a new continent, disoriented and raw, but restless to explore.
Chapter Eleven
IRIS
“I need to talk to you about something.”
Two weeks after my first dance lesson with Beau, Sally surprises me with this announcement. It’s the end of the day, and we sit together on my lazy front porch swing. Mica is lying on his side, resting up after his nighttime walk and his round of Frisbee catching. Sally’s nursing an LA-31 Pale Ale while I’m sipping on a lime Perrier.
Yeah, not the same thing, but I can at least pretend.
Ramon usually sits with us at the end of the day, mooning over Sally, but, oddly, he’s gone inside.
“O-kay. Spill.”
“Ramon has the weekend off, and he wants to go to New Orleans.”
I was bummed to find out we’d missed JazzFest by a few weeks, but a day-trip to the Big Easy should still be awesome. My schedule has been brutal the last few weeks. Filming all day. Dance lessons most evenings. And then I lie in bed thinking about how I shouldn’t be thinking about Beau Landry and how it feels to be in his arms.
“Sure,” I say with a shrug. “Sounds like fun. We could go to the French Quarter and—”
“No…” My best friend eyes me with alarm and hesitates before continuing. “No, I meant, Ramon wants to take me to New Orleans—”
Oh.
“For the night.”
Oh.
Well, that explains why Ramon is hiding out. The coward.
I sigh, weary of going through this conversation again. “Sally, you just don’t get it—”
“No, Iris.” Sally shakes her head. “I love you, honey, but you don’t get it.”
I open my mouth and close it again. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Just that. You keep warning me against Ramon and warning Ramon against me, and it’s getting old.”
“So you don’t believe me when I say that you two hooking up would end in disaster?”
Sally’s mouth presses together in an unhappy line. She takes a sip of her beer.
“What,” I press.
She looks back at me. “I’m saying it’s none of your business.”
Wow.
I feel like I’ve been hit with one of Raven Blackwell’s stunning spells. It’s a shock that lingers in my arms, my legs, my face. Definitely my face, which goes hot and prickly.
When I can move, I get off the swing.
“Wait. Where are you going?” Sally asks, a note of alarm in her voice.
I turn to face her, wounded and embarrassed. “I think I’m going inside.”
“I-ris.” She says my name the way she would when we would fight over the rules of Monopoly when we were kids. “We have to talk about this.”
“Fine.” I cross the porch and sink into one of the wicker rockers. I start rocking with record speed. “Let’s talk.”
She tilts her head to the side, clearly miffed. “Oh, so you can’t sit next to me now?”
In truth, I can’t. I feel like I have to face her instead of sitting beside her. It feels safer this way. I cross my arms over my chest.
“It’s easier to talk like this.”
“I think you’re angry with me.”
“Well, I think you’re angry with me,” I return, wincing internally because I sound like a ten-year-old.
I wouldn’t say Sally and I never fight, but it’s rare, even after two weeks on the AT. And our fights are so few and far between, in part, because I hate conflict in the first place. Besides, most preschool teachers just aren’t the fighting type.
Which should clue me in to the fact that this issue must matter to her, but in the moment, that doesn’t sink in.
“You know what, Iris,” she says, crossing her arms over her chest in imitation of me. “I am kind of angry.”
I roll my eyes. “Why? Because I’m telling you what you don’t want to hear?”
“No,” she says, her eyes bugging in frustration. “Because you don’t want to hear me.”
“What?” I throw up my hands. “What do you want me to hear?”
She clenches her jaw. When she speaks, it’s low and through gritted teeth. “I like him.”
I scoff. “Yeah, I know, Sal. That’s obvious. And I’m trying to look out for you. You’re going to get yourself—
“I WANT HIM!”
She’s so loud Mica jolts up and the dog across the street starts barking. I, on the other hand, am stunned silent. The outburst is so out of character for Sally, I’m waiting for her to shout “April Fools!” Except it’s June, and this isn’t the kind of prank Sally would ever play.
As the echo of her declaration hangs in the air, Sally’s eyes widen, and she looks at me with horror.