“Yeah, what’s up with that? You never work extra shifts, because you don’t get extra pay and it cuts into cello time.”
“I’m just trying to help out more.”
There’s a shuffling sound on the other side of the curtain then, and I hear Ridley sliding comics into the rack right beside us.
“Yeah, seems like there’s a lot of that going around lately.”
I want to be mad, but I can see in her face that she’s genuinely upset. And she’s right; I haven’t really been around lately. She’s used to my hard-core musician schedule and constant studying, but this is different. Adding in Bats and Ridley lately has meant dropping the ball on other things, important things. And it’s not cool.
“Listen, I’m out at eight tonight. Are you working till nine still?” I ask, and she nods. “I’ll ride my bike over when I’m done, and we can hang then. Okay?”
“What about cello?”
“I practiced before school. I knew I was meeting—I knew I was working late tonight. Seriously, I’ll be there right after we close.”
She smiles, but it looks forced. “Whatever you say, Jubi.”
She pushes the curtain back, nearly tripping over Ridley on her way out. “Sorry, I have to go. I have to get to my actual job that pays me money to be there.”
“We should all be so lucky,” Ridley says, and I can’t tell if that’s a joke about us not paying him or something else. Jayla flashes him a look and then leaves. I slide the curtain into place, taking a second to regroup before stepping back out onto the floor.
* * *
? ? ?
“I don’t know,” I say, slouching in my favorite booth at the fro-yo shop. Jayla is supposed to be behind the counter, but she’s commandeered the seat across from me to tackle her homework.
“Well, I can’t answer you if I don’t know all the variables!”
“Oh my god, fine, yes, they can get multiple flavors of yogurt and as many toppings as they want. Happy now?”
“Okay.” Jayla sighs and flips the page over in her notebook. “Okay, this I can work with.”
I laugh and slide out of my seat, going back behind the counter. Ten minutes to close means it’s time to start wiping down the counters and pulling the toppings, and if she’s too busy doing math homework, then I’m going to have to be the one to do it.
If the owner ever discovers that I help Jayla out sometimes, they will possibly kill me and definitely fire her. But it’s March and it’s dead here, which generally means that anybody wandering into this sad little fro-yo shop doesn’t care who’s doing the serving as long as the lights are on and the topping bar’s filled.
There are fourteen flavors of frozen yogurt and seventeen toppings, and I suck at factorials, but Mr. Lucas is apparently giving extra credit to whoever can come up with the most complicated real-world math problem in his class. I guess figuring out how many combinations of yogurt and toppings exist counts as a “real-world” problem. I could be wrong, though; she’s in a different math class than me.
I wipe down all the counters and hope Jayla doesn’t go back to asking what I know she’s dying to. I scrub the counter a little harder, frowning as I rub at a spot of hot fudge that probably dried on hours ago.
“So, real talk, what’s the deal with you and the new kid?” she asks, glancing up from her notebook like she could hear my thoughts.
“No deal,” I say, taking the tray of hot fudge and carrying it back to the fridge now that the lip is clean.
“Jubilee, come on. You’re practically living at the shop now. And every time I walk in, you guys are making eyes at each other from across the store.”
“We are not.”
“You are! You’re my best friend, and it’s like you’ve fallen off the face of the earth.”
“I’m not intentionally blowing you off, I swear.” I wipe a few stray sprinkles off the counter