tightly. “I brought ice cream and a little something extra. When childish sperm donors strike, we must retaliate with something rebellious.” She holds up a bag of temporary tattoos and propels me up the stairs.
We enter my room, and she plops me down on my bed before sitting crisscrossed facing me.
“What the actual frickery?” she starts.
I fall back onto my comforter and stare at the ceiling. “I don’t know. Am I being selfish? Like, am I asking too much and propelling myself into a debt-laden adulthood?”
“The truth?”
I shut my eyes with trepidation. “Yes. Always.”
“No.” She’s emphatic. “So stop. Remember that time I was supposed to come to your NHS ceremony last year and your dad brought that rando coworker along instead and used up the last ticket and I had to walk home in the rain?”
“Yes.”
“Remember the time your dad showed up to your dance recital late and missed your performance and didn’t even realize it?”
I close my eyes more tightly. “Yes.”
“Remember the time you went to the Dirty Harries concert with that kid from my youth group, and your dad showed up reeking of pot and drilled him about safe sex?”
“Jesus, yes. It was only like six months ago. Peter still won’t talk to me.”
“He’s not right, and you’re not selfish, Vada. It’s okay to aim high. You got in. That’s amazing. The money will come. Or it won’t, and you’ll take out loans and pay them back when you start writing for Rolling Stone.”
“Okay. You’re right.”
“Good. I can tell you aren’t convinced, but that’s eighteen years of Marcus’s wackadoo absentee fatherisms talking.” She raises her hands, plastic bangles clattering toward her bony elbows, and shakes them, banishing the negativity or whatever. “So, Five Below had a BOGO sale on tats.” She reaches into her bag. “I love you, but I’m claiming the Hello Kitty ones.”
I nod grimly. “Of course.”
“But you can have the Pokémon ones.”
“How about we just eat ice cream? I’m not feeling particularly rebellious tonight.”
Meg deflates, but quickly recovers. “Okay. But you have to start talking.” She passes me a pint and a spoon.
I tear it open and dig my spoon in, giddy that it’s a little melty. “About what? I already told you about the dinner that wasn’t.”
“Not about your dad,” she says impishly, scooping a bite of Cherry Garcia and crunching on a chocolate chunk. “About Luke Greenly.”
“What, why?”
She holds up my phone. “Because I accidentally sat on your phone, and he’s been sending you mad messages.”
I rip it away from her and tuck my phone away without glancing at it, even though it kills me. I pick up my spoon. “Make yourself useful and put in that movie, will you?”
When she turns away, I can’t help but let a smile slip.
13
LUKE
I don’t technically need an after-school job. My parents make decent money and have always told us education comes first. They didn’t want us to stress out about spending money. Since the sixth grade, we’ve gotten a weekly allowance so long as we’ve stayed on the honor roll and completed all our chores.
That I’ve willingly taken on a part-time job at a bar of all places is apparently beyond comprehension for my parents. You’d think they’d be complimentary about their eighteen-year-old son taking on a little extra responsibility. Instead, they’re wearing matching expressions of bewilderment.
“It’s just a part-time job, Dad.”
“I thought you hated interacting in public.”
“I don’t hate it. I just don’t love it. This is a good exercise for me. For personal growth.”
“Personal growth?” my mum repeats.
I can practically hear my twin’s eyes roll. “Jaysus, guys, let it go. Why does everything we do have to be rooted in psychological pathology? Why can’t he just want to work in a bar?”
“I don’t see why you’d toil away in a dive bar when you could be onstage making ten times as much.” It’s as though the man can’t help himself.
“I’m not even going to answer that, Dad.”
My mum shrugs, but my dad still looks puzzled. Fact is, I don’t really know why I want to work at the Loud Lizard so badly. Before I heard Vada freaking out at Ben, I didn’t. I don’t need the money. I don’t have a ton of spare time. But I wasn’t lying when I said I liked it for personal growth. My shyness is crippling some days, but when I’m there, I feel fine. It’s like wearing a hoodie the third day in a row. It’s comfortable and smells like last night’s dinner and reminds you