of sentimental and funny. I want to charm all her friends and say all the right things. Sophie probably deserves a brother like that. But the thought of standing in front of a packed ballroom, trying to form words and not choke or have a coughing fit or burn the whole banquet hall down . . . It’s impossible. It’s a job for some other Jamie, and unfortunately, I’m just me.
Chapter Two
Maya
Sara is on a mission. And since I’m her best friend, I am all in. But forty-five minutes into our treasure hunt we’ve come up empty. The object of our conquest? A trash can. And no, I do not mean this metaphorically. We are literally on a hunt for a receptacle for garbage.
“It’s got to be here somewhere . . . ,” Sara mutters. “They had three in stock when Jenna called to check this morning.”
I stifle a yawn as people dart past us, pushing red shopping carts.
“I thought you were going with the other stuff you texted me last week,” I tell her.
“Yeah, but then Jenna found a great theme here that goes with our dorm layout. This is the only thing we’re missing.”
“I still don’t get it.” I glance at her. “I mean, it’s a trash can.”
“Correction, it’s the perfect trash can, Maya.” Sara’s eyes sparkle. “It’s got a vintage feel. You’ll see!”
I smile and nod, but the truth is, even if we’ve combed over the storage section three times, I’m just happy I get to be here with her. Between her babysitting gigs, swim coaching at the Y, and working at Skeeter’s custard shop, she’s as busy this summer as she was all senior year. I haven’t even had a chance to tell her everything that’s been happening at home. Just thinking about it now makes my stomach knot up. Because right at this moment, my dad is packing his things into cardboard boxes.
I rummage in my purse for my phone; my fingers slide over my passport. It arrived yesterday. Pulling it out, a fresh burst of sadness washes over me. We were supposed to leave for Italy after Ramadan ended, two days after Eid. But right after I turned in my passport application, the trip was canceled and, along with it, it turned out, so was my parents’ marriage. I glance at my picture. I think there’s some kind of rule that photos in stamp-sized squares must come out terribly. As evidence, I would present: my driver’s license, my YMCA card, and now my new passport, where I look like a very stern woodpecker. But how I look in this photo feels like a silly thing to even think about, considering everything that’s happened.
“It’s not that bad,” Sara says, looking over my shoulder.
“But not that great.”
“It’s a passport photo.” She pokes me. “It’ll get you where you need to go.”
I bite my lip. Sara was the first person I wanted to tell about my parents, but she’s been so busy. I haven’t been able to find the right time. But . . .
“So.” I look at her. “I’d been meaning to tell you. Italy got canceled. I think—”
“Are you serious?” Sara whirls around to face me. “You won’t believe this. I just got a text this morning from a family who needs a part-time summer babysitter! I felt so bad, because I’m too busy, but I could connect you guys? Jessie’s mom is super tapped into the network, so this could be your in.”
I blink at the unexpected pivot. It’s true. I’d been hoping to break into the ridiculously intricate local babysitting network since forever, but she didn’t even pause to ask why Italy was canceled. I should rewind and tell her, but she’s so amped up right now. And I haven’t seen her in so long. . . .
“If it’s in the mornings, I can,” I finally say. My mom works from home until noon most days, so I can borrow her car.
“Jessie is the sweetest toddler you’ll ever meet.” Sara jots off a text and puts her phone away. “I don’t even know what I’d do here without you,” she tells me. “Finding this trash can is like playing a game of Where’s Waldo. It could be shelved in so many categories. Kitchen. Bath. Storage . . .”
“I’m kind of shocked you’re not working,” I say.
“I know,” she says. “They shut down the pool because of a plumbing issue, so all my classes have to be rescheduled. I can’t believe I have a