She hasn’t taken off her sunglasses. She has one of those haircuts where part of her scalp is buzzed. Several of her braids are dyed green. She has three holes in each ear. Rubber bands on each wrist.
What’s so great about her?
“So what’s up?” Joy sits down with her. Loops her arm over the back of the booth, then takes it back. Adjusts her masses of hair. I have a feeling November likes how hard she’s trying.
“Arguing with my asshat dad, as usual.” November yawns, but her shoulders are rigid. “Officer Roseby was bragging about his old arrest record. I pointed out that America has more prisoners per capita than any other country. He told me I’m turning into one of those sassy black girls.”
“Are you kidding me?” Joy yells. “I hate him so much. God.”
She doesn’t weigh her words like I weigh mine. But all her words are light, no matter what they are. They soar out of her. Mine are always so heavy.
“He’s like a hoarder,” says November. “He has a copy of the arrest record of everyone he’s ever arrested. Like a serial killer keeps trophies.”
If I tap my knee on the underside of the table twenty times before Joy finishes her ice cream, November will go away.
“He’s so white,” Joy says. “He probably wears salmon shorts when he’s not in uniform. And spends, like, half his paycheck on fancy cheese.”
“Joy, you’re white,” I say, just to keep from vanishing.
She turns pink. November laughs. Slow. Warm. She tips her sunglasses down. “I like you.”
It’s like a decree of approval from the universe. Joy beams.
“You’re supersmart, yeah?” November says. “Heard you get these wild test scores.”
I am now officially present and accounted for in the conversation.
Though my test scores should be better.
“I dig your makeup,” she adds.
There’s too much of it, Adam told me.
Joy gives November her special look that she’s only ever given me. The you-are-perfect look. Makes you want to do anything to keep from shattering that illusion. But I’m not perfect, not on the inside, so November can’t be, either.
“You’re my two favorite people in the entire world, you know that?” Joy says. “And now we’re all hanging out. We gotta hang out more this summer, the three of us. I’d invite Pres, but he hates people. Oh! I just had the best idea.”
Oh no.
November knocks Joy’s shoulder with her fist. “Yeah?”
“I think the three of us should make something out of this summer.”
What’s wrong with the two of us?
“I think this should be the summer of misdeeds,” she keeps going. “Grace, you’ve been studying forever. We need to do some exciting stuff. Like getting you drunk, Grace, for the first time. Or maybe trying, like, weed. Doesn’t matter. But seriously, we’re going to be juniors. You need to loosen up or you’re gonna regret being so flawless in high school.”
“Corrupting you will keep me from getting too bored,” November offers.
“Yes! You can find us cool parties to go to. We’ll find the boys to make out with.” She winks at me. Apparently we are still talking about Adam. “It’ll help with all your stress.”
“I don’t know, Joy.” She loves being the one who slashes through the jungle with a machete. Forging a path. Pulling me on.
“She doesn’t have to do anything she doesn’t want to do,” says November.
“Right.” Joy’s eyebrows dive down. “Sorry.”
Two possible summers. One spent listening to her window open across the hall, the sound of her slipping away while I’m in bed by nine. More distance between us. Or I can become a girl who gets high test scores and sneaks out at midnight. Who reads philosophy books and does drugs. The kind of girl every musician boy wants. An interesting girl.
I sit up straighter. “No, it’s fine. Maybe. The drinking, I mean. Possibly. We could try.”
“Yes!” Joy punches the air. “Mom and Dad are gonna be so pissed that I’m leading you into a life of sin.”
Is this just a way for her to get back at Mom and Dad?
“And you’ll have stories to tell Adam on your first date with him—”
I stare at her. So much for secrets.
“What’s the look?” she adds, then gasps. Mimes zipping her lips. “Sorry. Sorry.”
“You like Adam Gordon?” November hardens.
A beat. Then I shake my head.
Pathetic.
But November doesn’t soften. There’s an awkward silence. Then she stands up. “Actually, I was only swinging by for a minute. Gotta pick up a prescription.”
“That’s fine! I’ll text you!” My sister’s a puppy, bouncing all over her.
The bell