on asparagus. Imagine that obituary.
Hey, she said.
I closed out of Instagram, worried she might somehow be able to see what I was doing, and waited. Forty-two full seconds went by.
We should probably get together to talk about Triple Moon stuff this week
Shit. Another thing I hadn’t thought about as much as I meant to.
OK, I replied. When?
Tomorrow night?
Your house?
My stomach flipped. I’d assumed we’d go to Triple Moon to work on saving Triple Moon, which, in retrospect, seemed stupid. Neither of us wanted Dee or Gaby to know what we were up to until we had a legitimate plan to present to them. Jamie hadn’t been over to my house in a long time, and I didn’t know how I felt about seeing her there again. But I also knew how much Jamie hated having anyone over to her house, and how many questions her mom would have for her if I were to show up there again. My mom, at least, would attempt restraint. Hopefully.
Yeah, that works, I wrote. I’ll be home by 7.
Cool, she replied. See you then.
She was still typing, and I caught myself holding my breath. Partly to keep myself from watching that bubble and partly because I missed her, I texted Ruby, just to say hi. Then I remembered she was at practice and felt bad for bothering her until I went to bed. I was already asleep when she replied, hello and good night. xx.
The next day I got home from practice later than I hoped. As a team we’d collectively played like shit, and Coach Swanson’s lecture ran us five minutes over. Then the drive home took thirty-five minutes instead of twenty, thanks to an unexplained road closure, and by the time I got home I had exactly twelve minutes to shower and make myself and my room presentable for Jamie. I showered in three, made my bed, and stared at my room from the doorway, searching for anything embarrassing I was too familiar with to see. Finally I called my mom into my room just to get a second, more judgmental set of eyes on it.
“You might wanna make your bed,” she said.
“Are you kidding? I did!”
She gave me a rather patronizing look and crossed the room to pull my quilt tight over the corners and fluff the pillows. Fine. It looked better.
“Anything else?”
“Nothing we can fix in five minutes.”
I elbowed her in the arm, and she twisted her leg to kick me in the butt, a signature Mom move I’d outlawed in public places when I was ten.
“So she’s just coming over to work on a project?” she asked.
“Yes, Mom. Nothing’s happening.”
“And you’re okay with that?” She peered at me over the top of her reading glasses, which she kept on a beaded chain that could only be described as “funky” and which she was at least fifteen years too young for. Maybe I’ll get her a new one for Christmas, I thought. Did they even make cool glasses chains, or was that like hoping for fashionable headgear?
“Quinn?”
“Yeah,” I said, a little too emphatically. “Sorry. It’s all good.”
I cringed inwardly. I had never said it’s all good before, and my mom knew it. But she let it go and retreated to her office. A minute later, at seven on the dot, the doorbell rang downstairs. Jamie took being on time very seriously.
I descended the stairs and opened the door to find Jamie with a three-paneled poster board in one hand and a bag of markers in the other.
“Oh God,” I said. “Tell me we’re not doing a presentation.”
“No.” She shook her head, stepping past me into my house. “Well, maybe. This is for us to brainstorm, but if it looks really good when we’re done I’m going to want to show them.”
“Dee will laugh us out of the cafe.”
“Gaby won’t,” said Jamie. She sat cross-legged on the couch and began arranging her