“You’re agreeing?” I ask, sounding like a kid on Christmas.
I need to learn how to control my excitement, but it’s hard when it comes with her. She’s starting to give me these little pieces of herself, and I want to cherish them all. Her head nods ever so slightly and I take it as a victory. I hold out my hand to her, ready to formally agree on this.
I’m used to shaking hands with people. It was pretty much my job for a whole year when my dad got sick of it. Still, I’m surprised my whole body lights up when Scarlett slips her hand into mine.
We never touch. Ever. When we do, it’s completely an accident and we pretend it didn’t happen. But right now, as I extended my hand, she put her hand in mine, no questions asked.
With her rough yet put-together exterior, I don’t know what I was expecting when her skin came into contact with mine. Not only is her hand fucking tiny in comparison to mine that engulfs hers, but her hands are also just so…soft. They’re all feminine and smooth, like a fancy silk sheet.
The way she shakes my hand is nothing like the way I expected it to feel. Her grip is firm yet gentle, like she’s also had practice with this. She almost pulls me in a little, trying to see how far she can push me, as if this is another one of our games. When she finally lets go, I feel like I can breathe again and I get back down to looking at my work.
For the next hour, we spend it researching possible business ideas that haven’t already been done. We’ve been added to a spreadsheet that has all the other students' ideas, so we know not to do the same as someone else. This project is a lot harder than Anderson made it out to be. I need to get a good grade on this project because I’m barely hanging on to an average grade of a ‘C’ after missing a few classes last year.
I’ve never really thought about what I would do if I had my own business. In my head, it’s always had something to do with fashion since I’ve always had an eye for the designs and new ways to make basic clothes unique. Thinking outside that box has been a fucking struggle.
“Some kind of music site?” Scarlett suggests.
“Like there aren’t already a million of those,” I relay, crossing it off the list that we’ve been passing back and forth. “A laptop the size of a phone?”
“So, an iPad?” Shit. Why am I actually so terrible at this? “How about…A food chain that only sells quiche, but they’re sponsored by a huge dairy farm company. We can do the whole climate and animal safety thing.”
I shake my head. “Too complicated.”
“Complicated is good, Branson. How else do you think we’re going to get a good grade?” Scarlett questions, sighing frustratedly.
“With an idea thatwecan actually get our head around would be a good start,” I say back. The project could be hypothetical, but I know if we think of a good one, we could turn it into a reality, easily bumping us up into the top grade boundaries.
She taps her pencil against her laptop rhythmically, gradually gaining a faster pace. It feels out of beat for a second or two before she matches the pace again.
God, she’s going to drive me insane.
“I’ve got something,” I say. The words leave my mouth before the idea is fully formed in my head. This is how most of my ideas start. They are out there before I can even register it and then they end up becoming a complete mess. She nods for me to continue, finally dropping her pen. “How about an app of some sort where you get to record, film, or type a message to someone, but it doesn’t get sent until you say it does? But you can’t edit it or change it once you’ve set who you want to set it to and the date. Once it’s out there, it’s out there forever.”
“That’s not a bad idea,” she murmurs. “So, it’s kind of like a confession page? No turning back sort of thing.”
“Exactly,” I say. “It doesn’t always have to be people confessing their deepest darkest secrets, but it can even be a fun thing where someone can tell their family that they love them in a less serious way.”
She nods, closing her laptop, resting her head in her hands. “I hate that idea a little less than the others. Keep talking.”
It’s crazy how she can switch from wanting to argue with me to actually listening to me. She manages to create this serious, businesswoman persona when she talks about the project. Even when she’s trying to be nice, she’s still in control, demanding.
So, when Scarlett tells me to keep talking, I do.
12
Scarlett
“I’m gonna be hungover,”Kennedy sings loudly, linking her arm into mine and Wren’s as we walk along the sidewalk in downtown Salt Lake City, feeling the end of September chill rush through me.
It’s not that cold out as it usually is, but I still regret wearing only a black mini dress and heels.
“I’m gonna be hungover,” Wren harmonises, tugging on my other arm. They both look up at me, waiting for me to finish the line. We’ve been singing this unironically for the last few months after the video the bandHAIM,posted on TikTok. They get me singing the last line every time, yet they still look up at me like little puppies, waiting for it.
I finally put them out of their misery.
“I’m gonna drink a bunch of different drinks and I’m gonna be hungover,” I sing back to them, and they cheer, starting the catchy song all over again.
I’m sure people are staring at us, but I’ve done this too many times to care. Nearly every night we go out, the girls insist on singing a song to get us from one place to the other.
