“He seemed pretty nice.”
“Yeah, exactly,” Ari said. “They start nice. But they’ll get you to like them and then ditch you. I don’t want you getting your hopes up.”
“I don’t have any hopes,” I said, but I could feel an inner part of me shrinking and twisting under Ari’s unasked-for advice. Had I put hopes into Cal? Did he think I was pining over him? Did he brag to his brothers about hooking up with me? If I didn’t want to date him, did that make me a slut?
Is that what Ari was trying to say, pretending to be concerned?
“The Waters boys make terrible boyfriends,” she was saying. “I’ve seen it enough times to know.”
“I never said I wanted him to be my boyfriend.”
“Good.”
We went back to not speaking. And slowly, an inner tide rising, I filled up with anger. There was no good reason why I shouldn’t date Cal. What was wrong with me that Ari thought I needed to be warned away? I didn’t believe that because he was a Waters and I was me, there was no chance.
In fact, I knew there was a chance. In the pocket of my winter coat, there was a partially smushed chocolate chip cookie that could prove to Ari and Diana that I wasn’t just some girl who Cal took advantage of. They were wrong about me; I only had to show them.
The next day, I wrapped the cookie in blue cellophane and a green ribbon and walked to Waters Hardware. Cal was manning the cash register, and I waited as a couple bought bug spray and aloe. He smiled at them even as they fumbled through endless fanny-pack pockets to find correct change. He smiled at me when he saw me. I was used to Ari and Diana and Mina, who almost never smiled nowadays. Cal’s cheerfulness seemed otherworldly.
“Hey,” he said. “Kay, right? What’s up?”
“Nothing much,” I said. “I was just around and thought I’d stop and say hi.”
“Oh. Hi.”
“I, uh—” I held the cookie out and stared at it, willing it to explain itself. “This is a cookie. Chocolate chip.”
His smile receded. “Did you . . . make me a cookie?”
“What? No!” I pretended to laugh and tossed my hair. “It’s a good luck spell. Lasts a day. My grandma sent it to me. But my hekamist said I’m not supposed to take more spells because of side effects, so it was going to go to waste, and so when I passed by, I don’t know—I thought you might appreciate it. I, uh—I had a good time at the bonfire.”
“Oh. Thanks,” he said, and took the cookie out of my hand. I think he did it more to shut me up than because he really wanted it.
A man got into line behind me with a bunch of fishing gear. I saw Cal’s smile re-affix itself as he glanced over my shoulder.
“So I guess I’ll see you around,” he said.
“Yeah. For sure. I’m around.”
“Thanks again for the spell.”
“No problem.” I didn’t move from my place in line. He hadn’t eaten it yet; I couldn’t risk him giving it to one of his brothers or a customer or anyone else. “You should eat it.”
“What—now? Shouldn’t I save for a special—”
“No!” I said. “That’s cheating, to take it when you know you need it. It’s more fun if you take it on a random day. Like today.”
“Okay.” He glanced at the fisherman behind me, who sighed and shifted on his feet. Cal’s smile didn’t waver; he pulled the ribbon and stuffed the cookie in his mouth. “Mmm. Thanks.”
I snatched the cellophane and crumbs out of his hand before they were eaten by rats and I became the Pied Piper of Cape Cod. “Great! I’ll throw this away for you. Bye!”
Before I reached the door, he’d already started a conversation about fishing spots with the next customer. And for two and a half days after that, I heard nothing.
Then Ari and Diana and I went to see Wicked in Boston. I didn’t even think about the one-hundred-plus miles we were traveling; I was too relieved that they’d agreed to come after all.
During intermission, while Ari and Diana sat silently on either side of me, I checked my phone. There was a text from Cal Waters.
Thinking of you
Shit. I’d left him behind. Too far away.
Heyyyy! What are you up to? I typed, hoping that sounded more casual than it felt.
Ditched work and took the ferry to Boston. We should hang out when I get back.
When I get back. He didn’t know I was in Boston. The spell had drawn him here unconsciously.
For a second I allowed myself to forget about the hook, and felt what it was like to have a boy text you that he wanted to hang out. I warmed to it. And the words blossomed and grew.
It was only a text, I knew that. But it reminded me of the early days of becoming friends with Diana and Ari, when we were natural and fun together, rather than silent and weird and awkward. Back then, every time we hung out, it was a new adventure.
Full of possibility.