We don’t sell any of this at the concession stand. “You brought all this from home?”
Nate kneels on the blanket, pulling plates made from recycled plastic out of his backpack. His sheepish smile forces me to sit rather than risk my knees actually buckling.
“Well,” he says, “I knew you were coming back today, and I … I wanted to do something special.”
That’s it, Azra, he likes you, accept it, I hear Samara saying in my head. Now work it, honey.
I stretch out my legs and reach for a cookie. “But why?” I ask Nate.
Samara groans at me.
“Because…” Nate runs his hand over his newly cropped hair. “Geesh, Azra, this is that vibe I was talking about. You are not easy to read.”
I like you, don’t you know that? What’s it going to take for you to know that?
The cookie gets caught in my throat. These words are not Samara’s. They are not mine. They are Nate’s.
I choke, unable to swallow. My coughing results in crumbs spewing from my mouth.
Instantly at my side, Nate’s ready to do the Heimlich. “Azra, are you okay?”
I hold up a finger and clutch my throat. Nate might not be able to read me, but I can read him. I can read his thoughts. I accept the water bottle he offers me and drink slowly.
How is this happening? Panic overwhelms me. The Afrit. They’ll think I’m doing this on purpose. But I’m not, I swear I’m not. I’m not using my powers. How can I? I’m not granting him a wish. How can I be reading his mind?
All this for nothing. Makes sense. She’s so super smart. And funny. Of course, she doesn’t like me. I was wrong.
“No!” I cry in response to Nate’s thoughts before I can stop myself. I clamp my hand over my mouth. How could he not be sure if I liked him? How could he question such a thing? Does he not know how sweet he is? Does his house have no mirrors?
I cover by wiping crumbs off my mouth with the back of my hand. “I mean, no, please, don’t do that choking maneuver on me or anything. I’m okay. Just took too big of a bite.” I pick up the cookie, nibble the edge, and force myself to swallow. “It’s good, really good. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” Nate moves hesitantly in front of me. “But take another sip of water, okay?”
Nate lays his hand on my leg. He pats my kneecap and then rubs my lower thigh, gently, reassuringly, like a caring doctor. But I’m not a patient. And his hand is on my thigh. We look at each other, and sparks may as well fly.
I feel it. And he feels it. I know because I can still read his mind. “The ability to read human minds outside the wish-granting ritual is rare,” my mother had said. How rare is it to be able to read minds when one’s powers are blocked? Is my mind-reading not actually tied to my Jinn blood? Am I like a psychic now too or something? The surprises keep on coming. Why do I think this is going to prove to be a problem?
Hot, she is so hot.
When Nate’s thoughts travel further than his hand, I close my eyes, not wanting to follow. At least not right now. My face burns so strongly, I expect it to actually shoot out flames. As inexplicably as I entered his mind, I’m out again.
Nate’s making me an assorted buffet plate. My pulse races and my hands shake from both the astounding realizations I’ve just had: Nate likes me. I can read minds. The two battle for supremacy.
Henry’s at the water’s edge. Oh man, wait until he hears about me actually having ESP. My bronze bangle clanks against the green plate Nate’s handing me.
On second thought, maybe I shouldn’t tell Henry. With me on Jinn probation, it’ll only make him worry. Still, it would feel strange not to say anything. He’s experienced everything else with me. It’s almost like it’s not real until he knows.
Then again, my desire to share the second bulletin about Nate is less intense.
Chelsea sprints down the beach, stops behind Henry, and places her hands over his eyes. Making a show of it, Henry fumbles behind him, trying to catch Chelsea’s petite body, which wiggles and keeps itself just out of reach. She inches forward, playfully testing him, and Henry nabs her. His long arm sheathes her small waist. His hand slides to her bikini-clad bottom. And cups it.
Henry! That’s not my Henry!
Giggling, Chelsea leans into his palm. Henry spins around, picks her up, and dashes into the ocean. He toys with her, pretending to drop her. She shrieks and slaps his chest.
Nate sees me staring at them. “They’ve been spending a lot of time together this week.”
“Uh-huh,” I say.
“You guys are neighbors, right?”
“Friends.”
“Friends,” Nate repeats in a tone that suggests a dozen question marks would follow its written form.
I nod, still watching the couple who appear to be reenacting a cheesy romantic comedy.
“She’s not so bad,” Nate says. “Chelsea. I know she can come off as a b—”
“Bitch.”
“Bit strong, is what I was going to say. But, yeah, I guess ‘bitch’ isn’t that far off. But not to everyone. If she likes you, that is.”
The way she hangs on Henry’s arm as they walk up the beach seems to indicate Henry is getting a big thumbs-up.
Nate raises his hand and waves to them.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“We have so much food. And Henry’s your friend.”
I notice he doesn’t say, “And Chelsea’s mine.”
Henry’s smile fades as he gets closer. It’s almost like he doesn’t want to see me.
“Hello,” “Hi,” “Hey,” and “What’s up?” make the rounds before Nate invites Henry and Chelsea to share our lunch. The only good part of them saying yes is that Chelsea adds she can’t stay long. Her break’s almost over.
The blanket has shrunk with the four of us crowded onto it, likely closer than most of us want to be to one another.
I can’t help myself. “I texted you earlier,” I say to Henry.
“I know,” Henry replies, “I was looking for you.”