Almost (12 page)

Mom's begun tapping her foot. I can tell she's working really hard to sit still. Most probably she's working even harder to not snap at me to
hurry
.

Kika's oblivious. Smiling, her spacey, dreamy smile and watching the strawberries hit the bowl. Thinking about whipped cream, I'm sure.

“Hang in there, guys. I'm almost done.” When I'm sure no one's looking at me, I glance at the clock again.

Still 7:04! Really?!
Longest minute of my life.

“No hurry. This is fun, isn't it
honey,
” Mom says to my dad—her voice is tense.

I catch her gaze, and she shoots me another stiff smile.

Dad, no dummy when Mom's voice has that ring in it, has put down his phone and is sending my mom a pained look of his own.

“I'm not leaving until you deliver the gooey goods,” Kika says, not once wavering her gaze from the bowl. “Don't forget, double whipped cream on my plate.” Kika's long blonde hair is coming out of her two, loose pony-tails. She wears them the same way every day. Pulled toward the front to hang over her shoulders. Like a frame for the picture on her most favorite wardrobe item: the graphic T. Today, it's baby pink with a picture of an owl on the front.

At
7:05
, I breathe a sigh of relief and stop slicing the strawberries.

Gray must have gone back to work. I can't help but feel a little disappointed.

“Jess, you need some help? I can't sit here all night. I've got some papers to look at,” Dad pleads.

I realize I've been standing frozen like a zombie. They must think I've lost it. I shoot him a grateful smile (one that's real). “Yeah. Sure. I think the day has finally sunk in for me. I'm tired. Thanks.”

“I bet you are, champ. Finals are tough. Have a seat.” He's smiling at me now with the same extra proud look he and Mom suffocated me with ever since I told them I got the internship. Now that I've got my contract with Gray in place, I feel like such a
good girl
to make them all so pleased with me. Heck, I'm pleased with myself.

I slide into my chair, grateful to be sitting.

Bzz. Bzz. Boing-donka-donk.

The entire family jumps at the same time. If I hadn't been vomiting in my own mouth, I might have laughed. My dad drops the knife and is eyeing the kitchen fire alarm with a bewildered expression.

Less than one second later, it happens again.

Bzz. Bzz. Boing-donka-donk.

“What
is
that?” Mom's jetted out of her chair and is looking around the room like a hawk, trying to gauge the source of the annoying sound.

“Sorry. It's my cell,” I croak.

“Well, I've never heard that noisy sound come out of your phone before,” Mom accuses. “What's wrong with it?

I'm about to make a major dive for the phone but Kika beats me to it. I try to cover the fact that I just bolted out of my chair by bolting back into it.

Kika's staring at my iPhone screen as she walks it to the table. I'm hoping whatever's visible on the phone's monitor is not going to blow my cover.

The sound comes through again.

Bzz. Bzz. Boing-donka-donk.

My mom winces. “Can you change it?
Now
?”

“Yeah. Sure. I don't know where that came from,” I lie, knowing full well I chose that tone for its incredible sound and combined buzzing effect.

Dad's head disappears behind the kitchen island and he's groaning, “Oh, the old gray knees are not made for this.” He pops back into view, holding the lost knife. “Strawberry shortcake in two.”

Bzz. Bzz. Boing-donka-donk.

“Whoever's texting you, sure has a lot to say.” Kika smiles.

I want to crawl across the table to get the phone out of her hands, but I wait patiently for her to bring it over. When she does, Kika and I stare at the screen together:
Yo QT. r u there?

I dart Kika a glance. “What does that mean? He called me a Q-tip?”

Kika laughs and sits next to me. “Read it out loud. It will make more sense.”

“Yo-Q-T ru there. Q…T…?”

“Q T means
cutie
. CU-TIE. Jess, you're so out of touch.” Kika's smile turns beaming. “This has to be a
guy!
A guy that thinks you're cute! OMG Who is he? Talk. Now. Talk!”

I want to kiss my sister for ramping in on my behalf. And for making me blush.

“You've never had text messages before,” Mom says, her voice guarded and worried. Her eyes are already sparkling as the information gets her Mom-Wheels turning.

“I text Jess all the time,” Kika protests.

“I mean—texts from a guy,” Mom says. “Is it? A guy?” she probes.

“Am I paying extra for text messaging on all of our cell phones? Am I?” Dad pipes in, not at all getting it that
this
text message signifies a major turning point in my life. “Text messaging is just another excuse for teenage boys to score without actually having to ever speak to a girl.”

“Dad! You're so old. What does ‘score’ even mean?” Kika rolls her eyes.

“It's true, Honey. No one says that anymore.” Mom's smiling at me now.

We all laugh. Mom turns to Dad. “Text messaging is normal teen activity. We have unlimited text. If we didn't, we'd be broke just from Kika's texting habit alone. Jess sweetie, you don't need to limit yourself. Text all you want.”

I choke back another laugh and hide it in a, “Cool. Thanks. Good to know.”

I'm so happy right now all I can do is grin. With a few letters of simple text chatter, Gray Porter just launched me into the realm of what my mom calls
normal teen activity
! And I haven't paid him one cent—yet! Oh, but I will.

This pretend boyfriend thing is going to be more awesome than I'd thought!

Mom leans in so she can see the message. I hold still so she can soak in the letters Q and T.

“So, who is this boy?” She asks 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 I scroll up to view the first message that we all missed:
As promised. Hi GF. Sorry I'm late but ur boy is on duty. U There?

I gasp and pull the phone into my chest. No need to read that out loud! My cheeks start burning a new round of fire.

“See? You're already hugging your phone and acting weird,” Dad says, also speaking with his mouth full. Not at all his best look. He shakes his head, and gives me a sad look. “I'm going to miss you, honey.”

Before looking up, I make certain the entire conversation is cleared. Deleted. Gone.

I think Mom's been watching me closely the whole time because she, like me, has not touched one bite of her dessert. “Come on, we're waiting for some details.”

I wonder if this is what Gray sees in my expression when he calls me
relentless
.

Who knew Mom and I had that in common?

Thankful I can still feel my cheeks flaming, I go for my
flustered and embarrassed
version of this scenario. It seems the easiest because, I happen to be both right now.

I push at my plate and fold my arms over my chest, using what I call the ‘therapy voice’. A voice I learned to use from my years with Dr. Brodie. “I need you
all
to do me a favor,” I start and let out a long, patient—
time to communicate
—sigh.

Mom smiles. I know for a fact she loves conversations like this.

Kika and Dad
do not
.

They stop eating and regard me cautiously as though I might be about to have one of my flip-outs. I almost crack a smile because they are so darn funny. Both have forks in the air and whipped cream stuck on their lips.

“We're listening. Go on,” Mom urges gently.

I turn all of my attention back to her. She's the one that I need to convince the most. If I do it right, the others will take her lead. “I need you to
hear
me on this. Don't interrupt, okay?”

They all nod.

I flash the iPhone in my hand and begin my performance: “This is just a
guy
. A friend. Well, maybe a friend, like I said, I don't know. And, okay fine…I think I like him, as a
friend, of course.
” I hold up my hand in case anyone tries to burst in. “And, he thinks I'm…cool or a possible friend back. Or…something good enough to want to text me, anyhow. Okay?”

“Sure,” Kika says.

“Okay,” Dad says.

Kika and Dad resume eating their shortcake. I turn to Mom and blink, waiting for her response because I know she she's going to pry. She just can't stop herself.