I get up quickly to leave the room and wave to everyone. Before I go, my mom pulls me into the kitchen.
“Jasmine, thank you. This was smart, and sweet. I really appreciate it.” She smiles at me, and I feel like she can see me. Like she can feel me trying.
“Yeah, no biggie.”
“It is, though. We’ve had a rough go of it so far,” she says, pushing a loose curl behind my ear. “I’m happy you’re not letting that get in the way of being the sweetheart you are.”
“You still think I’m a sweetheart? Even after—”
“You’re my kid. If I’m a sweetheart, then so are you,” she laughs.
I decide to push it a little bit. “Do sweethearts ground their kids for being kids?”
“Well, this one did.”
I make a face and she pushes my arm playfully. Even if she can only acknowledge it through a joke, it’s nice to know she recognizes that I’m not a bad kid. She gets that, at the end of the day, I’m just a teenage girl trying to live my life. It feels like we are moving forward, little by little.
“Let’s get some driving practice in this weekend. You’ve earned it.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
As my mom heads back to her party, my eye catches on the calendar she keeps on the fridge. I can’t help but think of Amari’s release date, and if she ever made it.
I may be moving toward my future, but my past is never far behind.
13
Deanna repeats her order as the steam from the espresso machine hisses so loudly it drowns her voice out. “A chocolate croissant to go, please.” She turns to the table to confirm I don’t want one, too. I shake my head and she hands over a crisp five-dollar bill. The barista wraps up a croissant from the display and passes it to her.
I look at my phone again and I’m immediately annoyed at myself for how obsessive I’ve become about it. I promised my mom I wouldn’t miss a call or text. It’s a miracle she let me come meet Deanna here after school. I guess helping her with the book club really was a step in the right direction. But she made it clear that she’s prepared to cut all exceptions if I try my luck today. I swore that I would be focused on my project and thanked her for being flexible. Deanna and Ididget some work done on our profile revisions. We were heads down for the first hour, though for the last half hour or so, we’ve just been talking.
“You can’t have any of this one,” Deanna says as she sits down, scooting her chair close enough that her knee hits mine. “And I’m not even sorry.”
I’m flustered by her smile, and her forwardness. She’s been flirting like this all day.
“You’re not sorry about which part?” I ask, raising my eyebrows. “Being stingy or being a bully?”
“WOW, all that, huh?”
“I mean, if the shoe fits,” I reply. I lean back in my chair and cross my arms over my chest, but I can’t hide the goofy smile on my face.
“Whatever! So, what are you going to do when I leave? Besides miss me?” she asks, throwing the pastry in her bag.
I shrug. I keep thinking that one day I should ask herwhyshe’s flirting with me, but I haven’t gotten the guts yet. I like her and I don’t want to make her uncomfortable, especially since she still hasn’t told me she’s interested in me or anything. We’re friends, and honestly, if that is as good as it gets, I’ll take it.
“You know I can see you smiling, right?” she says, poking my cheek. “Is that because you’re happy I’m leaving or…?”
“Imightmiss you,” I say, fiddling with my notebook. “But I’m gonna get this together.” I gesture to the mess of notes and arrows that should turn into a cohesive “zine” for Ms. Taylor’s class. While being grounded sucks, I’m surprised to find that I’m enjoying the time it gives me to experiment. I’m even excited about locking myself away to think up something new for a ten-page assignment. The ideas haven’t stopped coming.
“Mmhmm,” she says, “sounds like a lot of fun.” Deanna puts her bag on the bench next to me and looks around the coffee shop. Behind us, a group of older women laughs in a corner booth.
“Everything okay?” I ask when she turns back to me, dropping her head a little.
“Yeah,” she says. She’s playing with the wrapper, tearing pieces off the edge of it. “I’m glad you could come hang today.”
“Me too,” I say.
“I’ve been wanting to ask you something.”
