How to Meet Boys (15 page)

“What do you mean? What beach?” asked Ava.

The image of Jackson and Mikayla making out on the beach flashed through my mind. “Don’t tell Mikayla, but I saw them together—and it looked pretty serious—and that was before she told me anything about their connection. That means she knew him a lot better and a lot longer than she’s really letting on. And why would she do that when she knows how much he hurt me? They meet—without telling me—and start some kind of, like, relationship, before I am even clued in to the fact they know each other. I mean, why didn’t she say how she met him? Why didn’t she mention it
before
the bonfire—or when she finally told me at the bonfire she sort of knew him, why didn’t she go into detail and tell me she really, really liked him?”

“I don’t know, because I wasn’t there. Why don’t you ask her?” Ava said gently.

“I don’t know . . . because I can’t,” I said.

“Why not? It’s an honest question,” Ava said. “I bet she’d rather know how you’re really feeling than have you fake being happy about it. You guys can talk about it—”

“But what if that doesn’t work?” I said.

“Is
not
talking working?” Ava countered.

I sighed, frustrated. “I want to be happy for her. But it seems like she didn’t put much thought into all this. She should have known how difficult this could be for me.”

“She does know, I think. And come on, when you fall for someone—it doesn’t involve a whole lot of thinking. Sometimes you’re not a hundred percent rational.”

“True. The thing is—ugh. Couldn’t it be anyone
else
?” I heard a siren and glanced in the rearview mirror. A police car was coming up fast behind me. I pulled over to the shoulder to let it go past. Instead, it pulled over behind
me
, lights flashing.

“Oh, great. Now what?” I asked Ava.

“You
were
going kind of fast. Some turtle you’ve turned out to be.”

I laughed, despite the situation. I got out my license and registration for the officer, who was approaching the car. “You don’t understand. You get parking tickets all the time, but the thing is
I
don’t get tickets. Ever. As a rule.”

“Things are going to get better. Trust me. Mikayla would not want you to feel so bad about this. Anyway, we’re turtles. We have to stick together,” Ava said. “Otherwise we get killed by coyotes.”

“Thanks,” I told her.

“For what?”

“Talking about it with me.” I leaned over to give her a quick hug. “Even though I didn’t want to talk about it, at first. It helped.”

The officer rapped on the window. “Excuse me, girls, do you mind? License and registration, please.”

“Sorry, officer,” Ava spoke up. “I was just consoling her. It’s the first time she’s ever been pulled over. Ever. She’s the best driver I know.”

The officer did not look amused.

“Here you go, sir.” I handed over my license.

“You’re late,” Jackson said when I walked in the back door of the store.

“I know. I got a speeding ticket,” I said. “How dumb can I be?”

I wouldn’t mention that maybe the reason I was speeding was because I was talking about Mikayla dating him and how upsetting that was. It wasn’t his fault. Exactly. But had he not been a jerk to me three years ago, this whole thing wouldn’t be an issue at all.

Anyway, I was going to make every attempt to steer the conversation away from that, Mikayla, and anything not related to apples.

“You got a ticket?” Jackson’s eyebrows shot up.

“Yes, me. What’s so surprising about that?”

“You just don’t—I don’t know. Do you speed a lot?”

“No. Never,” I said.

“Well.” He coughed. “Not
never
,” he corrected me.

“Ha ha.” I glared at him. “Very funny.”

“Sorry,” he said. “That sucks. I hate getting tickets. I mean, I’ve only had parking tickets so far. One time I failed to yield, but the cop gave me a warning instead of a ticket.”

“Failure to yield. I think I saw that movie,” I said. “I was talking to Ava and I got carried away.”

“Who’s Ava? Oh, wait—is she your other roommate? I think maybe Mikayla mentioned her showing up,” Jackson said. “You know, even though I met Mikayla a couple weeks ago, I didn’t find out she was your roommate until recently. Why didn’t you tell me?” He looked genuinely concerned.

So much for keeping the conversation away from Mikayla. Fail. “I . . . didn’t know you knew her,” I said with a shrug. “It didn’t come up because she didn’t know what you looked like or your name and . . ”

“Kind of sounds like a Shakespeare plot,” Jackson said.

“Showoff,” I teased him. “What, have you been studying while it’s slow?” I poked at the fat book on the counter:
Ace the ACT.

