“Adam,” she says back mockingly. She hands him the pen. Acts like it doesn’t affect her when their hands brush, like there’s no chemistry anymore. “Too bad you didn’t get Laurie. You were a little off your game at auditions. This isn’t high school, you know. We all need to be our very best.”
“Yeah, well. You heard what Ms. Randall said. She wants us to act professional.” He looks between Kat and Pen and Jillian. “That means no mean-girl shit. No drama.”
It’s got to be on purpose, the way he echoes the words from the day she caught him and Jillian kissing. I can’t do this anymore, Kat. I’m tired of fighting all the time. You’re just—you’re too much drama.
The words hurt, and this reminder—right in front of Jillian and Pen and all the listening, jealous girls in the hall—stings almost as much.
The idea that she’s lost Adam to Jillian, to this leggy girl with her blond ponytail and her tiny waist, is impossible. Jillian plays field hockey and sings in the school choir and has two doting parents and a black Labrador. She is perfectly, infuriatingly ordinary. She does not deserve—does not need—this play or this boy like Kat does.
Kat gives her an unnerving blue-eyed stare that sizes her up and lets her know she’s been found wanting.
Adam thinks Kat is too much drama? Well, just wait. He has not seen what kind of schemes Kat Garrett is capable of when she really puts her mind to it.
Chapter Four
VI
Vi freezes, clutching a stuffed giraffe, when she hears Cecilia Pérez’s voice.
“Hey, Des, do you have the new Nina LaCour book?” Cece asks.
“Oh, we sold out, sorry,” Des says. “I should’ve told Vi.”
“Vi?” Cece sounds puzzled.
“Where’d she go? She was here a minute ago,” Des says, and Vi slouches lower in the little cupboard beneath the stairs, hoping her sister won’t give her away. The reading nook for kids is decorated on the outside to look like a pirate ship, with a few small portholes cut into one side and a bigger porthole serving as the entrance and exit. It’s awkward for grown-ups to crawl into. It’s also awkward for Vi now, at fifteen, but it’s her favorite place at Arden. Maybe her favorite place, period. She spends whole afternoons here during the summer, reading books and checking her Tumblr and writing fics on her phone.
“Vi’s been recommending it to everybody, so we don’t have any on hand. But we’ve ordered more. Would you like a text alert when it’s back in stock?” Des asks. “It should be here in a few days.”
“Um, sure.” Cece starts to rattle off her phone number, but Des says they already have it. Cece’s a frequent customer. It’s one of Vi’s top five favorite things about her, in addition to the way she has to stop and pet literally every dog she passes, her addiction to Skittles, how much she loves her Abuela Julia, and her incredibly long eyelashes.
Peeking out through the nearest porthole, Vi can see the backs of Cece’s calves, sloping down to her ankles and her black gladiator sandals. She makes even torturous strappy sandals look amazing. She makes everything look amazing. Vi looks down at her own cutoff jean shorts and white Empowered Women Empower Women T-shirt. Her stick-straight auburn hair—not wild riotous curls like Des’s and Kat’s, not bright and eye-catching like Bea’s—is falling out of its braid. She looks like a little kid, and Cece looks like a Latina supermodel. Like a younger, browner, taller version of Camila Mendes, Vi’s biggest celebrity crush.
“Have you read any of her other books? She’s one of Vi’s favorite authors,” Des says.
Vi is gay! she might as well shout.
Not that it’s a secret. Vi’s been wearing Pride shirts since she was thirteen.
But she’s never had an actual girlfriend. Fact is, there are not a lot of out queer girls in Remington Hollow.
Cece scratches the back of one perfect calf with her other foot. “She’s one of my favorite authors too.”
“Have you read Our Own Private Universe? Or, um, Georgia Peaches and Other Forbidden Fruit?” Des asks, and Vi covers her eyes in embarrassment, even though no one can see her. Those are some of her other favorite contemporary young adult books; they’re all about girls who fall in love with other girls. “What about Tell Me Again How a Crush Should Feel?”
“I’ve, um, I’ve read all of those, actually,” Cece says quietly.
Vi strangles the stuffed giraffe in her arms. Wait a minute. What is happening?
Vi recommends these books all the time. To everyone. You don’t have to be gay to read them. But she’s never recommended them to Cece.
Why is Cece reading all of Vi’s favorite books? It’s not like they’re giant bestsellers, even though Vi wants them to be.
She probably bought them right here, Vi thinks, affronted. And my sisters didn’t even tell me.
Why didn’t they tell her? This is huge. She drums her nails—currently painted in rainbow colors to celebrate LGBTQIA Pride Month—against her knees and then takes a deep breath. Her sisters are not responsible for reporting their neighbors’ reading habits. And the fact that they didn’t tell her—maybe that means her crush on Cece is less obvious than she fears. Maybe her strategy of avoiding Cece is working. It’s not easy, because Cece is a good customer, and the Pérezes’ family restaurant, Tia Julia’s, is right next door to the bookstore. Cece’s Abuela Julia and Gram are good friends. Every Monday night, they get together with a bunch of the other town matriarchs and play Canasta and drink sangria.
When they were little, Vi and Cece were good friends too. Like, inseparable.
But that was a long time ago. Before the accident. Before Vi knew she liked girls. Before Cece got gorgeous and got a boyfriend.
Well…that’s not entirely true. Cece was always beautiful, even as a toddler. People used to stop her mom on the street to coo over her. Even with avocado all over her face and hands, her dark curls tangled in knots, her knees scratched up, and covered in dog hair from the Pérezes’ Great Danes, she was adorable. Vi’s seen pictures. It’s completely unfair.
“Well, what did you like about those books?” Des launches into reader advisory.
Vi starts to feel like she shouldn’t be listening. Like she’s eavesdropping on a private conversation. Whatever Cece says next, she’ll say it because she thinks she and Des are alone in the store. But to crawl awkwardly out of the porthole and admit she’s been eavesdropping the whole time would be mortifying. Instead, Vi waits, full of equal parts anticipation and dread.
“Never mind,” Cece says. “I’ll just stick with this one.”