually.

  So I shrug and say, “I have a crush on someone. It’s totally distracting, and I was feeling like the thing with Cory was unfair. For a while now.”

  Maddie looks entranced, like I’ve just told her some wonderful fairy tale. Though I guess it does make for a pretty conveniently happy ending—which, hey, maybe I’ve figured this whole good-friend thing out after all.

  “Who is it?” she breathes. “Do I know him?”

  And then for some reason I couldn’t explain in a million years, Alex Goode’s face pops into my head. His not-handsome, not-smiling, not-flirting-with-me face, with those deep, serious eyes and that permanent scowl. That face that’s attached to the only mysterious high school boy I’ve ever met, the only real-life hero-celebrity. The only guy I can’t seem to get to look at my face.

  I wave my hand in the air between Maddie and me, brushing away thoughts of Alex and her question all at once.

  “It’s new,” I say. “It’s really too new to talk about—I don’t even know if it’s real yet, I don’t want to jinx it.”

  She frowns. “I thought you said it’d been going on for a while?”

  “No, no, I mean I wasn’t that into Cory for a while.” As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I sort of wonder if they’re true. I like who Cory is on paper—his looks, his popularity. I even like his big, grabby hands, how they always made me feel so wanted and sort of, like, tiny and feminine. But Cory himself . . . “He’s not really my type.”

  She’s still frowning, and I know this might be a lie too far. No one knows my type better than Maddie. And besides, Cory is everyone’s type. I may as well have just said that Channing Tatum has an okay body.

  “Seriously, look,” I say quickly, getting out my phone. “I’m going to tell him I found somebody else.” Not Alex, I add to myself. “See? And then you should write him and ask for a ride to school on Monday, or something.”