“Yeah, I have to, I’m still bad at standardized tests. Anyway, I hope it’s not, like, too strange. Us hanging out.”

“Why would it be strange? It’s not strange.” Why was he acting so concerned about my feelings? Had Mikayla told him to be?

Ew. I hated the thought of the two of them discussing me. I had to change the subject—quickly. “I have a random question,” I said. “Are you doing any college tours this summer? I want to do a few and I’m wondering how to work it out with this schedule.”

He looked relieved to be changing the subject too. “I’m pretty sure I know where I want to go for college,” he said. “But I don’t think I’ll get in, so I have to apply to like ten other places to make sure I have a good backup.”

“So what’s your first choice, the U?” I asked.

“No.” He shook his head. “Definitely not the U.”

“Carleton? Hamline? Macalester?” I asked, naming several private colleges in the Twin Cities area. For some reason it was easier to talk with Jackson than it was to spend time with Mikayla. Maybe because I had no choice
but
to spend eight hours a day with him—or maybe because he wasn’t one of my closest friends and therefore held to a higher standard, as the saying goes.

“I was thinking more like UCLA, Stanford, Cal Tech,” he said.

“Cali
fornia
?” I said. “You’re going to move to California?”

“Well . . . maybe. Why? What’s wrong with that?”

“No, nothing!” I felt embarrassed for how strongly I’d reacted. He probably thought that the idea of leaving the Midwest made me tremble with fear. “I’m just surprised, that’s all.”

He nodded. “My parents were too. I don’t think they like the idea of me going so far away, but I’m going to apply anyway. Who knows, maybe I’ll get in.”

“California. Huh. I hadn’t really considered that. I mean, not that I’m going to consider it now because you said that, but . . . maybe I’ve been thinking of staying too close to home. I should look around more.”

“I’m kind of anxious to get away from home,” Jackson said. “You remember Franklin, right?”

“Of course.” I’d never really been friends with Jackson’s older brother—he was way too cool to ever talk to someone like me back then. Franklin was the kind of person who ruled the hallways at school; he was a great athlete, cocaptain of the football team, and things like that. When we were little, Jackson used to want to be just like him.

“Did I tell you he’s here this summer too?”

“No. He’s in Bridgeport? I haven’t seen him around. Where has he been hiding? Where’s he working?”

“He’s not,” Jackson said. “He’s here with my grandparents because he sort of got in with the wrong crowd at school. High school and then college,” Jackson said. “He started partying too much. First it was drinking, then he got into other stuff. It’s kind of been a nightmare.”

“I had no idea,” I said. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah. He’s struggling. Like, he’ll seem totally fine. Then you find out he’s not. I wouldn’t mind skipping the drama. So are you going to apply to the U?” Jackson asked.

“Not necessarily. I’ve got a top ten list—the college counselor at school said to make one over the summer. The problem is that right now I only have four schools on it.”

“We should compare lists. I can help you get to ten,” Jackson said.

“Seriously?” I asked. He’d really do that for me? As I was standing there feeling stunned, the door opened behind me.

“Let me guess. Northern Spy crisis?” Jackson said.

I turned to see Gus standing by the front door. “No! Actually.” His face turned a bit red. “I was just walking by. I have to go to Bartholomew’s Imports down the block and get some fresh spices. What are you guys up to?” he asked.

“Dusting.” I held up the bright-red feather duster we had to use—the one that made us both look a little bit too much like maids.

“I didn’t know apples
got
dusty,” said Gus, making a face.

“They might not, but the ten thousand other items in here do. It’s the Original Apple Store. We are technically required, by law, to stock every single apple souvenir item available,” I said.

“Okay, if that’s true, when are you going to start selling iPads?” Gus asked.

I laughed. “Wouldn’t that be nice? Especially if we got our employee discount . . ”

“We have an employee discount?” asked Jackson.

“Yeah, but look around. What would you want to spend it on?” Our inventory was geared to tourists, and middle-aged female tourists at that; those obsessed with apple pies and baking pies in general; apple fanatics; and people who loved apple magnets, calendars, and prints. That might be all one big category, come to think of it.

“Hey, can I ask you something? Where do you go to school?” Jackson suddenly asked Gus. “Are you in chef school or something?”

