“You can get into the calendar from your own computer.” She sounds annoyed.
“But that would require patience. Plus I wouldn’t get my daily dose of up close and personal Jordyn-hate.”
She glares at me and I smile bigger. “Ah, yeah.” I make a big show of taking in a deep breath. She doesn’t strike me as a perfume kind of girl, but there’s a hint of something sweet and fresh coming off her. Jasmine maybe? “That’s the stuff.”
She reaches back and smacks my arm pretty hard. When I laugh, she slaps me again, only this time I grab her wrist and hold it until she turns her full glare on me. After I’ve fully basked in her hatred, I allow her arm to drop. When I turn back toward my area, I’m thumped across the back of the head. This time she’s the one laughing.
Crap. Are we flirting? I have to stop with this. I need her to hate me. Shit. But then why am I trying so hard to fix the jacket thing?
I sneak a peek at the eBay auction. It’s up to $452. Fuck me. Also, I see that Jordyn’s stopped bidding. Her last bid was $402, and now the two assholes who kept outbidding us by one freaking dollar are outbidding each other by a few at a time.
I know what I have to do. I have no choice. I’ll have to pay the “buy it now” price. Six hundred goddamn dollars. I have the wad of cash in my front pocket. I stopped home to grab it out of my emergency funds just in case, and I’ll have to go to the bank at lunch to put it on my debit card so I can get the jacket before the auction ends at midnight—if one of the two assholes doesn’t “buy it now” first.
Henry enters around lunchtime. We have some senior photos to do this afternoon at 3:00, so I’m not sure why he’s here now.
I follow him back to the studio. “Do you need me now, Henry? Because I need to run to the bank and I was hoping to do that at lunch.”
“No problem. Actually, that’s more than fine. Lunch is on me.” Henry digs out his wallet. “I’ll have Jordyn call in the order and you can pick it up. You like Chinese?”
I nod. I should probably make a show of telling him he really doesn’t have to pay for my meal, but I’m so hungry and I can’t stomach the thought of another lunch of snacks, so I just nod.
“Good. You know that place on the corner of Santa Fe?”
Again, I nod.
“Great.” He places three twenties in my hand. “Hurry back. My mouth’s watering just thinking about it. Jordyn!” I hurry past her as she pushes through the curtain.
Good thing my bank is pretty close. I head in and deposit $650 into the account. My balance is now a whopping $659. But not for long. After the jacket I’ll have enough for a quarter-tank of gas and some more damn ramen. That’s about it.
Then I stop and pick up our lunch. The total is over fifty bucks plus tax. I give the lady the whole sixty dollars and head back.
There’s so much food. I feel like Henry ordered one of everything from the menu.
When I return, he and Jordyn have set up chairs by Jordyn’s end of the counter. She arranges all the containers in a row and hands me a plate, then scoops out piles of fried rice and chow mein. I do the same.
Then we all dig in. And it’s so good! I’d forgotten. It’s been forever since I’ve been able to afford good Chinese. Since before . . .
Once we’re all too full to continue, Jordyn packs up the leftovers. “You want this for later?” she asks Henry.
“Nah. Your mom’s making a roast tonight and we’re gone tomorrow. You want it, Tyler?” he asks.
“I’ll take it if you don’t want it,” I say, trying to be as casual as I can, but I’m pretty sure I’ve failed.
After stashing my delicious dinner in the fridge, I return to a computer screen full of me.
“That’s the one.” Henry taps a greasy finger against the screen.
Jordyn smacks his hand. “No touching. Use your words.”
This gets a gruff chuckle from Henry. “Number forty-seven, then,” he says. “Well, Tyler Blackwell? What d’ya think?”
The screen is alight with my face. I’m wearing the blue shirt and a smile I don’t even recognize. I wasn’t aware I still owned such a smile.
“It’s good, but it’s not him,” Jordyn says. Then, as if the realization that she’s just admitted to knowing me hits her, her cheeks turn the slightest shade of pink.
“Why? Because I’m smiling?” I try to make it into a joke.
“Pretty much,” she says. “I like this one.” She clicks through and stops on a shot where I’m in the suit. I’m not smiling. My focus is off screen, like I’m looking at something. I look . . . I don’t know, sad, I guess.
Henry grunts and gets closer to the monitor. “Hmm. It’s a good shot, but not for a yearbook. It’s sorta depressing, don’t you think?”