“But not that great.”
“It’s a passport photo.” She pokes me. “It’ll get you where you need to go.”
I bite my lip. Sara was the first person I wanted to tell about my parents, but she’s been so busy. I haven’t been able to find the right time. But . . .
“So.” I look at her. “I’d been meaning to tell you. Italy got canceled. I think—”
“Are you serious?” Sara whirls around to face me. “You won’t believe this. I just got a text this morning from a family who needs a part-time summer babysitter! I felt so bad, because I’m too busy, but I could connect you guys? Jessie’s mom is super tapped into the network, so this could be your in.”
I blink at the unexpected pivot. It’s true. I’d been hoping to break into the ridiculously intricate local babysitting network since forever, but she didn’t even pause to ask why Italy was canceled. I should rewind and tell her, but she’s so amped up right now. And I haven’t seen her in so long. . . .
“If it’s in the mornings, I can,” I finally say. My mom works from home until noon most days, so I can borrow her car.
“Jessie is the sweetest toddler you’ll ever meet.” Sara jots off a text and puts her phone away. “I don’t even know what I’d do here without you,” she tells me. “Finding this trash can is like playing a game of Where’s Waldo. It could be shelved in so many categories. Kitchen. Bath. Storage . . .”
“I’m kind of shocked you’re not working,” I say.
“I know,” she says. “They shut down the pool because of a plumbing issue, so all my classes have to be rescheduled. I can’t believe I have a whole day to myself.”
“Maybe we can grab dinner after I open fast?” I suggest. That way we can sit down and finally have a real conversation. Just the thought of talking to Sara about my parents makes me feel a tiny bit better. I don’t think there’s anything she can possibly say to make me laugh and move on from it, like she normally does when I vent to her. But if anyone can find the humor in my family imploding, it’s Sara.
“Mellow Mushroom for old times’ sake? We haven’t done that in forever.”
“Three weeks and two days,” I tell her. “Not that I’m counting or anything.”
“Sorry.” She glances at me sheepishly.
“No big deal. We still have the rest of the summer.”
Come fall, she’s going to the University of Georgia. I try not to think too much about the fact that Athens is a solid two hours in traffic. And this is Atlanta, so there’s always traffic.
“Oh yeah, about that.” She bites her lip. “I’m not sure about August anymore.”
“What do you mean?”
“Jenna is taking summer session two, and her girlfriend—Ashley—is a manager at Avid Bookshop. I just did a Skype interview with them this morning.”
“You’re leaving sooner than August?” I stare at her.
“Maybe. I don’t even know if they’ll hire me. Ashley said they got a ton of applications. But if I get the job, you’ve basically hit the lottery, Maya.” She winks. “I bet they have a sweet employee discount on books. You know I’ll hook you up.”
This isn’t a big deal. She was leaving anyway. But she was so busy all senior year—I hoped this summer, we’d finally find pockets of time to catch up. The disappointment stings. This is the downside to being best friends with someone a school year ahead of you.
“Oh my God.” Sara glances down at her phone. “Jenna found another guy she’s positive is ‘the one’ for me.” She holds it out to show me. A boy with a shaggy surfer cut grins back.
“He’s cute,” I say.
“I haven’t even moved yet, and she’s already on the lookout.” She groans.
“It’s about time you got back out there. I think it’ll be fun.”
Sara hasn’t dated anyone since she broke up with her long-term boyfriend, Amari, last year.
“Fun, huh? Okay. I’ll tell her to keep an eye out for you too, then!”
“Sara.” I bump her with my shoulder.
“Think about it.” She grins. “We could even do double dates!”
“Right—that’s definitely happening.” I roll my eyes.
Here’s the thing. Muslims fall all over the spectrum on dating and relationships—kind of what happens when there’s over a billion of us—but my parents? They’re not cool about me dating in high school. They’re not as strict as Lyla’s parents, who said she can’t hang out with boys, period, but my parents have always said relationships are sacred. They don’t think it’s a good idea to date just to date, without the potential for a long-term future together. It’s not something I really talk about, since it’s kind of weird to announce that sort of thing when you’re seventeen years old. Sara’s the only one who knows, and she thinks that it’s bonkers I go along with it—but I actually see where they’re coming from on this. Relationships are complicated, and right now there’s too much stuff changing in my life for me to think about adding anything like that to the mix. So the truth is, unless Mr. Darcy from Pride and Prejudice shows up at my door with flowers announcing his eternal devotion, count me out.
“There it is!” Sara shrieks just then. We’re in the “back to school” section. Shelves of cute lamps and alarm clocks frame the space. Five different twin beds are stacked next to each other, outfitted with different patterned sheets, blankets, and throw pillows.
Sara rushes over, scoops up a metal trash can, and gently places it into our shopping cart, like it’s a fragile work of art. She snaps a photo and texts it. “I don’t know why I didn’t check here first. It’s the last one too!”
“Awesome.” I smile, trying my best to look supportive. But just how excited am I supposed to be about a trash can?
“Jenna texted me to check out the curtains.” She pushes the shopping cart along with one hand while glancing down at her phone. I hurry to keep up.
“Still going with sky blue and cream?”
“Yep.” She nods. “Let me know if you see anything cute.”
I walk along with her as she browses the curtains and then the rugs. She texts Jenna photos along the way. It’s like we’re hanging out with Jenna too. Which is fine. Really.
We’re about to turn into the next aisle when I pause.
“Love muffin straight ahead,” I say.
Sara looks up with a start. Her eyes widen.
It’s Kevin Mullen from school. He’s walking down the main aisle toward us, sipping an iced coffee. In school, he wears loafers, jeans, and preppy button-down shirts, always untucked. But right now, he’s in full Target uniform, with practical sneakers, khaki pants, and a bright red T-shirt. I’ve known Kevin since seventh grade and it’s probably statistically impossible not to like him, since he’s the chillest and nicest guy around. Even when he was fourteen, sporting the most extreme bowl cut known to man—everyone let it fly without a snicker. We’d gotten to know each other better this past semester when we got assigned to do a presentation on the First Amendment. He’d even come along with Sara and me to Menchie’s for frozen yogurt twice. I’m not saying we were friends exactly, but we were on our way. Of course everything fell apart when he brought Sara a basket of her favorite chocolate muffins two months ago and confessed his long-standing crush on her. When Sara told him she didn’t feel the same way, he handled it in trademark Kevin style—said it was a bummer, but he understood—but it hasn’t been the same. And Sara’s been avoiding him anytime she sees him coming. We slipped by him pretty handily when he was cleaning up an orange spill, but it’s too late to duck now. He’s spotted us.