you,” I say against the door. My eyes are squeezed shut, my cheeks wet, my breathing ragged. “I miss you, I miss you, I miss you.” The words are a drumbeat in my head, still steady after three years. I don’t think they’ll ever go away. “I miss you.”
* * *
—
It’s a relief to be at work that night, surrounded by people. And I do mean surrounded: I’ve never seen Café Contigo so crowded. Not only is every table full, but Mr. Santos brought out all the extra chairs that are usually stored in the basement and it’s still not enough. People are standing in groups against either side of the wall, shuffling back and forth as I weave through them with a drink-laden tray for Addy and her friends.
I push through the beaded curtain that separates the back room from the main restaurant. There’s only one large table here, more than half-filled with familiar faces: Addy, Maeve, Bronwyn, Luis, and Cooper. A handsome, dark-haired boy gets up from beside Cooper as I approach the table and stretches his hand toward my tray with a questioning look. “Can I help?” he asks. “Will it mess you up if I start taking these off?”
I smile at him. I’ve never met Cooper’s boyfriend, Kris, but I recognize him from press photos, and I like him instantly. He must have waited tables himself at some point, if he knows the importance of a balanced tray. “From the middle is great,” I say.
The room is supposed to be private, but as Kris and I pass drinks around, people keep trickling in and craning their necks at Cooper. Most of them duck right back out, but a group of girls linger beside the entry, whispering to one another behind their hands until they dissolve into near-hysterical giggles.
“Sorry this is so weird,” Cooper murmurs as I hand him a glass of Coke. I haven’t seen Cooper in person since he graduated last year, and I can’t fault the entryway girls for being star-struck. His hair is longer and attractively tousled, he’s very tan, and he fills out his white Cal Fullerton T-shirt impossibly well. Looking straight at him is a little like staring into the sun.
“Well, you’re Bayview’s favorite boy,” Kris says, settling himself back down beside Cooper. Cooper takes his hand, but his expression is preoccupied and a little tense.
“Now, maybe,” he says. “We’ll see how long it lasts.”
I don’t blame him for not trusting all the adoration. I remember how some people treated him when they learned he was gay—not just kids at Bayview High, but adults who should’ve known better. Cooper’s been keeping most of the asshole comments at bay since spring training by being almost perfect every time he pitches. The pressure must be unbelievable. Eventually he’s going to have to lose, because nobody can win forever. What happens then?
The boldest girl in the group of gigglers approaches Cooper. “Can I have your autograph?” She hands him a Sharpie, then puts one foot on the bottom rung of Cooper’s chair and turns so her thigh, bare beneath a short skirt, is angled in front of him. “Right there.”
“Um.” Cooper looks completely flummoxed as Addy stifles a laugh. “Could I just…sign a napkin or something?” he asks.
I’m in and out of the room as it fills up, bringing more drinks and snacks that seem to disappear as soon as I put them down. “How’s everyone doing back there?” Addy asks when I’m on my fifth trip from the kitchen.
“Great, except Manny’s dropped, like, three orders of empanadas so far,” I say, setting a plate between her and Bronwyn. “Here’s the lone survivor. Enjoy.”
Maeve is seated on Bronwyn’s other side, wearing a scoop-neck black T-shirt that’s more fitted than what she usually goes for, and really flattering. It has a cute design that looks like a bouquet of flowers at first but is actually a bunch of cartoony little monsters. I can’t stop checking it out. Neither can Luis, although I’m pretty sure our reasons are different.
But Maeve doesn’t notice either of us, because she keeps staring at the entryway. I follow her gaze as the beads part once again and Nate Macauley walks through. The only empty chair remaining is all the way at the other end of the table, until Maeve jumps up. “You look like you could use some help, Phoebe,” she says, moving quickly to my side. I don’t, but I let her grab a random assortment of