Do you know how much houses cost in Claremont?”
“What does it even matter?” I say, because I just want this conversation to end. “Even if he has money, it doesn’t mean he can’t love comics and hang out at the store.”
“Look, you get three types of people hanging around at your mom’s shop: the wannabe artists, the lookie-loo Vera Flores superfans, and the rare people who actually need her to, like, feed them or give them a job. Why is he acting like the third one when he’s, at best, one of the first two or, at worst, something else entirely?”
“Like what?”
She shrugs. “You tell me.”
“Maybe he’s just lonely.”
“Well, yeah,” she snorts. “And obviously the dude’s in love with you, but that still doesn’t explain where he came from in the first place. Rich people don’t slum it in our town just because they like comics. There’s, like, three Geekerys on the other side of Claremont that are more his speed. And if he’s not here for comics, and he hasn’t been pitching his portfolio or gawking at your mom, then what is he doing here?”
“I love you, but you sound so paranoid.” But even as I say it, I feel a tinge of concern. Jayla’s planted a little seed of doubt, and it’s unfurling across everything I thought I knew.
My phone buzzes and I pull it out, smiling when I see that it’s Bats and texting back immediately. I don’t even realize what I’ve done until I look up, coming face-to-face with Jayla’s frown.
“Let me guess, Office Batman?”
I shove the phone into my pocket and go back to wiping down the counter. “Whatever.”
“Yeah, well, just so you know,” she says, wrapping up the last of the fruit, “if either of them hurts you, they die.”
“They’re friends,” I say. “Though I have heard heartbreak is a good source of inspiration.”
“Funny.” She opens the cash drawer and shoves the day’s take into a deposit bag, putting it into the safe’s drop slot. She flicks the lights off. “So, Nikki and Ty have been hooking up.”
“What?!” I shout. “Finally? Oh my god, this is amazing. Since when?”
“Since two days ago.”
“Why didn’t she text me?”
“We did; it’s on the group chat. And she tried to tell you at lunch today, but you were too busy texting Bats.”
And just like that, I feel like an ass. “Wow, I suck.”
“Yeah, kinda.”
“What else did I miss?”
“Nothing really, just, you know, Emily and me telling Coach that we’re together because people wouldn’t stop talking about it at practice.”
“What?! When did that happen?”
“This afternoon. I texted you and called. That’s what I came to talk to you about today, but then I saw Ridley and just—”
“How did it go?”
“About as well as you’d expect when a slightly conservative middle-aged man finds out that his two co-captains are together. We got a long, awkward lecture about making sure the team always comes first and no kissing on the field.”
“Yikes,” I say, feeling like crap. “I should’ve been there for you.”
“Just promise you’ll stop shutting us out, okay?”
“I promise. I’m sorry.”
“Good.” She smiles, and for the first time tonight, it seems real. “So dish, then.”
“What?”
“You’ve got two boys in love with you. Are you telling me you don’t need any girl time?”
And I know she doesn’t mean it in any sort of way. I know by “girl time” she means “girl talk,” but I can’t help the knot that forms in my stomach. The “am I still queer if I date a guy?” knot. I hate it. It’s a big part of why Dakota and I finally broke up too. I put up with a lot from him, too much, including the fact that he never understood something so fundamental about me. He actually once said, “How can you be bi if you’re dating me?” Like dating him voided out every part of my queer identity or something.
“Let’s just go,” I