with eyebrows still raised.
“It's the guy who got the paid internship,” I remind them. “We exchanged numbers after the interview. No biggie.” I bite my lip, and avoid their gazes for a second so they can' miss that this IS, indeed, A BIGGIE.
“He's calling you a cutie and you only just met?”
“Am I not cute, Dad?” I divert.
Dad's frowning as he scoops the strawberries he's just sugared onto the pre-formed shortcake pies. “You know what I mean. Do you have anything to tell us? Does Q plus T mean it's serious?”
“Please!” I feign my best gasp. “I don't even know him. He's sort of…nice. We had some conversations between interviews. I suppose he could be considered almost a…yeah…a friend.” At least I don't have to keep trying to bring up a blush to scorching cheeks.
“A friend!” Kika's bubbling up into one of her middle-school giggle fits. “Who thinks she's cute!”
Mom's gaze has turned speculative. This is just the expression I've been expecting. “What's his name?”
“Mom. You don't need to know everyone's name,” I stall. My stomach clenches as I try to remember the order of what I'm supposed to say next.
Bzz. Bzz. Boing-donka-donk.
Thank you fake boyfriend. It's time to stop now.
I pull the phone away from everyone's view. “Sorry. I'll fix that ringtone.” I tap into my settings. “Maybe I shouldn't have given him my number,” I mutter, genuinely frustrated that Gray Porter rattles me even from a distance. I'm grateful for the excuse to concentrate on my phone and not meet anyone's eyes while I regroup.
As much as I've practiced all possible scenarios of this moment in my mirror—and as much as I'm elated my plan appears to be working—I'm suddenly scared to death.
I hate how far I'm about to go on lying to my parents. And what about Kika? She's on my team. She's the one person I've never lied to about anything. Ever.
My heart hurts just thinking about deceiving that kid.
“Text him back, Jess. Who cares about your ring tone? He's probably waiting for you to say something back!” Kika says.
I shoot her a glance. She's still beaming at me so brightly it strengthens my resolve.
For the first time in three years, Kika doesn't appear to be worried about me. She actually looks proud—admiring—excited. I like how beautiful, how normal, that looks on her face.
“What should I type?” I ask, working to smile back and keep my voice as breathless as hers. “I'm not good at texting.”
“Lost cause.” Kika giggles again. “Read what he said.” Kika pulls on my arm.
I've already established it's safe so I read it: “Why U so quiet? C U at school 2morrow. Got2 wrk. On a double. I'm as tired as U looked 2day. Go 2-zzzzzzzz, Jess Jordan.”
“He goes to your school?” Dad asks.
Kika sighs and claps her hands. “ Ohmygod. Text him back. Text him back.” She's bouncing out of her seat.
“I will later. I can't do it with all of you staring.”
“But texting is supposed to be immediately responded to,” Kika protests. “I'll make you a list of easy text replies okay? You can study it.”
“I like that he noticed you need to sleep.” Mom smiles knowingly. “Maybe you should text him back something quick. You don't want him to think you don't like him, do you?”
I shudder. This family bonding thing has just gone way too far.
“I'm so not having this conversation with any of you. Mom, don't even try. I don't know if I like him. And—and—you guys are making me nervous. It's just a couple of texts, not a marriage proposal.”
Dad's hovering over all of us, blinking at me with four strawberry shortcakes precariously balanced in his hands. “I don't know if I like this at all. Are you going to be constantly staring at your phone now like your sister does?”Dad asks.
Kika dives into her shortcake and chomps half of it in one bite. “I'm not staring at my phone now, am I? Gee, Dad.” She's talking with her mouth full, but still manages to look cute.
I can't possibly eat, so
“It's the guy who got the paid internship,” I remind them. “We exchanged numbers after the interview. No biggie.” I bite my lip, and avoid their gazes for a second so they can' miss that this IS, indeed, A BIGGIE.
“He's calling you a cutie and you only just met?”
“Am I not cute, Dad?” I divert.
Dad's frowning as he scoops the strawberries he's just sugared onto the pre-formed shortcake pies. “You know what I mean. Do you have anything to tell us? Does Q plus T mean it's serious?”
“Please!” I feign my best gasp. “I don't even know him. He's sort of…nice. We had some conversations between interviews. I suppose he could be considered almost a…yeah…a friend.” At least I don't have to keep trying to bring up a blush to scorching cheeks.
“A friend!” Kika's bubbling up into one of her middle-school giggle fits. “Who thinks she's cute!”
Mom's gaze has turned speculative. This is just the expression I've been expecting. “What's his name?”
“Mom. You don't need to know everyone's name,” I stall. My stomach clenches as I try to remember the order of what I'm supposed to say next.
Bzz. Bzz. Boing-donka-donk.
Thank you fake boyfriend. It's time to stop now.
I pull the phone away from everyone's view. “Sorry. I'll fix that ringtone.” I tap into my settings. “Maybe I shouldn't have given him my number,” I mutter, genuinely frustrated that Gray Porter rattles me even from a distance. I'm grateful for the excuse to concentrate on my phone and not meet anyone's eyes while I regroup.
As much as I've practiced all possible scenarios of this moment in my mirror—and as much as I'm elated my plan appears to be working—I'm suddenly scared to death.
I hate how far I'm about to go on lying to my parents. And what about Kika? She's on my team. She's the one person I've never lied to about anything. Ever.
My heart hurts just thinking about deceiving that kid.
“Text him back, Jess. Who cares about your ring tone? He's probably waiting for you to say something back!” Kika says.
I shoot her a glance. She's still beaming at me so brightly it strengthens my resolve.
For the first time in three years, Kika doesn't appear to be worried about me. She actually looks proud—admiring—excited. I like how beautiful, how normal, that looks on her face.
“What should I type?” I ask, working to smile back and keep my voice as breathless as hers. “I'm not good at texting.”
“Lost cause.” Kika giggles again. “Read what he said.” Kika pulls on my arm.
I've already established it's safe so I read it: “Why U so quiet? C U at school 2morrow. Got2 wrk. On a double. I'm as tired as U looked 2day. Go 2-zzzzzzzz, Jess Jordan.”
“He goes to your school?” Dad asks.
Kika sighs and claps her hands. “ Ohmygod. Text him back. Text him back.” She's bouncing out of her seat.
“I will later. I can't do it with all of you staring.”
“But texting is supposed to be immediately responded to,” Kika protests. “I'll make you a list of easy text replies okay? You can study it.”
“I like that he noticed you need to sleep.” Mom smiles knowingly. “Maybe you should text him back something quick. You don't want him to think you don't like him, do you?”
I shudder. This family bonding thing has just gone way too far.
“I'm so not having this conversation with any of you. Mom, don't even try. I don't know if I like him. And—and—you guys are making me nervous. It's just a couple of texts, not a marriage proposal.”
Dad's hovering over all of us, blinking at me with four strawberry shortcakes precariously balanced in his hands. “I don't know if I like this at all. Are you going to be constantly staring at your phone now like your sister does?”Dad asks.
Kika dives into her shortcake and chomps half of it in one bite. “I'm not staring at my phone now, am I? Gee, Dad.” She's talking with her mouth full, but still manages to look cute.
I can't possibly eat, so
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