said.
At this, he turned, a flicker of irritation on his face. As quickly as it appeared, though, it was gone. “Just have a taste, then. You won’t regret it, I promise.”
Everywhere I turned, I was stuck. I wasn’t prone to panicking, but suddenly I could feel my heart beating. “I’m, um, going to go put my stuff away.”
“Okay,” he said. “Don’t be too long. I want to catch up. It’s been a while.”
I took the stairs two at a time, like someone was chasing me, then ducked into my room, shutting the door behind me. I sat down on my bed, pulling out my phone, and tried to think. A moment later, I heard music drifting upstairs, and somehow, I knew he’d now lit the candles. That was when I looked up a number and dialed it.
A man answered. “Seaside Pizza. Can you hold?”
I’d been expecting Layla. Now I didn’t know what to do. “Yes.”
A click, and then silence. I thought about hanging up, but before I could, he was back. “Thanks for holding. Can I help you?”
Shit. “Um . . . I want to place a delivery order?”
I could hear talking in the background, but none were a girl’s voice. “Go ahead.”
“Large half pepperoni, half deluxe,” I said.
“Anything else?”
“No.”
“Address?”
I took a breath. “It’s 4102 Incline—”
There was a clanging noise in the background. “Sorry, can you hold another minute?”
“Sure,” I said. Downstairs, the song had changed, and I could smell garlic, wafting up under my closed door.
“Sorry about that,” a voice said on the other end of the line. It was a girl. Oh, my God. “So that’s a half pepperoni, half deluxe, large? What’s the name?”
“Layla?”
A pause. “Yeah?”
“It’s Sydney.”
“Oh, hey!” She sounded so pleased to hear my voice that I almost burst into tears. “What’s up? Regretting you only had one slice this afternoon?”
“Do you want to spend the night tonight?”
I literally blurted this; I doubted she’d even made it out. But again, she surprised me. “Sure. Let me just ask.”
There was a clank as she put the phone down. As I sat there, listening to the register beep and some other muffled conversation, I realized I was holding my breath. When she came back, I still didn’t exhale.
“I’m in,” she said cheerfully. “Mac can bring me with the pizza. In, like, twenty minutes or so?”
“Great,” I said, entirely too enthusiastically. “Thank you.”
“Sure. Just give me your address and a phone number, okay?”
I did, and then we hung up. I went into the bathroom and washed my face, telling myself I could handle anything for twenty minutes. Then I went downstairs.
Ames was at the stove when I walked in, his back to me. “Ready to eat? I’ve got the table set.”
I glanced into the dining room: sure enough, the candles were lit, two plates laid out with silverware and folded paper napkins. “I actually, um, have a friend coming over. She’s bringing a pizza.”
He didn’t say anything for a moment. Then he turned around to face me. “I told you I was cooking.”
“I know, but—”
“Your mom didn’t mention anything to me about a friend visiting,” he told me.
She also thought Marla was going to be here
, I thought.
“It’s not very polite, Sydney, to make other plans when a person has gone out of their way to do something for you.”
I didn’t ask you to do anything
. “I’m sorry . . . I guess signals got crossed.”
He looked at me for a long moment, not even trying to hide his irritation. Then, slowly, he turned back around. “You can at least have a taste. Since I’ve gone to all this trouble.”
“Okay,” I said. It was weird to see an adult pout. “Sure.”
At the table, he served us both, then picked up his glass of cola, holding it up. “To good friends,” he said.
I clinked my drink against his, then took an obligatory sip as he watched me over the rim of his glass. I glanced at my watch. It had been ten minutes.
“So I
At this, he turned, a flicker of irritation on his face. As quickly as it appeared, though, it was gone. “Just have a taste, then. You won’t regret it, I promise.”
Everywhere I turned, I was stuck. I wasn’t prone to panicking, but suddenly I could feel my heart beating. “I’m, um, going to go put my stuff away.”
“Okay,” he said. “Don’t be too long. I want to catch up. It’s been a while.”
I took the stairs two at a time, like someone was chasing me, then ducked into my room, shutting the door behind me. I sat down on my bed, pulling out my phone, and tried to think. A moment later, I heard music drifting upstairs, and somehow, I knew he’d now lit the candles. That was when I looked up a number and dialed it.
A man answered. “Seaside Pizza. Can you hold?”
I’d been expecting Layla. Now I didn’t know what to do. “Yes.”
A click, and then silence. I thought about hanging up, but before I could, he was back. “Thanks for holding. Can I help you?”
Shit. “Um . . . I want to place a delivery order?”
I could hear talking in the background, but none were a girl’s voice. “Go ahead.”
“Large half pepperoni, half deluxe,” I said.
“Anything else?”
“No.”
“Address?”
I took a breath. “It’s 4102 Incline—”
There was a clanging noise in the background. “Sorry, can you hold another minute?”
“Sure,” I said. Downstairs, the song had changed, and I could smell garlic, wafting up under my closed door.
“Sorry about that,” a voice said on the other end of the line. It was a girl. Oh, my God. “So that’s a half pepperoni, half deluxe, large? What’s the name?”
“Layla?”
A pause. “Yeah?”
“It’s Sydney.”
“Oh, hey!” She sounded so pleased to hear my voice that I almost burst into tears. “What’s up? Regretting you only had one slice this afternoon?”
“Do you want to spend the night tonight?”
I literally blurted this; I doubted she’d even made it out. But again, she surprised me. “Sure. Let me just ask.”
There was a clank as she put the phone down. As I sat there, listening to the register beep and some other muffled conversation, I realized I was holding my breath. When she came back, I still didn’t exhale.
“I’m in,” she said cheerfully. “Mac can bring me with the pizza. In, like, twenty minutes or so?”
“Great,” I said, entirely too enthusiastically. “Thank you.”
“Sure. Just give me your address and a phone number, okay?”
I did, and then we hung up. I went into the bathroom and washed my face, telling myself I could handle anything for twenty minutes. Then I went downstairs.
Ames was at the stove when I walked in, his back to me. “Ready to eat? I’ve got the table set.”
I glanced into the dining room: sure enough, the candles were lit, two plates laid out with silverware and folded paper napkins. “I actually, um, have a friend coming over. She’s bringing a pizza.”
He didn’t say anything for a moment. Then he turned around to face me. “I told you I was cooking.”
“I know, but—”
“Your mom didn’t mention anything to me about a friend visiting,” he told me.
She also thought Marla was going to be here
, I thought.
“It’s not very polite, Sydney, to make other plans when a person has gone out of their way to do something for you.”
I didn’t ask you to do anything
. “I’m sorry . . . I guess signals got crossed.”
He looked at me for a long moment, not even trying to hide his irritation. Then, slowly, he turned back around. “You can at least have a taste. Since I’ve gone to all this trouble.”
“Okay,” I said. It was weird to see an adult pout. “Sure.”
At the table, he served us both, then picked up his glass of cola, holding it up. “To good friends,” he said.
I clinked my drink against his, then took an obligatory sip as he watched me over the rim of his glass. I glanced at my watch. It had been ten minutes.
“So I
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