Page 66 of Make Me Laugh

Enzo, to my full surprise, wanders up front to hear Frankie yap about some of the historical things I would normally care about… But don’t right now. Not when Joey’s this close to me.

She breaks our silence. “Enzo said you were talking to your mom?” Joey asks, crossing her arms over her chest. “Are you close with your parents?”

Kell speeds up to ask Frankie a question about something she said. “Wait, what do you mean it was children who started the witch trials?”

I’m sure we’ll learn all about this on our tour, so my focus stays right where it needs to be. On Joey, who asked you a question about your life, you idiot… Stop staring.

“Yeah, super close, even down the line through my huge extended family. I talk to my mom almost every day and my dad a few times a week.” We always had someone at our house who didn’t live there, whether they were stopping by or staying for dinner. Our home was full of love and laughter… I like to remember it that way, at least. “What about you?”

Joey told me she had mommy and daddy issues, but that could mean anything.

It’s a warm night for the end of September, and everyone we pass seems to be in a good mood because of it. A gentle breeze off the water mixes with Joey’s sweet perfume, and I take an unintentional step closer to her on the sidewalk.

“My mom was an only child, and she left when I was eight. I don’t know who my dad is. There were rumors it might have been someone from my hometown, but I never cared to confirm or deny.” Joey shrugs her shoulders nonchalantly, but my heart hurts for her. “My Grams raised me. She passed away the summer before my senior year.” She’s staring at the back of Frankie’s head, her voice quiet. “I moved in with Frankie and never heard from my mom again, not even when her own mother died.”

Joey doesn’t want pity. I might not know everything there is to know about her yet, but I’ve learned enough to read the look on her face when I glance over.

She doesn’t like talking about the hard stuff either.

I ask her an easier question next, hoping to lighten the mood. “Where are you two from? I know it’s not here. Your accents aren’t strong enough.” And everyone knows when someone’s from Boston. It’s not only their accent giving them away, but they’re like people from New York City or Chicago—one of the first things they’re going to tell you is they’re from New York City or Chicago.

It’s like a built-in personality trait.

“St. Augustine, Florida,” Joey answers.

I never would have guessed that… Florida has a distinct type of person. I mean, come on. Florida Man?

Frankie stops mid-conversation with Kell and Enzo, turns around, and continues to walk backwards, while saying, “but we’re the ‘with liberty and justice for all means all’ kinda southerners.”

The glare the five-foot-nothing redhead gives me feels like a laser beam, cutting through the layers of my flesh to see if I’m worthy of her best friend’s attention.

Little late for that, dontcha think?

“West got the school board to change the girl’s dress code his senior year because it was a bunch of sexist bullshit,” Kell says with pride while we wait to cross the street.

Enzo’s heard the story, but both Joey and Frankie raise the same brow at the same time. There’s no denying they grew up together.

I shake my head. “You make it sound so much more serious than it was when you say it like that.” It had honestly been so long since I’d even thought of this. “I had to sit in front of the school board my senior year because they changed the dress code, allowing the boys to wear tank tops, but the girls had to be in something covering their shoulders.” We cross the street, and everyone listens as I tell the tale of West Isakson, North Lake High’s favorite Class Clown. “So, every day I wore a cutoff T-shirt with a little midriff because there wasn’t a rule that said I couldn’t.”

Frankie’s smile has been growing wider and wider, and I have a feeling she has something to say after I finish my story… She turns around to walk straight, falling into place next to Joey.

“Eventually, there were at least a hundred dudes walking around in tiny crop tops with spaghetti straps made for their younger sisters and cutoffs that kept getting shorter. The school board told me I had to get everyone to stop or they wouldn’t sign off on the co-op paperwork I needed to play travel hockey that season. We compromised. I got everyone to stop wearing cropped shirts, they changed the dress code to allow the girls more freedom, and I got to play hockey my senior year.” When practice started, my coach made me pay for nearly jeopardizing my future in the sport by trying to impress some girls.

“And he hasn’t worn a crop top since,” Kell huffs like a forlorn widow, resting the back of his hand against his forehead for show.

Frankie’s mischievous smile hasn’t faded, and her eyes dart to Joey’s as soon as the story’s over, forcing mine to do the same.

Joey raises her finger at her best friend, doing her best to look menacing. There’s a sparkle behind her eyes, one that reminds me and everyone else she enjoys the back and forth. “Frankie, don’t you⁠—”

She doesn’t let her finish. “It’s too bad you’ve retired the cutoffs,” she sighs. “Jo’s guilty pleasure is men in slutty little crop tops, circa 1990.” Frankie gives me a playful wink, and ushers us around a corner, the smell of donuts wafting our way with the shift in direction.

I pull my phone out of my pocket. “Hey, Siri…”

She answers with an, “uh-huh?”

“Add scissors to my shopping list.”

We’re outside the Witch Museum after waiting in line for twenty minutes for the best donuts I’ve ever had in my life. I’ll have to remember to buy cinnamon sugar donuts on tour sometime—if nothing more than to watch Joey lick her fingers clean at least one more time before I die.