“Your order?”
The black girl at the counter has thick curls pulled up in a high ponytail, but even with that, I still have about two inches on her height-wise. She’s wearing dark-framed glasses and has at least twenty dangly silver charm bracelets on her wrist. She stands patiently, smiling at me and waiting.
“Um, yeah,” I start, but she’s scrunching her nose and staring more closely at me. “Two root-beer floats, one with just half the ice cream.”
Her face jolts with recognition, and deep dimples appear. “Wait! Aren’t you this year’s valedictorian?”
My face goes red, wondering if she heard me botch my speech at the end. “Yeah, that’s me.”
She leans forward on the counter. “Oh my God, you are, like, literally my total hero.”
“I am?” I ask, letting out a surprised laugh.
“I pretty much want to be you when I grow up. Harvard, perfect SATs, scholarships from the National Merit Foundation and the Women in Medicine Foundation? It’s awesome.”
“Trust me, it’s not all it’s cracked up to be. My head’s kind of a mess these days,” I say, trying to make it sound lighthearted. However, I can tell by the way her expression stills that I wasn’t successful. I immediately wish I could take it all back.
But then, surprisingly enough, the girl’s face softens in sympathy. “I get it,” she says, almost more to herself than to me. “My head is too.”
Her honesty takes me off guard, and something vulnerable in me warms toward her.
The guy in line behind me interrupts the moment, saying loudly, “Any day now.”
I cringe. “Oh God. I’m sorry. I’m holding up the line. I wanted to order two Jackie dogs. . . .”
She waves her hand. “He’ll be fine. By the way, I’m Ruby Collie. I’ll be a junior next year. You probably don’t know me because I was just a sophomore, but I’ve seen you around. Maybe we could hang out sometime so I could ask you some questions about Harvard and your SAT strategy? I could really use your help.” The words come out with a rush and halt to a stop, and she smiles hopefully, twisting her hands together.
And even though the last thing I want to do is to talk about Harvard, I think about what she said, about her head being a mess too. “Sure,” I say. “I’m Parker, by the way.”
“I know,” she says, then cringes in embarrassment. “Not that I’m a stalker or anything.”
A guy’s voice calls from the grill. “Ruby, what’s the order already?”
“Hold on to your butt, jerkface,” she yells over her shoulder, and the sudden change in tone surprises me. She smiles awkwardly at me. “Sorry!” She grabs a pen and napkin, scribbles down her number and e-mail address, and slides it to me across the counter. “Call me, okay?”
“I will,” I promise.
“Ruby, come on!” The guy from the kitchen emerges, wiping his hands on his apron, and my heart trips.
It’s Finn Casper.
Even though I haven’t seen him since first grade, I’d recognize him anywhere.
He’s still pale with white-blond hair, but since I saw him last, his childhood scrawniness has become wiriness; he’s all ropy sinews, and there’s something that looks like a tattoo peeking out from under his T-shirt sleeve. His left eye is shadowed by a bruise—dark red and purple mottled spots.
His gaze moves over me as he takes in the crowd, clearly irritated. “Ruby! For chrissakes, there’s a huge line!”
“Finally,” the guy behind me mutters.
Without realizing it, my left hand has gone to my right wrist, circling it carefully. I drop my hand.
Ruby smiles at the line. “It’s a beautiful day. I’m sure these fine people don’t mind taking a few extra minutes to enjoy it. Am I right?”
More than a few people look surprised at being addressed but still nod in agreement.
Finn shoots an exasperated look at the flickering neon menu above him and rubs his hands over the back of his neck, under his short ponytail. His lips move, like he’s counting to himself.
He lets out a long exhale and meets Ruby’s eyes. “What’s the order, Roo?”
“I told you not to call me that. God, you are such a crap bird, Finn,” she says, giving him two middle fingers at the same time.
“Crap bird, that’s a new one,” Finn mutters. “Do you even know what the order is?”
Ruby looks back at me, putting on a sweet smile. “Two Jackie dogs and two floats, one with double the ice cream, right, Parker?”
I freeze when she says my name, but as Ruby looks triumphantly over her shoulder at Finn, I don’t see any hint of recognition on his face.
I don’t know if I’m relieved or disappointed.
“Half the ice cream. One with half. And extra sauerkraut on both dogs,” I say tentatively, but Ruby’s currently pretending to wind up her hand, just like a jack-in-the-box, as her middle finger slowly emerges in Finn’s direction. She gives a triumphant “Ha!”
Finn rolls his eyes.
“You heard Parker’s order. She is, in case you care, a total genius, the smartest person to ever live in this town, and she’ll probably get a Nobel Prize in Life someday. Why are you keeping her and all these other fine customers waiting?” She gestures at the growing line.
Finn stalks back to kitchen.
“Extra sauerkraut, please,” I call out.
“Parker, let’s hang out soon, ’kay?” Ruby says as I hand her a twenty.
After I get my change, I move to the side, letting the impatient man behind me step up to order.
While I wait for the order, not entirely convinced the Jackie dogs will have any sauerkraut, let alone extra, Ruby shoots me an occasional conspiratorial grin, holding up her hand and mouthing, Five more minutes!
I realize why I instinctively like her so much: Her energy reminds me of Em’s—immediately open and completely genuine.
Just then, Finn pokes his head out from the kitchen. “Order up,” he says.
My mind flashes back to that day on the playground in first grade, the principal pulling Finn back by his arms as he kicked and screamed, how his hate echoed in my chest, and my hand returns to my wrist.
I feel a little sick again.
Ruby snatches the bag from him and hands it proudly to me. “For you!”
“Thanks, and nice to meet you, Ruby.”
“You too, Parker!”
It isn’t until I hand Em her order that I realize something: Even with Ruby busy teasing Finn and giving him the bird, he still must have listened to every word I said, because the order is perfect, right down to the extra sauerkraut.
Ten
CHARLIE AND I SPENT our first three years of school—two in preschool and one in kindergarten—in the same classes. But in first grade we were assigned to different teachers as well as different lunch hours.
Despite our parents explaining what this meant, I still wasn’t prepared for the moment on the first day of school when Charlie was ushered through one door and I was ushered through another.
It was terrifying.
I slid into my desk and folded my hands tightly together. I blinked hard, hoping my eyes wouldn’t tear up, and if they did, hoping no one would call me a crybaby. But then our teacher, Ms. O’Shaughnessy, came in and she gave us all a warm smile, and I felt myself relax just a little bit—not enough to talk to anyone during recess, but enough to get through the day.
There, I thought. Done.
I couldn’t wait for the bus ride home, when I could catch up with Charlie again.