“Oh. Shit.” Cole made a sympathetic face. “I’m so sorry.”
I’d been expecting him to react with half-terrified politeness. To cut his eyes anxiously toward the door. Not to roll with it.
“Thanks,” I said. “So now I’m living with my grandparents.”
“Good thing you’re a freshman,” he teased. “Because it would really suck to start over junior year.”
“Oh my god,” I said. “For the last time—”
My grandmother interrupted then, to say that our table was ready.
“Well, nice to meet you,” I told Cole.
I knew I should be relieved that I’d gotten through our little chat without making a bad impression. But to my surprise, I wished he’d stick around. He made me feel like a normal girl, and it had been a long time since anyone had made me feel like that.
“Actually, I’ll join you,” he said, and then turned to Joan. “If that’s okay, Gran?”
“Always,” she said, beaming.
“You don’t have to,” I said, in case he hadn’t really meant it.
“My parents are over there,” Cole said with zero enthusiasm, nodding toward a sleek blond woman in a pantsuit, who reminded me of a greyhound, and a bald man glued to his phone. Next to them was a taller, older, more muscled version of Cole, who seemed like he got really amped about protein shakes.
“Wow,” I said. “Did he eat a Hemsworth?”
Cole snorted. “Honestly? It would explain a lot.”
The six of us sat down at one of the round tables. I was between my grandfather and Cole. Another older couple joined us, introducing themselves as Dick and Annette. My grandmother looked like she’d swallowed a bug as Annette took out a hilariously outdated iPhone, showing off pictures of her ongoing kitchen remodel, with extra close-ups of the marble, which was apparently being reinstalled on Thursday and was an ongoing saga. Joan was trying not to laugh.
Cole, it turned out, did play water polo in the spring. And soccer in the fall.
“No football?” I asked, taking a sourdough roll from the basket. It was still warm, and the pats of butter had been pressed to look like tiny seashells.
“Nah, that’s my brother Archer’s thing.”
“Besides cannibalism,” I said, biting into my roll.
Cole laughed.
“You’re funny,” he said.
Boys never complimented me like this back home. There had been school Sasha, who was quiet, and home Sasha, who had plenty to say.
Now, it felt oddly switched. Because at home I didn’t want to talk about anything, especially how I was doing (the correct answer always being “fine, thanks,” whether it was true or not).
Sitting there in my cocktail dress, next to this smiling, attentive boy who had completely rolled with it when I’d told him about my mom and then gone right back to teasing me, I wondered. Maybe, in my months of grief, some of the weird, awkward parts of me had been polished away to reveal a bright newness underneath. Maybe the scars left by my middle school years had finally faded, and my grandparents were right that I could make friends here.
After our plates were cleared and the waiters came around with silver coffee pots, Cole asked if I wanted to get something to drink.
My grandmother nodded at me encouragingly, so I followed Cole over to the bar. He waved for me to go ahead, pulling out his phone and returning a text.
“Um, ginger ale?” I said.
“And a scotch old-fashioned,” Cole added blandly, taking out his wallet and stuffing a dollar into the tip jar. The moment he ordered, I realized I’d made a mistake.
“So, you know what our grandmothers’ book club really is, right?” he whispered as we waited for our drinks.
“Wine and gossip?”
Cole grinned, shaking his head.
“Nope. They read porn together,” he announced dramatically.
“They do not!”
“Swear to god,” he promised. “All that Fifty Shades stuff.”
“That’s not porn,” I said.
“Then what is it?”
“Bathtub erotica?” I suggested.
To my surprise, he laughed.
“Ugh, that’s worse,” he said with a shudder. “Now I’m picturing my gran in the bathtub.”
“Okay, fine, flannel pajamas erotica,” I corrected.
“Much better!” He offered me a high five, and I took it, wincing at the force.
“Oww,” I complained, shaking out my stinging palm.
“Don’t be such a girl,” he teased, smiling.
The bartender handed over our drinks, and I saw Cole eyeing mine. God, I wished I’d ordered anything else.
I knew I should make a joke about it—something self-deprecating and clever. I was trying to think of one when a beautiful Persian girl hurried over, a silk dress swishing against the tops of her thigh-high suede boots. Her long brown hair was perfectly curled, and her makeup was expertly applied, and her eyelashes went on for miles. She couldn’t have been more than five feet tall, but she was ridiculously intimidating.
“Cole!” she scolded. “Why was your family at my table, but not you?”
“I’m magic,” he said, grinning.
“You’re bullshit.” The girl shook her head, pretending to be annoyed, but she was smiling. “Hi, I’m Friya.”
“Sasha,” I said.
“She’s Eleanor and Joel Bloom’s granddaughter,” Cole said, slinging his arm around me.
“Really?” Friya smiled in my direction, as though that was all the information she needed. “That’s so crazy. My dad works at Russ, Khan, and Bloom!”
“Hold up,” Cole interrupted. “What happened with you and Nick?”
“We’re over,” Friya said. “That asshole. He wasn’t helping that girl with her math homework. He was full on subtracting her clothes and dividing her legs. She literally failed summer school.”
“Want me to beat him up?” Cole offered.
“God no,” Friya said. “But maybe give him really evil looks, so he worries you might?”
“Can do,” Cole promised.
Friya smiled. She was so confident, so effortless, the kind of girl who never worried about anyone’s approval. I wondered if she just rolled out of bed in perfectly layered gold jewelry.
I could barely handle Cole—adding this girl into the mix was too much. She didn’t even need to glance at my shoes for me to know they weren’t good enough. I got that just from existing near her. I was about to make an excuse and head back to the table when Friya’s phone buzzed with a text.
“Everyone’s down by the pool,” she said.
“Tell ’em we’ll be there in a sec,” said Cole.
“Well, it was nice meeting you,” I said, relieved it was over.
“Noooo, you have to come with us,” Friya insisted.
“Yeah, Freshman, you can’t bail on me now,” Cole teased, his eyes shining.
“Freshman?” Friya wrinkled her nose.
“He wishes. I’m a junior,” I said.
“Oh my god, Cole!” Friya scolded, giving him a shove. “I hate you.”
The pool was closed for the night, umbrellas folded and cushions removed from the chaise longues, but no one seemed to mind. In their cocktail attire, clutching drinks they’d brought down from the club, they looked impossibly cool, like a glossy magazine spread advertising a fragrance I could never afford. They were nothing like my classmates back home. Which, hopefully, was a good thing.