My dad doesn’t look delicate right now, not like the other night, not like most of the last few years. Why have I been the one wearing kid gloves all this time?
“I’m not saying anything. Forget it, Dad. What did you want to talk about?” My fingers are pulled into actual fists. I can trust myself not to throw an actual punch, right?
“I just wanted to see how you’re doing. How school is. Just checking in. I know I’ve been busy. And the other night, I didn’t even ask about your day. I felt bad about that.”
“Busy? I can count the number of conversations we’ve had since we’ve moved.” The rage stays clean and pure and red, like last night’s drinks. Does he have any idea what my life has been like? Funny that he checks in only when I’ve finally started to find my footing.
Too little, too late.
“I just. Wow. I didn’t know—”
“Know what, Dad? That moving here has been hard for me? Are you serious right now?”
“Let’s—”
“Let’s what? Talk about this later? Sure, great idea.” I push away the plate, resist the urge to throw it in my father’s face, and storm out of the room.
“Trouble in paradise?” Theo asks, because of course he is coming down the stairs as I’m marching up, two at a time. I’m shaking with anger, vibrating with the pulse of it. My mouth tastes bitter, full of bile. I imagine switching targets, connecting my fist to Theo’s jaw. Ruining his pretty, pretty face.
“Screw you,” I say.
He shrugs, nonplussed.
“Rage is totally your color.”
—
Later, at Book Out Below!, I sip herbal tea and play Candy Crush on my phone. Only two purchases so far, and one jerk who took a picture of a book to buy online. By late afternoon, just as evening seeps in and I start to feel bored and lonely, the bell dings: new customer. My head snaps up, full-on reflexive now, and I gasp in surprise.
Caleb.
Kilimanjaro gray-T-shirt boy. Who I saw texting at the party. No one from school, other than Liam, has ever walked into this store while I’ve been working, not even Dri, though she promises to visit. I told SN just this morning about this place. So it doesn’t take great powers of deduction to conclude that this must be him before me, finally, in the flesh. My heart squeezes—so this is the person I’ve been spilling my guts to for the last two months—and I wait for the disappointment to hit. It doesn’t.
Instead, I feel disoriented, the same thing that happens after I ask someone for directions and then forget to listen, realize that I’m still just as lost as before. It’s hard to imagine SN’s words coming out of this guy’s mouth. He’s attractive, yes—hot, even—but in a normal, run-of-the-mill way. Generic. A variant of the presumptive prom king type you find in any high school in America. No special sauce. What do I say? Do I introduce myself? Play dumb? Act like I assume this is all just a strange coincidence?
He is wearing the same gray T-shirt as last night and as the first day of school, when I literally applauded him for climbing a mountain. He must have felt bad for me then, must have seen that I needed some help since I couldn’t even manage to find the right homeroom. Hopefully, somehow, he didn’t notice the grass stuck to my ass.
Mind officially blown. Sploof.
Kilimanjaro gray T-shirt guy.
“Hey, is Liam here?” he asks, and smiles down at me, like he’s in on the joke, though this doesn’t feel particularly funny. Just uncomfortable. Is this why he hasn’t wanted to meet until now? Knew it would feel this awkward and random?
“Um, no, sorry. He doesn’t work today.” Jessie, this is SN. Up your game.
“Oh, I think he has my phone,” he says. “I lost it last night at the party. You go to Wood Valley too, right?”
“Yeah, I’m Jessie,” I say, and reach out, too formally, I think a moment too late, to shake his hand. His fingers are long and dry, his shake a bit limp. A mismatch to his voice.
“Caleb,” he says. “Nice to meet you.”
“You too.” I smile back, try to say with my eyes what I don’t have the nerve to say with my mouth: I know it’s you. This is a weird game we’re playing, but I guess so is IM’ing anonymously.
“So how do you like it so far? School, I mean.”
“I guess you could say I’m still adjusting.”
“Yeah, cool, cool.” Caleb turns to leave—is he as nervous as I am?—and I suddenly feel desperate to make him stay, to reestablish our connection. I feel like I’ve already screwed things up. All it took was thirty seconds face to face.
Should I ask him about Tanzania? That’s where Kilimanjaro is, right?
“Um, would you want to have coffee sometime?” Did I really just say that? Out loud? Take a deep breath. Slow your roll. “I mean, I just, I’m trying to meet new people, that’s all.”
He seems surprised, tilts his head to the side as if to get a better look. He’s checking me out, and he’s not subtle about it.
This whole thing is vaguely insulting.