I don’t even know what a promenade is.
“Ohhh.” I pause for a second (or four) to run my eyes over Rachael’s outfit. She’s wearing cute shorts, a cream button-down blouse, aviator sunglasses, and a whole collection of jewelry. And I’m wearing an oversize T-shirt with cartoon alpacas on it. “I’m gonna go get ready. Do you want to come in and wait or…?”
“Just come over to my place when you’re ready,” she says and then adds for clarification, “It’s that one.” She points to the house across the street. Before heading back over, she politely asks me to hurry up.
It takes me thirty minutes to get ready. I skip breakfast, spend six minutes in the shower, pull on an outfit similar to hers, leave my hair down, and apply a light layer of makeup. Nothing too complicated and nothing too time-consuming.
“I’m going out now,” I tell Dad as I stick my head around the kitchen archway, following the sound of his voice.
He stops midconversation with Ella. “Be careful and don’t stay out late. Where are you going?”
I shrug. “Somewhere called a promenade or something like that, I think.”
“Oh! Tyler’s at the promenade too,” Ella comments. I’d forgotten about that moron until now.
Dad automatically turns to fix his eyes on her. “Isn’t he grounded?” he asks, his tone a little harsh. It seems he can’t stand the guy either, and I really can’t blame him. Tyler isn’t the warmest of people. “Stop cutting him so much slack. You need to stop backing down.”
“Have fun,” Ella says to me and smiles, completely ignoring my dad’s fuming expression. It’s like his words completely bypass her mind.
The awkwardness grows and I get out of there as fast as I can. I don’t want to keep Rachael waiting. Pissing off my new friend on the second day of knowing her isn’t something I particularly want to do. Thankfully, when I arrive on Rachael’s driveway at 10:37 a.m. she doesn’t seem annoyed, despite clearly having been waiting for me—no one rushes out of a house this early for no reason.
“It’s gonna be hot today,” Rachael says. She throws her head back to the sky as she exhales. Admittedly, yes, the weather is much hotter than it was yesterday. And it’s not even 11:00 a.m. yet. “Alright, let’s go.” There’s a red Bug parked by us on the drive, and she pulls out a set of keys and unlocks it.
I’m a little skeptical before getting in. “When did you pass the test?”
Rachael arches a brow and sighs as I unintentionally stall her journey to the promenade. “November,” she answers. I stare at her. “I know what you’re thinking: it hasn’t been twelve months yet. But around here no one follows all those bullshit restrictions, so come on and get in.”
Ignoring that it’s illegal for me to get in the car with her, since I’m not twenty, I settle into the passenger seat. I take extra care to ensure my seat belt is secure. “So you’re seventeen?” I guess. Rachael backs out onto the road.
“Yeah, I’m about to be a senior,” she says, but her attention is clearly focused on the street ahead as we pull away ridiculously fast. “Same age as Tyler. We go to school together. You?”
“Junior.” Only two years left of high school before I hopefully get to pack up and head for the University of Chicago. The wait is taking forever, and I’ve already started filling out my early action application, because I’m just that desperate to get in. My heart has been set on Chicago ever since freshman year, and although Mom would much rather I applied for Portland State University, I feel Chicago has the better psychology program, and psychology is all I’ve ever been interested in. I’m curious about people.
“Junior year is the worst,” is the advice Rachael gives me. “You’re gonna hate it!” She switches on the radio then, and it blasts to life in a way that’s almost deafening as we hurl along Deidre Avenue and turn left. Rachael sings along.
As we drive for five minutes, I can’t figure out if I feel nauseous because of Rachael’s terrible driving or because we’re heading to a social spot with hordes of people. Hordes that include Tyler.
“Meghan’s coming too, by the way,” says Rachael as she lowers the volume of the music. She pulls up by a pale brick house on the corner of the street and honks her horn. I play anxiously with my fingers.
A few moments later, an Asian American girl with glossy, dark hair half jogs over to the vehicle. She slides into the backseat behind Rachael, saying, “Hey, guys!” in a soft voice.
Rachael starts up the engine. “Hey, Meg. This is Eden, Tyler’s sister.”
“Stepsister,” I correct. I tilt my head over my shoulder to meet her eyes. “Nice to meet you.”
“You too,” Meghan says, offering me a wide smile as she pulls on her seat belt. “You’re here for the summer, right?”