“The first house my family lived in was green. Like a pastel shade, you know? And anytime a friend’s mom would drop me off, we’d turn on my street and I’d say, ‘My house is the green one.’ I didn’t know how to count the mailbox numbers but I knew my house was green, and I loved it.”
My heart expanded inside me. In that moment I felt like it was okay to be exactly who I was, because she was being exactly who she was, and that must have meant something. I absorbed it all: her eyes, her secrets, her space in the world.
The only thing I managed to say was, “I like knowing that.”
“I like knowing that you know it.”
We looked at each other, and I knew what was coming before she could get the words out.
“Hey,” she said, her voice shaking the slightest bit, “do you wanna get dinner on Saturday night?”
My insides exploded. I hesitated for a flash of a second, taking it all in, and then I smiled.
“Yeah,” I said, my voice ringing through the tree house. “I would really, really love that.”
Later, when I was driving home, it felt like Lydia’s impression was still stamped into me. It was like coming home from a trip to the beach, when you pull the wrinkled clothes from your suitcase and you can smell sunscreen and sand and ocean not only on your bathing suits, but on your T-shirts and pajama pants, too.
I lowered my car windows and blasted my music, even at the red lights. I let my arm hang out and spread my fingers on the air, feeling the humidity, feeling the air rushing over my skin. I’d never gotten the big deal about teenagers and cars before, the whole freedom and invincibility thing, but now I understood it. When you had a crush and you knew you were going to see her again, especially for something that sounded exactly like a date, suddenly the whole world could never be big enough for you.
14
Lydia was picking me up at seven, and I had no idea what to wear.
It had been raining all day, softening into a gentle sprinkling that I could only hear because I’d opened my bathroom window. I stood in front of the mirror in mismatched socks and an old T-shirt—the interim outfit I’d thrown on after my shower—and lifted the strands of my damp hair, wondering what the hell I was going to do with it.
I was pretty certain this was a date—my first-ever date—but I had a weight in my stomach telling me not to assume, not to get my hopes up, because there was still the possibility that Lydia was just really, really nice. I knew Maritza was hanging out with Rona tonight, and her texts to JaKory and me made it clear that she was expecting something to happen. I felt the parallel with my situation and knew I had to protect myself from heartbreak the way I knew Maritza wouldn’t.
But maybe Lydia was getting ready like this, too. Maybe she was listening to the record player while she brushed makeup over her cheeks and tried on six different shirt combinations. Maybe she was praying this was a date just like I was.
I dressed in dark shorts with a flowy tank and a long necklace. I never felt very confident about the way I dressed, but this was one of the few outfits I felt good in. I curled my hair, even though it never stayed, and made my eyeliner thicker than usual. For ten minutes I switched back and forth between a pair of wedges that dressed up the outfit and a pair of oxfords that dressed it down. If I’d known for sure whether this was a date, I would have gone with the wedges in a heartbeat.
I wore the oxfords just to be safe.
Right after I’d applied deodorant for the second time, my phone chimed with a text.
Lydia Kaufman aka Jason Waterfalls: Two min away!
I hurried down the stairs, my heart sprinting and palms sweating. “I’m going out with my friends!” I called to whoever was listening, and then I skipped out to the garage and pulled the door tight behind me. I hovered on the edge of the driveway, craning my neck to watch for Lydia’s car, the rain still drizzling down in a lazy, steady