“I know.” I swipe a strip of toothpaste onto my toothbrush. “But how do you explain it otherwise?”
Cytha sets down her own toothbrush and blinks into the camera. “You’re kidding, right? You’re going to start looking for a logical explanation? Now? What’s your logical explanation for the fire or the statue that about turned you into a pancake?”
I purse my lips and peer up at the ceiling, thinking. Right. I can’t explain any of my dreams. I shrug.
“There is no logical explanation when it comes to your subconscious.” She leans against the counter and sets her chin in her palms, her bathroom in view behind her. “So, you think the dream will go away now?”
I shake my head. “I haven’t been there yet.”
“Right.” She straightens up and her phone goes with her. “Esther, I’m sorry I didn’t call yesterday.”
Or today. I had to call you—I want to say, but I don’t because I can’t fight with Cytha right now. I’m too far away and I need her any way I can get her. “It’s okay,” I say, but my voice sounds small.
She shuts her eyes, like she’s contemplating.
“Why didn’t you?”
She rubs her head with those long fingers of hers. “Well, because.”
“Because?”
“Because you’re missing home so much. Because I could see that I’d made you sad talking about Carly. Because… I had fun.”
I uncurl my hunched back and put on my best smile. It’s totally fake, but my best friend cannot be afraid to tell me when she’s happy. “Cytha that’s great. Just because I’m over here in limbo doesn’t mean I want you to be.” Even though I sort of do. Cytha and I used to do everything together—we even learned to ride a bike the same day. When she was happy, so was I. When I didn’t sob over Lisa, she did it for me. We’re just like that.
“But—”
“But nothing. Tell me all about it.” I sit, ripping my cuticles apart, listening—painfully—to every detail of Cytha’s date with Phil. Who apparently is nothing like Dr. Phil or Punxsutawney Phil—the only two Phil’s that Cytha knew of prior to her date. He’s tall and gorgeous and couldn’t take his eyes off her. Of course, Carly lied to him, told him Cytha was already eighteen, or Phil wouldn’t have gone. Apparently, Phil is full of all kinds of strict morals.
“Are you going to tell him?”
“I’ll be eighteen in three months. That’s close enough. I’m going to pretend I never knew.”
I laugh and roll my eyes. What a great way to start your relationship, I think, but I won’t crush her joy. Not today.
I push open the door to The Bookcase, thinking about what Summer said. It feels like sound advice. I’m going to act normal with Finn—I’m going to invite him to do something… fun.
The blue beany hat covers almost all of his sandy brown hair today. I am determined to see it gone. “Hey, Finn,” I say—maybe too cheerily.
He shifts a glance at me, but he doesn’t say hello.
I ignore that—knowing how he can be—and walk over to him, perching myself on a stool next to the case he’s shelving. “I’ve thought of our next window display.”
“What? You really want to take that one down already?” His tone is surprised turned sour—but I’m trying to be optimistic. I’m hoping his curiosity will win out.
“Eventually—not for a while.”
“How would you top that?” His arm flings back toward our tree.
“I’m not trying to top it. I want to create.” I grin at him and start toward a pile of books a few feet away. I’d left them there two days ago, so I know I need to head farther back to shelve them. I dart my eyes to the side—a quick look at Finn.
His face is contorted in confusion, but he sets down his own stack and follows after me. Yes! I’d pump my fist if it wouldn’t give me away. “So, what’s this grand plan of yours?”
“I’m still working things out,” I say, setting the books on the ground and picking up the top of the stack. “But I’m thinking a rainbow.”
He snorts, unimpressed.
“You doubted my tree as well.”
“I didn’t—well, maybe a little.”
By our dinner break Finn’s beany lays in a heap on a shelf beneath the register. We sit outside, on the ground, in front of our window. I pick and choose from the cooler bag Summer sent with me, then pass it on to Finn, who finishes off what she’s packed.
“James mentioned he hasn’t seen you in a while. We’re having a fire tonight.”
“James mentioned?” I flutter my lashes at him, trying to hold back a full on eye roll.
Finn lifts one shoulder. “He did. Anyway, you should come.”
“Actually,” I twist my body to see him better and set down my strawberry yogurt, “I was wondering if you’d skip the fire tonight.”
His eyes narrow, playfully. “What did you have in mind?”
“Have you heard of The Center for the Arts?”
“Sure, do they have an event coming up?” He nibbles on a carrot stick that Summer has carefully cut into quarters.
“I don’t know. I just wanted to check the place out.”
“If there isn’t an event I think it closes by six or seven.”
I wet my lips—since when is Finn all goody-goody? “Um, so?”
His eyes shift from his carrot to me.
“I’m not talking breaking and entering. Just checking the place out. Maybe looking through windows.” Or finding a giant circle on the lawn to lay down inside.
He blinks in the sun and scratches the back of his head, right at his neck where his hairline sits. “Okay.”
“Yeah?” My heart thumps and I can’t control my grin. I didn’t think I’d ever see this place or make this dream stop—but I’m going to see it tonight, with him.
“You’re such an art nerd, Esther.”
I laugh. Nothing he can say will ruin my mood. “Pretty much.”
The store is immaculate when Marley comes in from work. I’m afraid she’ll be suspicious, but she’s too tired to ask why we’ve scrubbed the floors and washed every window. I texted Summer an hour ago and told her I was taking her advice and Finn and I were going to hang out with friends. I gave her Dominic’s address—again.
“Mom, Esther and I are going to Dom’s,” Finn calls up the stairs.
Marley’s head peeks over the balcony. “Esther’s going?”
“Yeah,” he returns sour and impatient.
“Good. Have fun—you took your meds, right?”
Finn groans a little and rolls his neck. “Yes, mother.”
“Thanks, Marley.” I tug at Finn’s sleeve. Part of me wants to scold him for being so irritable with her, but I’m too excited—I can’t.
We scramble into my car and there’s a tangible anticipation in the air. I’m not the only one excited. I pull out my phone, Cashe Street already in my GPS.
Finn lays his hand over top my cell, his fingers brushing mine sends flutters throughout my torso. “I know where to go.”