“Perfect.”
“Let’s go!”
“Now, Gary, was it?” LuAnn links her arm through his and steers him up the street with a dangerous gleam in her eyes. “You’re a sophomore, right?”
We cram into a corner booth, surrounded by glass jars of candy toppings and children ingesting way too much sugar. But although this is officially the best ice cream around, I can only swirl my Oreo Smoosh-in around in my cup, still tense over the mixing of my new friends and old. Garrett seems relaxed enough, chatting with the girls about school and camp, but I’m all too aware of how easily this could all come crashing down with one stray comment from, well, anyone at the table.
“So you’re the next literary master?” LuAnn slurps her ice-cream float through a thick straw and stares at Garrett.
He laughs. “I don’t know about that.”
“Come on, don’t be modest,” she teases. “This camp sounds so exclusive.”
“Garrett is really talented,” I interject. “He’s won all kinds of prizes.”
“But I’d keep writing, even if I hadn’t,” Garrett adds, bashful. “You have to do it for love, not money, like the real greats.”
“What about dating?” Aiko asks brightly. “Those places can be a full-on party, right? Or do you have a girlfriend?”
I choke on my Oreo crumbles. “Aiko!”
“What?” She gives me an innocent look, biting into her maraschino cherry. “I’m curious!”
“We want to know all about you,” LuAnn agrees. I glare at them.
“Just ignore them,” I tell Garrett. But he waves away my concern.
“It’s fine. I . . . uh, was with someone at camp,” he tells them. “But we broke up.”
I whip my head around. “You didn’t tell me that.”
Garrett looks uncomfortable. “You said . . . you know, that you didn’t want to hear about that stuff.”
My mind races. So he’s not with Rhiannon, after all? How, what, who . . . ?
I take a breath and try to act casual. “What happened?” I take a tiny spoonful of ice cream, as if this is only vaguely interesting. “I thought she was ‘the one.’”
“Garrett’s right,” Kayla interrupts, giving me a warning look. “You don’t want to hear about it. Do you, Sadie?” There’s a loaded pause, and all three girls stare at me, full of meaning.
I cough. “No, you’re right,” I say, sinking in my seat. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Anyway, that’s all ancient history now,” Garrett tells me, slinging an arm over my shoulder. “It’s why I didn’t say anything.”
“Hey, Garrett,” LuAnn says loudly, pulling his attention away from me. “Could you be a doll and go get me some napkins?” She gestures helplessly at the girls on either side of her. “I’m kind of trapped.”
“Oh, sure.” Garrett gets up. “I’ll be right back.”
The moment he’s out of earshot, LuAnn grips my hand. “What did we say about touching?” she hisses.
I pull away. “It was a friendly hug!”
“Sure, but I count three friendly hugs, an arm squeeze, and a hand pat in the last hour alone,” she retorts.
“And that’s not even including what we couldn’t see in the theater with the lights down low,” Aiko adds with a knowing look.
“Exactly!” LuAnn nods. “That was another thing, no dark rooms!”
I laugh at their concern. “It’s OK, guys. Can’t you see? Everything’s OK. Normal. Platonic. There’s nothing to worry about.”
“Really?” Kayla checks, concerned. “Everything’s not rushing back, being around him again?”
We all look over to where Garrett is gathering an armful of paper towels for us, and some tiny cups of water, too. He’s as cute as he ever was to me, but there’s something different now — as if I’m seeing him from farther away, not so bound up in longing and hopeless romantic dreams.
Like I’ve been telling myself all summer: he’s just a boy.
“Really,” I swear. “Even if he hugs me a hundred times, I’ll be OK.”
We make it through the ice-cream break without any more passive-aggressive digs from LuAnn, and soon, Garrett’s Vespa is idling to a stop outside my house.
“You know, you’ve changed,” Garrett says as he walks me to the front door.
“Oh, right.” I touch my curls, self-conscious. “The hair. I figured it was time for a change.”
“No, not just that.” He pauses, studying me. “You seem . . . I don’t know, different from when I saw you last.”
I shrug. “Different good or different bad?”
He pauses. “Well . . .”
“Garrett!” I shove him. Off balance, he stumbles backward.
“OK, OK! Different good.” He laughs. “I don’t know how to describe it.”
“What?” I tease. “You, lost for a good description? No similes, metaphors, long comparisons to Whitman or Hemingway — hey!” Now it’s his turn to push me. I skip ahead, laughing. “Camp has clearly drained you of all your literary prowess.”
We pause by the door. “It’s good to be back.” Garrett smiles down at me. “I really did miss you out there.”
“I missed you, too,” I say quietly, and despite everything, it’s true. “Anyway, I better go.” I back away, pretty sure that lingering on the dark front step is up there on LuAnn’s list of risky behavior.
“Sure. Right.” Garrett grins. “I’ll see you . . . when?”
“Not sure.” I open the door. “I’m working, and then hanging with Kayla, so . . . maybe over the weekend?”
He blinks. “But that’s ages away.”
I laugh. “You’ve managed six weeks without me. You can last!”
I close the door behind me, overwhelmed with relief. I may have dismissed Kayla’s concerns as if they were nothing, but part of me has been scared that they might be true. After all, it’s one thing to say I’m over a guy when he’s safely out of range — over state lines and far away — but back, here in front of me, laughing, talking, touching . . . How would I fare then? Would I crumble in the face of his cuteness? Melt inside all over again at his literary musings?