You have to make the site for her, no question. Make it really gorgeous, make her look like the greatest dancer in the world so she gets a scholarship, and then there’s no way of keeping that secret.
Unbelievable.
Ash
When I read Ashlyn’s response, without pretentious adjectives and lawyer-ese, my heart started fluttering. She hadn’t mentioned our fight, my supposed betrayal, her forced departure from Henderson High School society, or any of the still-lingering tensions that spanned the miles that lay between us. A tiny balloon of hope began to inflate inside of me. I was afraid of that hope, of being disappointed, so I didn’t encourage it. Much. I did flinch at her use of my old favorite term, stepmonster. Maybe Blanche’s words of wisdom were sinking in. A little.
Ash,
I know, right?!? I’m definitely making the site, and I sure as heck am charging her. No family discount for the swan princess. Guess I’ll need another nickname for her now, though.
In other news, I’m beginning to look like the Hunchback of Notre Dame from all the bending over as I cut down scary plants. Remind me not to do this next year.
Love,
Tate
I hit send before I realized what I’d written. A bolt of paranoia struck me the minute the email left the screen, and I pulled it up again from my “sent mail” box. I’d signed off with “love.”
I was scared that one word, a word that carried so much weight, would take us back two steps when we’d finally gone forward one. It also occurred to me, as I reread my impulsive words, that asking her to remind me not to do this again could be interpreted many ways, and what if she took it wrong? My heart sped up anxiously. Would she think I meant I didn’t want to pull plants again, or deal with a grand larceny charge again? Not that I wanted to do either ever again, but I didn’t want her to read too much into it. I blinked at the screen before shutting the lid and going to the closet to change. Maybe what I was actually saying to her was that I didn’t want to fight with her again. In truth, fighting was the thing I wanted least of all.
As much as I had complained about the way my clothes were always soaked through after a shift, and how I’d probably be wearing a back brace for the first semester of junior year, I knew I would miss my time on the Invasive Plant Removal Team. The friendships I’d forged with Abby and Hunter made every ache, pain, and trail of sweat just a little more bearable. It was nice to suffer—in regard to the plants and the oppressive house rules—with others, as Blanche had rightly alluded to after my first day.
The afternoon we finished with the ivy, I looked up at the bare trees, hands on my hips, and smiled.
“We did good, kids,” Abby said, also admiring our work.
I nodded. “Right? I feel like maybe we did something worthwhile this summer. Even though it sucked most of the time.”
Hunter took off his gloves and wiped the sweat off his brow. “Sucked doesn’t even cover it. But you’re right. I’m glad we did this together.” Abby grinned at him. “And it also doesn’t hurt that my biceps look amazing. I may have to wear a sleeveless shirt for Sol Jam to show off these guns.” He flexed dramatically for us, and Abby and I dutifully pretended to be groupies, drooling over the big-deal musician.
“You must work out for hours,” Abby fawned, and petted Hunter’s arm. I batted my eyelashes at him.
“It’s important to look good for my fans. Give them what they want,” he said in a fake pompous voice.
I rolled my eyes and stood up straighter. Alicia was approaching to inspect our section, making sure we hadn’t missed anything.
“Speaking of Sol Jam, how’s interest looking?” I asked. According to Abby, Kyle had approached the property owner about selling tickets this year. Owen didn’t want to charge, said “music should be free,” but he agreed that tickets were a good way to get an estimate of how many people might be coming. I’d created a ticket that matched the poster—the one Paolo liked, now modified to include all the participating bands—which currently hung in the window of most of Northern Virginia’s coffee shops and on community event bulletin boards. I was ridiculously proud of that.
“Kyle says it looks like we’ve already passed last year’s attendance, so it’s definitely looking good. He’s betting over two hundred people will show up.”
I raised both eyebrows. “That many?”
Hunter puffed his chest up. “I told you we were popular.” He deflated and laughed at himself.
“As you should be,” Abby declared. “We should probably make a plan for that day, Tatum.”
A plan. I’d been so wrapped up in the drama at home that I’d just sort of assumed I’d be staying in while everyone else was at Sol Jam. A good-faith effort on my part to follow the rules. And I’d forgotten to mention that part to Abby, who still thought I was going to be her right hand for article coverage. If I was going to make a valiant attempt at putting myself in Belén’s shoes, I needed to actually stay put.
“Well,” I started, but Alicia cut me off. She’d finished checking our area, and seemed pleased, judging by the easy smile on her face.
“Amazing work, guys. I don’t see any ivy left. The park service is really going to be happy to see this.”
“Thanks, Alicia.” She high-fived me and offered fist bumps to Abby and Hunter.
“Who needs their hours verified? You, right, Tatum?”
I looked down at the ground and drew a circle in the dirt with my toe. “Yep.”
“Oh, me too, Alicia. My probation officer will be so thrilled to see that signature.” Alicia looked at Abby quizzically, and then shrugged it off as Abby just smiled.
“Sure, just bring the paperwork to the office before you leave for the day.”
“You got it.” Abby gave her a cheesy thumbs-up as Alicia walked toward another group.
“Why did you say that?” I whispered.
“I didn’t want her to think you were the only one who got dealt a bad hand.” Abby put an arm around my sticky shoulders. “That’s what friends do, T.”
All the blood in my head rushed to my ears, and tears stung the corners of my eyes. “Thanks.”
“You’re good people, Tatum,” she said, and tightened her grip on me.
I looked down at the ground again, overcome, and saw Hunter take Abby’s other hand and squeeze as he said, “You both are.”
Hi Tate,