and toss them in the garbage.
Jayla sighs. “You got like this with Dakota too. You crawl inside your little relationship bubble with your boyfriend, and it’s like no one else matters.”
“Ridley isn’t my boyfriend.”
“Are you sure? Because from the outside, it really seems like you both want him to be.”
“We’re friends,” I say, sliding the lid over the maraschino cherries.
She puts the notebook down—I guess the factorials will have to wait—and comes over to help. Her pin-striped hat sits slightly askew on her curly black hair, and I resist the urge to fix it. “I don’t think so,” she says.
“And why’s that?”
“Because I know you, and I know boys like him are your kryptonite.”
“You were the one who said Mrs. G meant flirting and goofing off when she said to ‘go find my passion’ or whatever.”
“No, actually, I said you had to try something new every day. And a con crush was one of them. And now you’ve warped it into, like, your main pastime and added in—I don’t even know what to call it—a shop crush?” She pulls the pan of cherries out of my hands and starts walking back to the fridge. “You always fall for these tragic little antiheroes.”
I huff, “Ridley isn’t some tragic antihero. He’s just a boy that likes the same comics as me. That’s it.”
“Is it?” she asks.
“I don’t even have his number. It’s a strictly in-shop relationship.”
“And what about Office Batman?”
I roll my eyes. “Bats is on the other side of the country. There’s nothing there with him either.”
She drops her chin. “Jubi, you check your phone every five seconds to see if he texted you. That’s not nothing.”
“So what? Am I not allowed to have other friends? You’ve been texting Emily nonstop since you guys started hooking up!”
“No, you are, but Emily and I are different.”
“How?”
“For one, I was actually looking for a relationship. And for two, I’m not ditching the whole rest of my life to fit her in.”
“I’m not ditching my whole life.”
“You are, though. You don’t even know what’s going on with Nikki or me or anyone.”
I raise my arms up, utterly exasperated. “Then will you tell me what’s up instead of wasting this whole night lecturing me?”
“I’m just worried about you.”
“Why? Don’t be.”
“I don’t know; I get a weird vibe from him sometimes. He shows up out of the blue, and now he’s always around. Doesn’t he have anything else to do?”
“I don’t think he has anywhere to go or any money to go there with. He made that comment to you about not having a job. I’m thinking of asking Vera if we can pay him. At least part-time.” I can tell by the way she rolls her eyes she doesn’t believe me.
“His watch could probably pay your mortgage for a year. Money is not the problem.”
I tilt my head. “What watch?”
“That watch he wears all the time,” she says. “He might walk in with a wrinkled Hulk shirt and jeans with holes in them, but that watch is straight off the yacht.”
I bite the inside of my lip. I never noticed a watch, but then again, I wouldn’t. Jayla’s the one who spends her days buried in lookbooks and fashion magazines.
“It could be a hand-me-down,” I say finally, and Jayla slams the lid on the strawberries hard enough to let me know exactly what she thinks about that hypothesis.
“That’s this year’s design. Nobody is handing down a ten-thousand-dollar watch they’ve barely even owned.”
“Ten thousand?” I say, nearly choking on my gum. “It’s gotta be a knockoff.”
“It’s not.”
“How could you possibly be sure?”
“I know accessories,” she says, and crap, she does. She really does. “The dude is hiding something.”
“Come on.” I groan. “He’s not hiding anything, except maybe a rich uncle or something.”
“Oh, you sweet summer child.” Jayla laughs. “How about this, then: