“I mean, to be fair, you are sort of breaking because I said the wrong thing to you.”
“—and I had to find parents for my baby and I did it all wrong and Max was fucking homecoming king!”
People were starting to look over their shoulders at her. “She’s fine,” Grace heard Rafe say. “Contact lenses. The worst, am I right?” Then he leaned so that he was blocking people’s view of her. “Look,” he said. “You know what nobody cares about the day after homecoming? Who was homecoming king. Like, anyone who introduces themselves as ‘homecoming king’ after the actual homecoming dance is a complete asshole, so don’t worry about that.” Then he paused. “Max was the dad, right?”
Grace nodded, reaching for another napkin.
“Okay, so that’s one problem solved. As for this baby—”
“You can say Peach—it’s okay.”
Rafe looked dubious. “As far as her, her life’s not going to be easy. As long as she’s living it correctly, there’s going to be hard times for her. And anybody who cares this much about the kind of parents she has probably picked a pretty good set for her.
“Now, as far as friends, you’ve got me, right? I mean, we’re eating lunch together. Pretty sure that’s what friends do. And the only reason I don’t text or call you is because I don’t have your phone number.” Rafe raised an eyebrow. “You do have a phone, right? Your parents aren’t forcing you to communicate via carrier pigeon, are they? Because that might be why no one’s calling you.”
Grace smiled, looking down at her half-eaten sandwich on the table. “Cell phones are fine,” she said. “We’re not pioneers.”
“Well, great then. Just give me your phone and I’ll text you and you’ll text me back. Wham bam, thank you, ma’am. Metaphorically, I mean. I’m not going to wham bam you.”
Grace looked at him. “Do you talk a lot when you get nervous?”
“I talk so fucking much when I’m nervous.” Rafe grinned at her. “What gave it away?”
“Call it a hunch. And it’s just . . . I don’t know if I want to date anyone right now, that’s all.”
Rafe pretended to draw back in horror. “Okay, honestly, Grace? Why do you keep insisting that I’m trying to date you? This is sexual harassment, that’s what this is. In my place of employment, even.”
Grace was giggling now. She couldn’t remember the last time she had actually giggled. “Platonic texting?” she said. “That’s all?”
Rafe held up one hand. “Scout’s honor,” he said. “Even though I was never a Boy Scout. But you can still trust me. You have to stop harassing me at work, though, or I’m going to file a complaint with HR and then you’re going to be up to your eyeballs in paperwork.”
Grace just held out her hand for his phone, then input her number. “Do they even have HR at Whisked Away?” she wondered.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Rafe said, taking his phone back. “Are you done crying? Did I fix you?”
“At ease, soldier,” Grace said, and Rafe ruffled her hair before sliding back into his own side of the booth.
She got home an hour later, the other half of her sandwich wrapped up in a paper bag. “Is that you?” her mom called from her office.
“No!” Grace yelled back. “It’s a serial killer!”
“Can you ask him to check to make sure I turned off the coffeemaker, please?”
“How do you know it’s a him?”
“Odds are!”
Grace checked the coffeemaker. “You’re good!”
She tried to sneak past her mom’s door, but her mom stopped her. “Wait,” she said, and Grace took half a step backward. “Have you been crying?”
“Oh, no, no,” Grace said as she headed for the stairs. “Contact lenses. The worst, am I right?”
MAYA
It wasn’t that Maya meant to break up with Claire.
It just sort of . . . happened.
Maya couldn’t stop being mad at her for not answering her texts the night that Maya’s dad moved out. She knew that it was stupid, of course, but still, it hung around her like a jacket she couldn’t shrug off.
It didn’t help that Claire didn’t seem to get why Maya was so upset.
“I told you,” Claire said the next day at lunch. Maya didn’t have her head in Claire’s lap this time; instead, she was sitting across from her, their lunches spread out between them like a wall, a barrier made up of bread crusts and orange peels. “I was camping, I didn’t have my phone, I—”
“Who doesn’t have their phone?” Maya asked, exasperated. “I’m fairly sure that mine is pretty much grafted to my hand! How do you not have your phone?”
“Okay, so let’s say I had it,” Claire said, sitting up a little. “And I’m camping with my family, and there’s basically zero reception, and you text me that your dad just moved out. What am I supposed to do?”
Maya thought that the sun was exploding behind her eyes.
“Oh, I don’t know,” she said, aware of how much she sounded like Lauren right then, high-pitched and obvious. “Maybe text me back? I’m just spitballing here, though.”
“But then what? I couldn’t talk to you, I couldn’t come over. I mean, Maya, your dad didn’t die, he just moved ten minutes away.”
Maya started to gather up her bag.
“No, wait, My, no.” Claire reached out for her, grabbing her by the wrist. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that.”
“You so meant that,” Maya said, but she stopped moving, her bag dangling from her hand.
“I just meant—” Claire sighed, took a deep breath. “Look, you know my dad’s not around. At least yours is, okay? You can still see him every day if you want. You could text him right now and he’d probably text you back in less than thirty seconds.”
This was all true. Maya was always slightly pleased and slightly embarrassed by how fast her dad responded to her texts. (Her life got considerably more difficult when he discovered the emoji keyboard.) Maya knew that she didn’t have a lot of room to complain, that she still had it way better than most kids. Look at Joaquin! He didn’t even have parents.
But that didn’t make her feel any better.
“It’s all just because this is new,” Claire continued, still holding on to Maya’s wrist, anchoring her in the grass. “And I’m sorry I wasn’t there that day, okay? If I could have been, I would have been there in a second. I swear. Okay? Okay?” she repeated when Maya didn’t respond. “I hate fighting with you. I’d rather make out with you. It’s so much more fun.”
Maya’s mouth perked up at the corners. “It is way more fun,” she said. “But I’m still mad.”
Claire started to pull her back down to the grass, and Maya fell to her knees, her bag thudding down heavily next to her. “You wanna make-up make out?” Claire said, smiling against Maya’s mouth. “I’ve heard it’s pretty hot.”
Maya smiled again, her teeth bumping against Claire’s mouth. “Because nothing’s more hot than making out behind the gym at school,” she said, winding her arms around Claire’s neck.
“Let’s find out,” Claire replied, and they tumbled into the grass.