“Cooking school, you mean?” Gus asked. “Hardly. No, this chef gig is just a summer thing. If he yells at me much more, it might be a half-a-summer thing. In fact I’m waiting to hear about an opening at one of the kayak places.”

“So are you in college?” Jackson asked him.

Gus shook his head. “I wish. No. I just finished my junior year of high school.”

“He goes to school with Claire,” I explained. “Right here at Bridgeport High.”

“Yeah. It’s more glamorous than it sounds,” Gus said.

“But where do you want to go to college?” Jackson asked. “We’re having a debate about whether to go far from home, or not.”

“Ah! Well, living here, I don’t have a lot of choice. I mean, I’m going to have to move somewhere,” Gus said. “Unless I do the online option, but I’d rather be on a real campus, with other real people. Besides, I’ve been here my whole life.”

So why hadn’t Nana and Grandpa hired him?
I wondered. Nothing against Jackson, but things would be a lot
less
awkward right now without him here.

“So does that mean you’ve had enough, um, apples for one lifetime?” I asked.

“No!” Gus cried, slamming his fists against the counter. “There are never enough apples!” he said in a heavy Russian-type accent. Then he grabbed three apples and started juggling them. Naturally, Jackson had to compete, so soon both of them were tossing apples in the air.

My phone buzzed, so I slid it out of my back pocket to check messages.

JUST got a job
, Ava had texted.
I start tonight. How’s it going? Cool down yet?

I smiled as I began to write her back. The summer was definitely getting more interesting, but not in the way I’d imagined. Nothing was working out the way I’d thought it would—nothing at all. Some of it was awful. Some of it was a big question mark.

I wondered if Gus really needed spices or not. He certainly wasn’t in a hurry to leave. Was he only here to hang out with us? Or . . . with me? I looked up and he was now leaning his elbows on the counter, waiting for me to stop texting. “So,” he said. “When’s the next bonfire?”

“Beats me,” I said. “Why don’t we, um, exchange numbers. If you hear of something, let me know—and vice versa?”

We both held up our phones so that they touched. Gus’s made a cute beeping sound as it captured my number, and mine responded with a
bloop
.

“Phone love,” Gus commented, raising his eyebrows. “I think they really like each other.”

I looked at him and smiled. If only it was that easy to tell with
people
.

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

..................................................................

“Guess what? I got a job! I’m
staying in town!”

“You got a job? Where?” I asked Ava. “And how did you get past the gate?”

“Oh, I didn’t go through the gate. I mean, I tried, but some grumpy dude told me I needed a pass, so I found an alternate way,” Ava said. “So anyway, I’m working at the Blackbird Café, starting tonight.”

“Are you waiting tables?”

“Hosting and waiting tables, depending on what they need. I have to go back for training this afternoon and then work tonight,” Ava said. “You’ll come visit me, right?”

“Of course!”

“They said the tips are really good. And the manager is super friendly. So come on. I’ve got Lucy’s car. She doesn’t need it while she’s at work. I’m here to take you to a celebration lunch,” Ava said.

“I usually eat here—” I protested.

“But you’re dying for a change, right? You need to get away for a break,” Ava urged.

“Kind of,” I admitted.

“Come on, let’s grab some sandwiches and sit down on the dock, watch the ferry come in. It’ll be fun.”

I couldn’t argue with that. Plus, I was looking forward to some time alone with Ava, so we could talk. I checked in with Sarah, who gave me permission to take off for an hour, and Ava and I zipped toward the main part of town. We parked in the ferry lot and walked to a sandwich shop.

Suddenly a red minivan pulled up beside us. A woman with curly black hair leaned out and asked, “Excuse me, but I’m looking for the Original Apple Store. Do you happen to know where it is?”

“You’re going the wrong way,” I said. “It’s right back up that hill there.” I quickly gave her directions, then Ava and I continued on our walk.

“I was just there,” Ava announced as we went into the deli.

“You were?” I asked as I studied the menu, written in colorful chalk on a blackboard hanging behind the counter.

“Of course, I went in to tell Lucy about the job and ask if I could keep her car a bit longer. Yikes! You know what I just thought of? I need more white shirts and black skirts. For waitressing, I mean. I’ll have to figure out where to get those this afternoon. Anyway, I have to say—Jackson is totally cute. No, more like . . . handsome cute,” she said.