I actually gasped. This had to be an alternate universe. Jamie would never hang out with David, because a) David was a jackass and b) he was a jackass who’d just blabbed to everyone that Jamie was adopted.
Thinking about last night, I felt a fresh plunge in my stomach: My best friends lied to me; they aren’t my best friends anymore. To ground myself, I focused on Jamie. He was wearing a short-sleeved red T-shirt, and there was a black coat thrown over the back of his chair. The rain had dampened his hair, which was both endearing and frustrating. Did he consistently keep his hair half-dry? Was that how he made people like him?
“Sofa!” David waved frantically with both hands even though I was standing next to him. “I’m not drinking, see? This is a nonalcoholic smoothie. James has one, too!”
“There’s fruit in it,” Jamie said. “It’s nutritious.” He stirred his drink with a straw and smiled up at me. I tried to smile back but ended up glowering instead. I mean, Jesus Christ. It was like they were on a tropical cruise together.
“Sit down,” David said.
“Can’t.” I pointed at the two-person table. “No chairs.”
David grabbed one from the next table and dragged it over, patting the green plastic seat. “All fixed!” There was a cigarette behind one of his ears, and he didn’t look miserable. He didn’t look like he’d recently had his heart torn from his throat and smashed to pieces.
I shoved my umbrella under the table and sat with my bag in my lap. A few tables down, an American couple kept saying “Oh my God!” and taking pictures of their elaborate sundaes with upside-down waffle cones sitting on top.
I felt clunky and awkward. Makeup sat in sticky clumps on my face, and my hair was frizzy from the rain. Jamie kept tapping his fingers against the dark wood of the table.
“So,” David said. “What should the three of us do this evening? Karaoke?”
“I thought you were upset,” I said.
David snorted and leaned back on his chair, tipping it onto two legs. “Because of Caroline?”
“What about Mika?” I asked.
“Pah.” He waved his hand like he was swatting away a bug. “She’s just pissed off. Or not talking to me, or something.”
“She seemed pretty angry last night,” I said.
David shrugged, but his grin was good-natured enough. The restaurant was dim, and rain fogged up the windows, making the lights and all the buildings blurred and hazy.
“Do you want something to eat?” Jamie pushed his menu across the table.
“Thanks,” I said. We briefly made eye contact, and my heart jumped. This whole situation was seriously unnerving. To my right was the boy I’d obsessed over for the last four years, the boy I’d tied up in my hope and longing until he’d hacked through all of it. To my left was—Jamie. I could feel his tentative gaze on my cheek.
David dropped his chair back to the ground. “Anyway,” he said, leaning forward to make eye contact with me, “you’re all dressed up, Sofa. And look. Look at your lipstick.”
The couple near us held up their phones to take more pictures of the restaurant. I fiddled with the laminated corner of the menu. “Can’t. It’s on my face.”
He clapped his hands and laughed. He was trying to banter, but I couldn’t match his enthusiasm for it. I examined a picture of an avocado-topped cheeseburger instead.
“You see?” David said. “This. This is why you can’t leave.”
“Why?” I asked.
UGH! STOP ENGAGING WITH HIM, SOPHIA! Why was four years of secret pining so hard to snap out of?
“Because,” he said, “you’re smart as hell. Because you get me.”
“Yeah, well. You’ll survive.”
“Life is about more than surviving.”
“Actually,” I said, “I’m pretty sure that goes against the entire evolutionary principle of existence.”
“Trust me on this, little Sofa,” he said. “Life is about other people. It’s about finding people you love and holding on for good.”
“Yeah, because you’re really skilled at that.” I flicked my eyebrow up, challenging him to respond. A small smile played across his lips, and a thrill raced through me. And even though I knew it was stupid and pointless and wrong, I still loved the way he craved my attention. He reached out his hand and touched his thumb to the corner of my mouth. All the heat rushed from my cheek to my lips. “So, so weird. Sofa in lipstick—”
Crack!
David leaped out of his chair. I sat back and blinked hard. Jamie’s glass was lying on its side. It had fallen and knocked into David’s glass, which had knocked into David’s lap. The American couple turned to gape at us.
“Fuck!” David yelled. His black pants and green polo were soaked through with smoothie.
Jamie started pulling napkins from the napkin dispenser. “Sorry. I’m an idiot.”
David glared. Pink liquid pooled on the table, pieces of wilted fruit floating in it.
I pushed back my chair. “I’ll get more napkins.”
“I’ll come with you,” Jamie said.
“Not both of you,” David snapped. “Sofa, you stay here.”
“Jesus.” Jamie gripped the back of his chair with both hands.
“What?” David asked.
Jamie leaned back, and the muscles in his throat tensed. He looked like he was bracing himself for something. “Just stop. Stop saying that.”
“What?” David asked.
“‘Sofa.’ Stop calling her that. It’s offensive. It’s like saying, ‘Hey, you, piece of furniture, carry all my body weight for me.’”
David curled his lip. “Lay off, James. No one asked for your input.”
“Jamie, please. Stop,” I whispered. That American couple seemed really interested in what we were doing now. Their ice cream was starting to melt.
A waitress came by and asked if everything was okay. Jamie said something apologetic to her in Japanese, and she nodded reassuringly at him. (Stupid, wet-haired Jamie.) She took a dish towel from the pocket of her apron and started wiping at the mess. Jamie asked for a handful of new napkins and helped. David stormed off to the bathroom.
I shoved my hand in front of Jamie. “Give me some.”